The Wrong Game (Love of the Game, #1)

by Kandi Steiner

Death has a funny way of putting life into perspective for us.

And right there, in that first-row pew, with my dead, cheating husband’s mother’s hand in mine, I made one simple plan, with one simple rule. Never fall in love again. It was more than just a plan, more than just a goal. It was a promise. And it was one I vowed to keep.

“Nosy, much?” “Hard not to overhear two gorgeous women talking about getting railed into next year by a hammer cock.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged again. “Or maybe I want to be the first one to have the privilege of fulfilling your friend’s promise.”

Every now and then, I’d feel Zach watching me from wherever he was working behind the bar. And when our eyes met, my chest would squeeze, along with my thighs. There was something about his eyes, about the kind of heat that swept over me with that gaze. The way he looked at me, it was as if he already had me in his bed, between his sheets, one hand on my hip and the other hiking my leg up as he settled between my thighs.

I’m human, and I learned from one of the strongest men I know — my father — that crying, or hurting, or feeling heartbroken didn’t make you any less of a man. I learned from my mother that crying wasn’t feminine, it was human, and that even if it was feminine — that didn’t mean it was less than anything masculine.

Gemma Mancini. Damn, did she come out of nowhere and knock me on my ass.

I’d always been quick on my feet when it came to getting a girl in the sack with me, but most girls didn’t fight back. Most girls don’t call me on my shit. Gemma Mancini had no problem doing just that. I’d had to try for her, and I had no doubt that if I wanted more than one date with her, I’d have to try even harder tomorrow night.

Her red-headed friend might be the type that can fuck with no strings, that is perfectly content having a guy inside her one night and then never speaking to him again. But Gemma isn’t that girl. And I intended to prove it.

All I could do was stare at the man who still had his hand on my knee, wondering where he came from, and what he saw that I didn’t. Then, I mentally started a brand-new list. Things I Like About Zach Bowen.

No, I didn’t want to go out and buy a ring, but one thing was certain. I wanted more.

And I felt it again. I didn’t know what it was, what to call it, how to name it and classify it and file it away. I only knew it was something. Something different. Something more.

I knew she had a plan. I knew what I signed up for. But now that I’d spent a night with her, now that I’d had a taste, I couldn’t just walk away. I couldn’t just let some other guy touch her after the next game, the way I’d touched her tonight.

But I’d never met anyone like her, and I’d had more fun in the few hours we’d spent together than I’d had in the past twelve years. If she thought I was letting go that easy, she was in for a rude awakening.

There was another home game next Sunday — just one week away — and I would be there beside her. One way or another, I’d be there. That was a promise I could keep.

There was a fat chance in hell that I’d let Benjamin get my girl. Yeah, I’d only had one night with her but I felt that kind of possessiveness, anyway. I wasn’t done with Gemma. I was far from it.

Nothing worth having ever came easy, that was something I learned at a young age. I never expected Gemma to cave fast, to give into me without fighting back. If anything, I loved that she had her plans, her list-filled goals she wanted to stick to. It was part of what made her unique.

Still, there was more to her than just her love for football and her adorable sense of humor. Under that smile, under those eyes, she had a story. And I wanted to read it.

The thought that I could be just friends with that woman was ludicrous, and yet somehow, I knew I’d take the torture. I knew I’d go to that game tomorrow and sit beside her, and try to be around her in whatever capacity she’d let me — simply because I wanted her that bad. Fucking pathetic.

Belle was right. Gemma was worth fighting for. And I was all in. “What do you have in mind?”

It wasn’t my favorite way to tackle things, but it was my last-ditch effort to win over Gemma Mancini, and that meant it was all or nothing. Game time.

But when Zach touched me, he sucked every ounce of control out of me like a god taking my soul. When his hands were on me, I was his — his to own, his to do with what he wanted. I never knew the kind of pleasure that could come from letting go.

And though my nerves were already sparking, I quieted them the longer I held her, because I knew I wouldn’t regret it. I knew without a doubt I wanted him to meet her. I wanted everyone I loved to meet her.

She came. I told her I needed her, and at two in the morning, she answered. She came over. She was there for me when I needed her most, and she didn’t even ask why.

But Gemma turned, leaving me to watch her go, powerless to keep her or convince her that what we had was enough — that it could be what she’s always wanted, if she only gave it the chance. All I could do was stay. All I could do was let her go.

Belle was right. It was now or never, and there was no guarantee that anything would work. He didn’t owe me a second chance, but I would beg him for one, anyway. It was time to make my move. I hoped I’d make the right one.

“So… are you saying you’re in for another practice round?” I laughed, shaking my head and looping my arms around his shoulders. “No,” I answered. “This time, I want the real thing. No more practice. Let’s play for keeps.” Zach smiled, lowering his lips to mine and pausing right when they touched. “I always was.” And then, he kissed me.