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.

It seemed everyone I loved in my life was destined to leave in some way.

We ran the ball, breaking through the Bills’ defensive line enough to move the chains.

It was easy to fall in love. It was harder to climb out of it.

“What, I don’t seem cool to you?” “About as cool as Carlton from Fresh Prince.”

Something I learned maybe well before I was supposed to is that trying to be what other people think you should be is a waste of time. Life is too short to be or do or say anything other than exactly what you want. And in the end, no one’s judgment matters, because it’s your life you’re living.”

“I like you, Gemma. A lot. I care about you, I want you to succeed, I want to hang out with you all the time. I want to introduce you to everyone I love because I want them to know how amazing you are, too. I want to watch football with you and take you to fancy dinners and make memories I’ll never forget, even if this doesn’t work out in the end.”

“I love when you do that,” he whispered. “Do what?” “Exist.”

Love is a slick, curvy, dangerous road, and no one is in control. It doesn’t matter what you drive, how carefully you maneuver, who you trust to sit beside you or take the wheel when you’re tired. The only way to stay safe is to stay off the road altogether.

“I’m just saying that, yeah, love hurts. But life without it?” I shook my head. “It isn’t worth living.”

Look, love is like… it’s like hanging off this cliff, right? This ledge. And the only thing preventing you from falling and painting the bottom of the canyon with your intestines is this other person holding your hand. And they can drop you,”