The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 11

The coffee shop smelled like burnt beans and desperation, a bitter haze clinging to my apron as I wiped down the counter for the fifth time in an hour. The hum of the espresso machine buzzed in my skull, syncing with the dull ache in my legs, my body wrung out from the week’s grind—and from him.

Jace.

I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about him, that even as exhaustion weighed heavy in my limbs, my skin still hummed from his touch. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on me, his mouth, the way he looked at me, like I was something to be claimed, cherished. It was maddening. Infuriating. And worst of all, it made me ache for more.

But last night, when I had finally closed my eyes, it hadn’t been Jace’s hands I felt.

It had been his.

The nightmare had dragged me under fast—Callum’s voice was like a snare, his touch a brand I couldn’t escape. I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, my pulse thrashing against my ribs like I was still trapped in his grasp. And for a long, awful moment, I wasn’t sure where I was. If I had really escaped him.

If I was making the same mistakes all over again.

I should’ve been in my dorm, curled up in my bed—without Emma staring, obviously—cocooned in the kind of silence that let me forget. Instead, I was stuck here, trapped behind the chipped counter at Brewed Awakening, desperately trying to focus on anything other than the way Jace had wrecked me yesterday, the way my past was trying to claw its way back into my present.

But my body still remembered. His marks were still on my neck. His fingerprints were still visible on my hips.

And all my thoughts still kept circling back to him.

No amount of coffee or counter-wiping seemed to be enough to make it stop.

It should’ve been different.

Jace should have been different.

A guy like him wasn’t supposed to happen to me—not after everything. Not after Callum. And yet, here he was, relentless and unapologetic in the way he wanted me, in the way he looked at me like I was something worth chasing.

I should have let myself enjoy it. I should have let myself sink into the way he made me feel, the way his touch ignited something in me that had been numb for so long. But instead? I was fighting it. Pushing him away.

Because of Callum.

Because of the way he had twisted the meaning of touch, of love, of trust, until I didn’t know how to separate the poison from the pleasure.

Bitterness clawed up my throat, thick and relentless.

Jace was good. Jace was right. He was every fantasy I’d never let myself have—one I should have been drowning in, losing myself in. But I couldn’t. Not when the past still had its fingers wrapped around my throat, squeezing every time I started to breathe.

And that was his fault.

Callum had taken everything. He had filled my head with ideas about what I was worth, what I was meant for, and even now—even now—I could feel the shadow of his control stretching over me, keeping me from feeling this.

From feeling Jace.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the counter hard enough for my knuckles to ache.

I hated him for that.

For making me doubt every good thing in my life. For making me second-guess the one person who had never given me a reason to.

And yet, I couldn’t let it go.

Couldn’t let myself be happy.

Because when you spend a year learning that love comes with a price, you start assuming every touch comes with a debt.

Outside, Knoxville pulsed with pre-game energy—orange jerseys crowding the sidewalks, the roar of tailgate chatter rolling into the cafe every time the door opened. A week ago, I didn’t get the hype. Football had been nothing more than a game to me, an excuse for people to scream at a TV and paint their faces like war was coming. But now?

Now, I got it.

Because when you were sitting in that stadium, when you felt the ground shake beneath you as thousands of people lost their minds, when you saw a player break free and run—unstoppable, untouchable—yeah, you understood.

And one player in particular?

Jace Thatcher.

He wasn’t just hype. He played like he was born for it, like he had the world in his hands, and all he had to do was decide what to do with it. I knew nothing about football, but I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of him the entire game.

Not that I would be admitting that to him anytime soon. His head was already too big.

Just like another part of him…

The bell above the door jangled, snapping me out of my haze, and there he was—prowling toward me like he owned the place, all broad shoulders and messy blond hair, a Tennessee Tigers shirt stretched tight across his chest. His brown eyes locked on me, glinting with the unshakable certainty that twisted me up inside—half in irritation, half in something I was obsessed with but refused to name. My cheeks blushed automatically thinking of yesterday’s Jeep incident.

Gird your loins, Riley. Your vagina has been a hoochie mama, but that ends now.

I blinked at him as he came up in front of me, taking in how ridiculously gorgeous he was and having a bit of trouble with the whole girding thing.

“Morning, Mrs. Thatcher,” he drawled, leaning over the counter and getting way too close to me. My heart ached a little at his grin, and his voice, with its lazy Tennessee lilt, somehow managed to wrap around me like a warm breeze.

Those words, though…I wanted nothing to do with them.

“What can I help you with?” I said, trying to keep my tone brisk and business-like.

He grinned as if he could see right through me. “Although I should be the one getting you coffee, I would absolutely love a caramel macchiato, extra vanilla cold foam, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and if you could draw that little leaf thing on the top—I’d love that too.”

I gaped at him, my hand freezing mid-reach for a cup. “You want…what?” My voice came out a little incredulous, but who could blame me. Jace—who was six-foot-four inches of cocky football muscle—had just ordered what might be the girliest drink on the planet.

“You heard me,” he said with a wink, propping an elbow on the counter in a way that had me automatically admiring his bulging bicep…a real problem for sure. “I’m very secure in my masculinity, and it’s a known fact that everything is better with cold foam. Why settle for black tar when I can have the good stuff?”

He crooked his finger, and I automatically leaned in closer as if my chin was attached to his hand with a string.

“We’re both aware of the size of my cock, buttercup. It can take extra cold foam.”

I blinked again, heat creeping up my neck as I yanked my head away, fumbling with a cup. “You’re ridiculous,” I scoffed, my voice coming out far too breathy considering my girds were supposed to be loined—or whatever the correct way to say that was. His gaze caressed my skin as I somehow managed to combine the rest of the ingredients. Hopefully I was doing this right. It was a little difficult to concentrate when he was watching me like he wanted to eat me alive.

He’d smelled good. Why did he have to smell so good? My chest tightened with a cruel ache. Callum had been a cold shadow that had choked me the entire time I’d been with him. But Jace…Jace felt like a wildfire, burning too bright, too close, and I couldn’t help but feel the heat.

“Ridiculous is part of my charm, cupcake,” he said, sipping the air like he was already tasting his drink, his voice dropping flirty and low. “And while you’re at it, yes, I would love for you to be my date to the tailgate tonight. One shot, Riley St. James—me, you, whatever your choice of beverage is, and a whole lotta me looking cute for you. Thanks for asking me out, I accept.”

Callum’s voice filled my head.

“You’re not smart enough, not talented enough. For fuck’s sake, you’re not even pretty enough.” Callum let out a slow exhale, like he was disappointed in me. “Pathetic little thing, always trying so hard. But for what? You think anyone actually sees you?”

I slid the macchiato across the counter with a trembling hand as my dream from last night played through my head like a horror film. The cold foam was piled high with a pink sugar dusting that looked absurdly dainty for him, and I kept my eyes on it as I tried not to fall apart. “My answer hasn’t changed, Thatcher. You should take a hint. What we’re doing is just sex. That’s all.” My legs shook underneath me as a wave of exhaustion swept over my skin. I’d been pushing myself too hard lately, and it was constantly in the back of my mind that any day now…my body was going to revolt.

He took the cup, smirking like I’d handed him a golden ticket instead of a no. “I know we came to an understanding last night, Riley-girl—it’s not just sex. We both know that. I’m not willing to accept the ‘no’ when your eyes are screaming ‘yes’ so loudly. As well as all the other parts of you that have been…screaming so loudly lately.”

I blushed at his reminder of just how loud I’d been screaming last night.

“C’mon—one tailgate.” He took a sip of his drink, cold foam catching on his full Iip and somehow I caught my tongue licking along my own lip, like it was practicing to trace his. Jace’s gaze grew hungry as he watched me, and I was annoyed about how achingly hot he was.

Worthless. Weak. No one could love you but me.

Callum’s words stomped through my head reminding me…you couldn’t risk your heart on a man who shone like the sun…when you were just ash.

Jace didn’t move away from the counter. He just continued to sip his frilly drink, watching me like he’d already mapped every crack in my armor.

“Do you need something else?” I said, fiddling with my apron while trying to look everywhere but him.

“You’re making this very difficult, Riley St. James, aka Riley Thatcher, aka buttercup.” He set the cup down with an exaggerated sigh that made my lips twitch despite myself. “And you’ve left me with no choice.”

Before I could react, he hoisted himself onto the counter—a full sprawl, his legs dangling, his arms behind his head like he was lounging on a picnic blanket. My jaw dropped as his legs draped around the cookie containers, all while he grinned at me like some kind of lovesick fool. To make it even more outrageous…his abs were flashing—six ridges of tanned, sculpted muscle that seemed to gleam under the fluorescent lights like this was a commercial, and he’d just been oiled up. I stared.

Because how could I not?

Lust coiled in my belly, hot and unbidden. One thing I hadn’t done…taste those abs. I was suddenly desperate to trace all that skin with my tongue.

Why did he have to look like he’d been carved from every fantasy I’d ever had?

Jace took his sweet time lowering his arms, letting the shirt drape slowly back down, smirking like he knew exactly what he’d done to me by that little flash of skin. Customers seated at the tables froze, the guy that had been standing behind him actually had to lean over Jace’s body to order a flat white, glaring at me like this was my mess.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, my voice cracking as my eyes lingered on where his abs had been, my heart a frantic jumble. Jen, my boss, peeked out from the back…and then shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Someone needed to have a discussion with the student body at this school and let them know that football players weren’t actually gods.

I peeked back at the sliver of skin showing as Jace stretched out some more.

Okay…maybe he was a god. But this was unsanitary, at the very least.

“I’m staging a lay-in, baby doll,” he said, shifting like he was trying to get comfy, his voice all flirty velvet. “A la sixties vibes, Riley-style. I’m not moving until you say yes. Call it a protest against your stubborn streak, or a show for my favorite barista. Take your pick.”

“You’re insane,” I said for what must have been the millionth time since I’d met him, but my voice faltered, a laugh slipping free as my chest ached with want. My cheeks were burning from the fact that everyone in the store was staring at me. A woman reached over his legs for sugar, and I rubbed my temples, unsure of what to do.

I’d just ignore him. He couldn’t stay here forever.

Right?

I began wiping the counters…around his body, refilling sugars, grabbing milk…leaning over him for lids—all while he stayed here, watching me with that grin.

Fifteen minutes stretched like a lifetime, and unfortunately, my resolve started splintering at the seams.

“Move, asshole,” a guy demanded. Jace just winked.

A woman muttered, reaching over his legs for creamer; another glared as she ordered a chai tea, forcing me to stretch across his stupid abs again.

I finally snapped and threw my rag down.

“Fine—one party…or tailgate…or whatever it’s called. I’ll show up alone. No picking me up. No…nothing crazy…or I leave,” I told him, trying to ignore the butterflies going off in my stomach as we locked eyes.

A slow, sexy, victorious smile slid across his lips before he moved off the counter, his abs flexing again as his shirt came up, like somehow he was doing it on purpose. He leaned toward me, his eyes blazing like I’d handed him my soul. “Deal, Mrs. Thatcher,” he said, brushing off his jeans with a flourish. “You won’t regret this, Riley-girl. It’s going to be the best night of your life.”

“Doubtful,” I muttered, but my voice softened, and he caught it—his grin turning sweeter, melting me further. He tossed a twenty on the counter. “For the drink and the eye candy.” And sauntered out, leaving me staring after him, my chest a tangle of irritation and…yearning.

Fuck.

It kind of felt like I was falling.