Page 42 of The Game She Hates

“I truly do. It’s more than just a job to me; it’s a calling, a purpose. It’s a gift, being able to pay forward the kindness and guidance I received. My old therapist was like a beacon of hope, Christ-like in her compassion. If I can offer even a fraction of that to the children I work with, it would mean everything. In this fractured world, people need safe spaces filled with hope.”

“Yeah, you mentioned her,” he recalls, stirring memories of our late-night phone conversations. I miss those calls every night. “It’s just hard to imagine you as the rebellious teenager you describe yourself as.”

“The transformative power of grace,” I muse, thinking back on the darkest time of my life. “Some of the families I lived with back then wouldn’t recognize the person I am today. All thanks to Jesus.”

He looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, and for the first time, I sense admiration, almost like he could understand or even relate to the impact of Jesus in my life. There’s none of his usual perplexed look or exasperated sighs.

As I swap my shoes, I try to study him, and suddenly, out of nowhere, his face breaks into laughter.

“Those have got to be the smallest feet I’ve seen in a while.”

“Don’t you dare bully me,” I playfully scold, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’re more than eight inches taller than me.”

I quickly straighten up, using my dress to conceal my sandals.

“No, seriously, your feet are adorable. I bet they could fit in my palm. What size are you?”

I nudge him in the side and I’m met with the unexpected firmness of his rock-solid abs. My mouth mimes a “Wow” that he probably notices.

“I’m a size six. It’s not too small,” I say, feeling my cheeks and ears warm with embarrassment.

Thankfully, my phone rings with Robyn’s call. She tells me that they’re about to head to the reception venue.

“Robyn says it’s time for us to take our seats at the reception. Are you joining us? Or were you planning on heading home?”

“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere.” He smirks. “I think you might need some protection looking like that. Those groomsmen might just try to steal you away.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “And why would that be a problem? I’m a single woman, after all. I should be mingling.”

I know flirting with Zane always leads to the same conclusion—I end up proving to myself once again just how much I like him. Yet I let him lock eyes with me, and despite the inner warning bells, I can’t resist the pull of his ocean-blue gaze.

“You want to mingle out there?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness and tension that wasn’t there before. I notice the subtle tightening of his jaw, his body tensing up involuntarily, as if the mere thought of me mingling with someone else is causing him physical pain.

“You have a problem with that?” I ask, unable to suppress a small grin, though I reign in the squeal that wants out. I’ve never seen him more attractive. Jealous Zane, well, where have you been all my life?

He grabs my hand, sending shocks through my entire body as he inches closer in the empty parking lot. The sun is setting and it’s casting the perfect shadow across his face, and when he opens his mouth, I feel his minty breath tingle down my neck as he gazes at me intently. “What about me? You never wanted to mingle with me,” he murmurs, his eyes full of desire.

A small gasp escapes my lips. Is Zane going to kiss me here and now? And if he is, am I going to let him? Everything in me wants to bridge the gap between us, but up to this point, I’ve regretted all the guys I’ve ever kissed. I definitely don’t want Zane to be another name on that list of regrets. I’m also completely done engaging in meaningless kisses and fleeting moments of passion. My future husband deserves more self-control than this. Kissing Zane would be far from forgettable; it would be a memory etched into my heart forever. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.

I yank myself out of the trance he put me in and say, “I’m a bridesmaid. I can’t be late.” With determination in my steps, I start walking up toward the reception venue. He tries to catch up, but not in the way of someone eager to accompany me. Maybe he felt it too, that electric tension between us.

Something was about to happen. Why didn’t he just go for it? Why did he give me time to think and then chicken out?

No, it’s not chickening out. It’s being realistic. I’m preventing another heartache.

I try to console myself with that thought, even as I can’t shake the curiosity of what it would have been like to kiss Zane.

29

Zane Ortiz

Pearl doesn’t hate me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I could sense it in the way her pulse quickened under my touch on her wrist and the way her breath caught in anticipation. The moment lingered, and I could tell she wanted the kiss as much as I did. If she had wanted to reject me, she would have done so swiftly. The expectant look she gave me is all that’s consuming my mind right now.

As I watch her dance with one of the groomsmen on the dance floor, she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but in his arms.

“You know, you could just go and ask her to dance,” Coach says, nudging me with a grin. I’m sitting with him and his family, as the only people I know here are in the bridal party—everyone else seems to be a rabid fan.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, shifting my eyes to glance at the couple on the dance floor. How could he tell who I was looking at? Duke cradles Kate’s head, and they both look like they’re in their own world.

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