The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 15

I stood in front of my closet; the door creaked open wider than my resolve, my hands hovering over hangers like I could will the perfect outfit to jump out at me. Jace’s game was in an hour, and Casey and Natalie were meeting me there, which felt life-saving, because the thought of sitting alone in that massive stadium made my stomach twist into a nervous little knot.

But what was I supposed to wear? Jace seemed to think I was hot no matter what I was wearing—case in point, my hoodie at the bonfire. But I kind of wanted to dress cute for once. The only UT apparel I had was from freshman orientation, and it was three sizes too big and fit like a tent. I chewed my lip, shaking my head as I reached out to grab it anyway.

Then I saw it…tucked between my cardigan and a pair of leggings, hanging there bold and smug like it owned the place. Jace’s jersey. Orange and white, oversized, his number 77 stitched in block letters, his last name—Thatcher—sprawled across the back in a way that felt like a claim I hadn’t agreed to yet.

I blinked, my hand freezing mid-reach, and I let out a soft, exasperated huff, rolling my eyes so hard I almost saw stars.

How did he even get it in here?

I hadn’t seen him since yesterday, when he’d dropped me off after class with that stupid, perfect grin, and I definitely hadn’t invited him to sneak into my dorm and play wardrobe fairy.

But there it was, staring me down, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at my lips, the way my heart did a quick, fluttery skip despite myself. Jace Thatcher had a way of worming into my life, and I was starting to just…accept it.

I pulled it off the hanger and held it up, my nose wrinkling as I debated. It smelled faintly of him—pine, sexy musk, that warm Jace-ness that made my cheeks heat—and I sighed, tossing it onto my bed. Fine. I’d wear it. Not because he’d planted it here. Okay, maybe a little because of that…but because it was easy, and maybe it would be alright to…give in for once.

I tugged it on over a white tank top, paired it with my favorite jeans, and yanked my fingers through the waves in my hair as I glanced in the mirror. The jersey swallowed me, the sleeves dangling past my elbows, his name huge across my shoulders, but…it looked cute.

I rolled my eyes again, muttering, “You win this one, Thatcher,” under my breath.

A sudden knock rattled my door, and I jumped.

“Riley! Open up, woman!” Natalie’s voice burst through, loud and bright, followed by a softer, “C’mon, we’re on a mission.” That had to be Casey. I lifted an eyebrow. I was supposed to meet them at the stadium, had I mixed up the plan? Hurrying over, I flipped the lock, and the door swung open to reveal Natalie bouncing on her toes, her blonde hair a wild halo, orange streaks painted on her cheeks like war stripes. Casey leaned against the frame dressed in a Parker Davis jersey, hands in her pockets, her silver eyes calm but tinged with that quiet solemnness I’d noticed at the tailgate party.

“Hi? I thought we were meeting at the game?” I asked.

“Change of plans!” Natalie chirped, shoving past me into the room, her energy filling the tiny space like a glitter bomb. She spun around, hands on her hips, and grinned at Jace’s jersey. “Oh my gosh, yes! Look at you, rocking the Thatcher vibe! He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees this.”

Casey stepped in slower, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Jace told us to come get you,” she said.

Natalie made quotation signs with her hands. “He said to make sure his love muffin showed up at all costs. His words, not mine, obviously. I would have used sexy beast or something much better than love muffin.”

Casey snorted, grinning at Nat.

I blinked, a flush creeping up my neck. “He—what?” I squeaked, my hands fidgeting with the jersey’s hem. “I was already going!”

“Psh, he wasn’t taking chances,” Natalie cut in, flopping onto my bed like she owned it, her legs kicking in the air. “He’s, like, obsessed with you, Ri. He told us yesterday after practice—” Her voice dropped into a low growl that sounded nothing like Jace. “‘Get her there. I don’t care how, just do it.’ So, here we are!” She grinned, wild and unapologetic, and I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that slipped out, even as my stomach did a wild flip.

Casey leaned against my desk, examining the poster that Emma had hung over her wall, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder. “These No Drama Llamas tend to be pushy,” she said with a grin. “But they mean well. Mostly.” Her eyes flickered to mine, and I got the distinct impression she was thinking of a specific situation I knew nothing about.

“I think we should change the group name to that Inner Sanctum one. It sounds much cooler,” Natalie mused as she went through my closet like she was trying to see if I had anything she wanted to borrow—spoiler alert, I didn’t.

“Group name?” I asked as I grabbed my school ID and some lip gloss off my dresser.

Natalie’s eye roll was so epic I decided I needed to learn it. “Jace seems to think we need a group name. No one else agrees, but it’s Jace, so we go along with it. What do you think our group name should be?”

“Oh, I—don’t know. I mean, that’s up to you guys,” I said shyly.

Casey slid her arm through mine suddenly. “You are in the group, Riley,” she said gently. “Welcome to the No Drama Llamas.”

Natalie whooped and linked her arm through my other one. “We think you got a lot of potential Riley St. James, don’t let anybody tell you any different.”

I grinned. “Pretty Woman.”

“See! Inner Sanctum material right there for knowing my favorite movie.”

The girls dragged me out the door, and the walk to the stadium was a blur of girl talk, the late afternoon air crisp and sharp with fall. Natalie led the charge, her voice bouncing off the trees lining the path. “So, Ri, spill—how’s it going with Jace? Like, are we talking full-on boyfriend vibes yet, or is he still in the ‘I’m gonna charm her ’til she caves’ phase?” She wiggled her brows, her orange nail polish glinting as she waved her hands.

I laughed, soft and shy, my cheeks heating. “I don’t know,” I admitted, tugging my cap lower. “He’s calling me his girlfriend. But he’s…a lot. It’s nice, though. He’s nice.” My voice dipped, almost a whisper.

“And hot,” Natalie responded helpfully.

I had an image of how he’d woken me up when I’d spent the night this week, his head in between my thighs.

Yes, very hot.

Natalie smirked as if she could read my mind.

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” Casey murmured. “All that attention. Parker’s the same way with me.” Her eyes met mine, steady and kind.

“All that attention.” Natalie rolled her eyes again, bumping Casey’s shoulder. “You mean absolutely unhinged. Because Parker and Jace definitely have that going on.” Natalie’s grin was infectious. “Seriously, though, he’s, like, a smitten kitten, Ri. I love this for you.” She sighed. “I need to talk to my fairy godmother about the fact that the only football player I found was a cheating cockface.” She muttered something that sounded a little bit like, that’s all I deserve, and I cocked my head, noting an edge of sadness in her gaze, a faint cloud I couldn’t quite read.

“At least you had a chance to show off what a badass you are. You’re practically famous now,” offered Casey.

Natalie’s face regained its smug, confident grin. “We believe in retribution in the No Drama Llamas. Hunter’s just lucky I punched him in the face and not the dick.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, but I was still smiling as I listened to them, loving this feeling of…belonging.

Jace’s group was really good at that.

Jace was really good at that.

By the time we made it to the stadium, the energy in the air was a living thing, buzzing and crackling with excitement. The towering stands were already packed with fans decked out in orange and white, their voices a dull roar beneath the fight song blaring through the speakers.

Casey led the way, weaving effortlessly through the crowd as Nat clutched my wrist, dragging me behind her like an eager golden retriever. We maneuvered past the student section, heading lower, closer—so much closer—to the field than I expected.

A prickle of familiarity crawled up my spine.

My feet slowed as we reached the seats, my stomach twisting when I realized where we were. The same seats Tasha had taken me to the last game. Right up front.

“Wait.” I glanced between them, suspicion creeping in. “How did you guys get these seats?”

Casey shrugged like it was no big deal. “Parker usually hooks us up. But these ones?” She grinned. “Jace.”

Nat nudged me with a smirk, her eyes gleaming. “Jace wanted to make sure you had the best view of him. Again, his words, not mine. He’s nothing if not considerate.”

I blinked, my brain struggling to catch up.

Jace.

Jace, who had once again gone out of his way to orchestrate another crazy thing.

The realization hit like a slow, warm flood in my chest. That sneaky, manipulative, insufferable⁠—

I shook my head in mock exasperation, but I couldn’t fight the way my lips twitched up, the way my stomach flipped in that dangerous, weightless way that only he could cause.

I was swooning.

Like, full-on, stomach-floating, heart-squeezing, brain-melting swooning.

God help me.

“I’m just happy to be along for the ride when y’all’s men get you such prime football real estate,” Natalie declared, flopping into her seat, kicking her legs over the railing like she owned it. She undid the lid to her water bottle, taking a dramatic sip, then grinned. “Told you—he’s got it bad.”

Casey sat beside me, stretching her legs out, her hands clasped in her lap. “Natalie considers herself Tennessee’s biggest fan,” she said, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“I don’t consider it, I know I am,” Natalie retorted. I giggled softly, but my attention was on the field. Watching a certain football player who’s golden hair was peeking from under his helmet.

My heart skipped, my hands tightening on the armrests, and I leaned forward, watching…my boyfriend showing off on the field.

A warmth bloomed in my chest despite the nervous flutter. The crowd roared louder, the drums kicked up, and I couldn’t look away, caught in the glow of him, wondering what he’d do next.

The game began, and I could barely keep up with what was happening on the field. But every time Jace exploded across the turf, my stomach clenched, my breath catching in my throat. The way he moved, powerful and controlled, sent a thrill through me that had nothing to do with the game itself.

A burst of excited squeals erupted around me as the kiss cam flashed onto the giant screen above the field. The camera panned across the stadium, zeroing in on unsuspecting couples, each reaction more entertaining than the last. Casey and Nat immediately perked up, elbowing each other and giggling as they watched the awkward, sweet, and sometimes downright hilarious kisses play out. Some played along, kissing sweetly while the crowd cheered. Others got caught in awkward situations—one girl straight-up rejected the guy next to her, causing an entire section of the stadium to howl with laughter.

“Fuck, yes,” Natalie wheezed. “That guy just went in for a kiss and got denied. That’s what I like to see.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, nodding wisely. “You have to make them work for it.”

I laughed, shaking my head as another couple popped up on the screen—an older man and woman who, despite looking a little shy, kissed to the roaring approval of the fans.

Casey nudged me. “See, football is fun.”

Natalie scoffed, looking offended. “This is not football,” she said primly. “This is human suffering in action.”

Casey shook her head in amusement.

Another round of couples flashed on the screen, the camera lingering on a guy who had been sitting next to a woman clearly not interested in him. The second she turned her head and started talking to someone else, the entire stadium booed him.

I was mid-laugh when the camera panned again⁠—

And landed on me.

I froze.

Natalie sucked in a sharp breath, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Oh, shit,” Casey whispered.

I barely had time to process the collective cheers that erupted around us before the camera zoomed in like it knew exactly what it was doing.

My mouth opened, shaking my head furiously. No. No, no, no. This was not happening.

Casey and Natalie were dying.

The camera wasn’t moving.

“Seriously,” I hissed, turning toward them. “Do something!”

“Like what?” Casey giggled. “Kiss you?”

I shot her a glare, my face blazing as I turned back toward the screen. Still there. I shook my head again, trying to silently convey move on, please move on. But that only seemed to encourage the crowd, because the noise escalated, the whole stadium feeding off my embarrassment.

I was seconds away from sinking into the concrete when the screams suddenly intensified.

Like the entire stadium had collectively lost its mind.

I frowned. What was going on?

And then I saw him.

Charging straight off the field. Helmet off. Mouthguard gone. Number 77. Jace Thatcher.

My stomach dropped.

“What is he doing?” I choked out, hands flying to my face.

Jace leapt up on the railing in front of us. His golden hair was damp with sweat, his eyes locked right onto mine with deadly intent.

A whole stadium full of people screamed, chanted his name, and lost their damn minds.

I just sat there, completely paralyzed.

This was not happening.

And then it was.

Jace grabbed me by the back of my neck and kissed me senseless.

The world shattered. My brain short-circuited.

His lips crashed against mine with a ferocity that left me gasping, his fingers threading into my hair like he was trying to own me completely. I barely had time to react before he tilted my chin, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding with mine in a way that sent fire straight through my veins.

A thunderous roar exploded around us.

People were screaming. Chanting. Whistling.

None of it mattered.

Because Jace. Jace, Jace, Jace.

The heat of his body, the grip of his hands, the absolute certainty behind every movement—I was drowning in him. His mouth moved against mine like he was starving for this. For me. Like he had wanted this for years. Like he needed me more than air.

I melted into him, clutching his jersey, letting him consume me.

I felt everything in that kiss.

Possession. Obsession. A promise.

By the time he finally pulled back, I was dizzy, my lips swollen, my entire body wrecked. Jace stared up at me, breathless. His eyes burned, his fingers tightening around my jaw like he couldn’t believe I was real.

The stadium was still screaming, but I could barely process any of it.

Because Jace. Jace was looking at me like I was his entire world. “I’ve got one for you,” he grinned, leaning forward so his lips brushed against mine once again.

“What is it?” I asked, an answering smile already forming on my face, noting that his eyes were a little dazed looking, like he was just as affected by this as I was.

“What has two butts and kills people?”

“Ummm.”

“An assassin.”

I snorted, pressing my mouth against his for one more quick kiss because he made me so happy.

And then, because he was Jace, he did the most ridiculous thing imaginable. Somehow balancing on the railing, he raised his fists in the air like he had just won the Super Bowl, and then he jumped off the railing, back on the field and he…danced.

A whole-ass victory dance. Complete with hip thrusting that was definitely targeted at me.

The crowd went absolutely feral.

I gawked at him, still trying to get oxygen back into my lungs.

Before I could finish, Jace turned straight toward the camera, grinning like he had zero regrets about what just happened.

And then—he shouted it. Into a microphone. On live television.

“I’M OBSESSED WITH RILEY ST. JAMES.”

The stadium erupted.

I thought the place had been loud before. But I was wrong.

Because now? Now, it was chaos.

Cameras zoomed in on my mortified expression, broadcasting my humiliation to a national audience.

And Jace? Jace looked so proud of himself. Like he had planned this entire thing.

Which—knowing him? Was not out of the question.

A furious roar from the sidelines broke through the moment. I glanced over and saw a guy—I assumed was one of the team’s coaches—wearing a headset, his face nearly purple, veins bulging in his neck as he pointed an accusatory finger at Jace and barked something unintelligible.

Jace winced.

Nat snorted. “He’s in so much fucking trouble.”

Casey grinned. “Worth it.”

Jace winked at me before—finally—trotting back to the sidelines, completely unapologetic.

“Chill, Coach. I was just—” He jerked his head toward me. “Making the right play.”

I groaned.

I was so, so screwed.