Summer Attractions (27 page)

Had she hallucinated her fantasy? Gabe was standing in front of her, wearing a US men’s jersey and gazing at her with the kind of steady,
real
love that she’d swore she’d seen once or twice before.

Before, she’d always convinced herself that maybe he didn’t know, or maybe she’d even imagined it. Maybe she was even imagining it now.

The roar of the crowd and the announcer’s booming voice told her that the match was starting. The teams were taking the field. One of the most anticipated events of this Olympic Games and she couldn’t actually take her eyes off this asshole’s face, even though he was almost definitely a mirage produced by her broken heart.

“I was supposed to have lots of time. I was supposed to get here early and get you a drink, and pour my heart out,” Gabe said, shuffling past the four annoyed spectators between the stairs and his empty seat.

The
empty seat, Jemma reminded herself. It wasn’t
his
.

Even if he was actually here.

It seemed he definitely was because during the last foot, he must’ve tripped, because he suddenly pitched forward and nearly ended up in her lap, warm and solid and
real
.

“Why are you here?” she asked stupidly as he slid over into his seat with an apologetic smile. He’d not once taken his eyes off of her, and not once had that undeniable love wavered. Jemma’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t decide what she wanted to do more: call Kimber and yell at her or throw herself into his arms and let him apologize enough times that she ceased to care what he’d said.

“I love you,” he said, and even if the ridiculous noise of the crowd was at even unholier decibel, she would have heard him. The words were unmistakable, unmissable. They leveled her.

“I love you,” he repeated again, that look in his eyes verifying every word he said. “And if you could forgive me, I’d like to date you.” He hesitated. “Please.” He shot her a lopsided smile.

Jemma didn’t think she’d even
breathed
for a good thirty seconds. Maybe a minute.

“I know this is terrible timing. I meant to be here earlier. But I couldn’t get a cab.”

It was one of those moments when you could choose your words carefully or just open your mouth and let it all pour out. Jemma wasn’t sure there was even really a decision to make. “You’re here now,” she said, reaching over and twisting their fingers together. “Talk after the game?”

Gabe’s answering smile was brighter than the stadium lights. “You nervous?” he asked, gesturing toward the field. “This is a pretty big deal for the US team.”

Jemma shrugged. “Honestly, winning the silver is way better than anyone thought they could do. Also if they only win the silver, I might get a real shot at interviewing Julian Anderson, the goalie.”

“You’d get a shot regardless,” Gabe said loyally.

“It would still be really neat if they won,” she said. “Game-changing. So maybe I’m a bit more nervous than I thought.”

The game was tense, tenser than Jemma had ever anticipated, mostly because she hadn’t really been thinking
about it in terms of the actual match, she’d been so focused on how she could make it through without letting the thought of Gabe overwhelm her. But with Gabe next to her, clearly anxious himself over the result, Jemma discovered she actually cared.

The US men scored first, and as the crowd celebrated, she felt a little of the tension melt away, but then almost instantly, the German team turned up the tempo and dominated the rest of the half, scoring once and coming close many more times. By the end of the half, Jemma’s nails were bitten down to the quick and every muscle in her body felt tense.

“I’m not sure if it’s easier to be here for this or not,” Gabe laughed a little self-deprecatingly as they tried to stretch out in the tight seats. “This game is just
crazy
.”

And it got crazier in the second half, the Germans still pushing hard, trying to control the tempo. But the US men held strong, and Anderson made so many good saves that Jemma was already mentally writing the article in her head. If the US team could only score one more goal, they’d go down in history.

It wasn’t to be. They couldn’t create the right opportunity to score, and then with forty seconds left in the match, the Germans were awarded a penalty kick. The German kicking had, Gabe announced, more goals than any other German player under the age of twenty-five. Jemma didn’t know how he’d learned that, but she held her breath anyway as the German faced off against Julian Anderson, and then kicked a beauty of a shot right over his head.

After the shot that broke their hearts, the game ended about a minute later, 2-1. Gabe turned to Jemma with a disappointed smile. “Guess you might get that interview after all,” he said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it; she still did. She also didn’t want to be one of the mob hounding him for a comment after he gave up the second goal that lost them the game. It would be bad enough as it was.

She said as much to Gabe, and he shot her a shocked look. “You know you wrote one of your best articles about that archer guy who didn’t even win a medal.”

“I know,” Jemma said. “But this can wait.”

Gabe shook his head in disbelief. “Imagine that, a reporter not salivating over the bones of the losers. You’re wonderful.”

Jemma blushed and leaned over, kissing him before she could even remember that it had been days since she’d gotten to do that. It just felt right and natural. He must have agreed because he pulled her close to him, deepening the kiss even though they were still in the stands.

By the time they managed to detach their lips, the last of the crowd was trickling through the exits.

Jemma flushed. “Maybe we should go?” she asked, a little embarrassed and a lot happy that they’d managed to outstay just about everybody else.

Gabe stood up and held out his hand to her. “Lots of better places we could go, lots of other things we could be doing,” he said with a naughty smirk, and it was enough to make Jemma go hot all over with the collective memory of just how true that was.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs and went through the exit, the majority of the crowd had trickled out, the huge empty concourses littered with confetti and only a few janitors, trying to sweep up.

The crowd outside the stadium was . . . well, Jemma probably would have not-very-creatively described it as drunk and disorderly.

Jemma had never understood how mobs in the throes of victory could be even more destructive than anyone who had a legitimate beef with authority. She watched as police and private security edged close, and then retreated as she heard the harsh tinkling of glass breaking.

Gabe moved faster, tugging her insistently, making sure they stayed together. As they skirted around the edge, Gabe kept his hand securely clasped to hers, his body between the seething, belligerent mass and her own. She might’ve not been grateful for his protection every time, but she was that day, squeezing his firm grip even tighter. At the curb, he found a cab quickly, and she scooted in and let out the breath she’d been holding as it pulled away from what looked like an increasingly scary situation.

Jemma leaned back against the seat, glancing over at Gabe, who had tight lines around his eyes and mouth. He didn’t look happy at all. “Duncan’s going to be pissed that I didn’t stick around,” she admitted, though she knew telling Gabe that was likely like flashing red at a bull.

He ran a hand over his face and laughed dryly, with not much amusement. “Don’t tell me that,” he said.

Jemma shrugged. “You go around telling girls you love them, they’re liable to lose their brain-to-mouth filter with you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Is that so?” There was real amusement in his voice now. Jemma loved hearing it. Of all the reasons why she was incredibly happy that he’d told her how he felt, the sharp pang of vindication that she’d been right all along didn’t even hit the top ten, but she enjoyed it all the same.

She nodded and he scooted closer in the cab, his thigh brushing hers, the heat of him making her mouth go a little dry. “Nothing to say to me, then?” he asked, eyes sparkling. He knew, she didn’t doubt that one bit. After all, he was a detective; it was his job to discover the truth.

She gave him a bit of his own medicine and just smirked, practically a patented Gabriel Rocha maneuver.

He sat back in the seat and groaned a little. “You’re a menace,” he teased.

“And you like it.”

“I like just about everything about you,” he admitted softly, looking down at his hands as his fingers picked at a growing hole in the knee of his jeans. “That’s never happened before. Not for me.”

Jemma thought about it. Thought about replying with some quick retort, some sarcastic remark, something like,
I’m sure it’ll pass
. But the serious tone of his voice, the way he couldn’t quite meet her gaze, she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate the humor now. It was a big admission, and she needed to meet it with one of her own.

So she reached over, tangling her fingers with his again. She scooted closer and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “For me either,” she admitted softly, then hesitated. It had been big, accepting his love when he’d confessed it. It felt bigger to take the leap herself. She’d never done it before. Not with Colin. Not with
anyone
. It was terrifying, and she understood better how he could’ve been so scared and had tried to deflect with Nick when he’d tried to get too close to the truth.

“I love you too,” she finally said, so soft that she hoped he could hear her. She looked up at him, trying to confirm, and the look on his face was enough to prove it. Then he was cradling her face in his hands and kissing her and it felt like everything.

Gabe had the taxi driver drop them off at the beach instead of at the hotel. “This okay?” he said, as they climbed out of the cab and he thrust some bills through the passenger window. “I’m not ready to coop myself up quite yet. It’s nice out tonight.”

It
was
nice out, the sun setting across Guanabara Bay in a spectacular show of red and yellow and orange, the colors blazing across the sky. Jemma snapped a few pictures and they took a selfie, her lips pressed to his cheek, and she didn’t feel a single bit of guilt as she posted it to her social media. Colin would definitely see it, and he’d be happy for her, she knew.

There were quite a few texts waiting for her. There was a message from Kimber, a single winky face, and Jemma texted her back one word:
traitor.
Jemma added a heart eyes emoji for good measure then glanced up at Gabe, not wanting to spend more time on her phone now that he’d finally gotten his head out of his ass. But she knew several of the messages were from Duncan and Nick. They’d email if it wasn’t timely or important.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll go grab us some food and drinks. Find a bench, and we’ll eat.”

He pressed a kiss to her top of her head, long and lingering, like he could barely stand to let her go, now that they’d finally fixed things.

Jemma walked up and down the boardwalk, looking for an empty bench, but found they were all occupied by tourists appreciating the sunset. She finally headed for the beach, figuring they could sit out here one last time. She texted Gabe, letting him know where she’d ended up and then buckled down to read the messages from Nick and Duncan.

Like she’d expected, they’d heard about the mob scene at the stadium after the game, and both expressed their hope that she was okay and Duncan added that he knew she was busy but he thought it would be a great angle for a last article.

Unfortunately Jemma agreed. It was just the sort of angle she liked, and she already knew exactly how she’d write it. She’d already started composing it in her head, compiling a list of resources she’d need and info she’d need from the statistics bureau.

Gabe must have known it was coming because when he found her, his hands full of cardboard trays and cups, he wore a resigned expression.

“Let me guess,” he said as he settled down on the sand next to her. “I’m going to be losing you for the next twelve hours.”

She shot him an extremely apologetic look. “I can say no, you know,” she said.

“But you don’t want to say no,” he said steadily, no accusation whatsoever. No guilt. Nothing except the same thing he’d been giving her practically since the first day: support when she needed it. It was one of the reasons, Jemma realized, that she’d fallen in love with him. He wasn’t selfish. He never demanded her attention, only took what she was able to give and enjoyed every second of it.

“I don’t want to say no,” she admitted, picking at the empanadas he’d brought her, holding her breath a little. She thought
she knew what he might say, but it felt as if the first test of their relationship was coming sooner than she’d expected it might.

He smiled at her. “Then don’t say no. I’m fine. I’m perfectly okay with whatever. My girlfriend’s a famous journalist.” He shrugged. “It’d be stupid to be angry that god forbid, people want her to write articles.”

She couldn’t help but beam back. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Gabe gave an exaggerated shrug, eyes shining with the same happiness she felt. “Don’t tell her,” he teased, “she might not be too happy about it.”