The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 26

The email hit my inbox at exactly 8:04 a.m.

Subject: Academic Standing

Dear Ms. St. James,

Please report to the Administration Office at your earliest convenience regarding an urgent academic matter.

Best,

Dr. Elaine Morrison

Academic Affairs

I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting.

Nothing good ever came from being summoned by Academic Affairs.

I wasn’t failing—at least, not at the moment. Sure, I had missed those classes in the beginning of the semester, but I was finally getting caught up. Or, I thought I was.

Something felt off.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to move, shutting my laptop and shoving it into my bag. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away.

By the time I reached the Administration Office, my hands were ice cold, and my pulse was a drum in my ears.

I stepped inside, the scent of printer ink and too-strong coffee filling the space. The front desk attendant barely looked up before pointing to the office at the end of the hall.

“Dr. Morrison is expecting you,” she said.

I walked in on legs that didn’t feel like my own.

Dr. Morrison was already seated, her thin-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose as she sifted through a file. Her office was too neat, too sterile, the kind of space that gave bad news with a polite smile.

“Ms. St. James,” she greeted, gesturing toward the chair across from her desk. “Thank you for coming.”

I sat, gripping the armrests like they were my lifeline. “Is something wrong?”

She folded her hands over the file and sighed.

“There have been concerns raised about your academic performance this semester,” she said. “Particularly, your attendance early on.”

My stomach bottomed out.

“I know I missed a few classes at the start of the semester, but I’ve been keeping up⁠—”

Dr. Morrison lifted a perfectly manicured hand, silencing me. “Professor Westwood brought his concerns to our attention.”

Ice. Cold, unrelenting ice slid through my veins. I could barely hear her over the sound of blood roaring in my ears.

Callum.

He did this.

I forced myself to breathe, to school my face into something neutral, even as panic gripped me. “Concerns?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

She sighed again, flipping open my file. “Professor Westwood informed us that you’ve been struggling in his class, and that given your early semester absences, you’re at risk of falling behind.”

Every muscle in my body locked up.

Struggling? I wasn’t struggling in that class—at least not before Callum had taken it over.

But that wasn’t the point, was it?

The point was control.

The point was Callum making sure I couldn’t escape him.

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain that I was doing just fine, that Professor Westwood wouldn’t know how I was doing because I’d literally had one class with him, but she was already continuing on, flipping a page in the file like my fate was a formality.

“We take our students’ academic success very seriously, Ms. St. James,” she said. “Which is why we’re implementing an academic intervention plan for you.”

My pulse thundered in my skull.

“What does that mean?” I asked, though I already knew.

Dr. Morrison adjusted her glasses. “It means we’ve arranged for Professor Westwood to tutor you privately, effective immediately.”

My breath stalled.

My skin felt too tight, too hot, too suffocating.

“No,” I said immediately. “I don’t—I don’t need a tutor.”

Dr. Morrison gave me a look—the kind that told me she’d already made up her mind, and my opinion on the matter didn’t count. “Given your academic record, this is non-negotiable. Professor Westwood has generously volunteered his time, and we expect you to comply.”

Non-negotiable.

I gripped the armrests so hard my nails bit into the fabric.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

I shook my head. “I—there are other tutors, right? The campus tutoring center, peer tutors, someone else⁠—”

Dr. Morrison’s eyes sharpened. “Professor Westwood is highly qualified, and as your professor, he is the most suited to help you succeed in this course.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I was trapped.

Caught in his web, exactly where he wanted me.

“You will attend your scheduled tutoring sessions,” she continued. “Failure to do so could result in an academic hold being placed on your account.”

Academic hold.

A polite way of saying they could block me from registering for future classes.

He had me.

I could see it now, clear as day.

Callum had backed me into a corner. He’d gone to the administration, played the concerned professor, and now he had complete control over me.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I forced my face into something resembling compliance, because I knew how this game worked.

I had learned the hard way.

Dr. Morrison must have seen my acceptance because she nodded, closing my file with a crisp snap. “Good. You’ll receive your tutoring schedule by the end of the day.”

I stood, my legs barely holding me up.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. St. James,” she said, dismissing me like she hadn’t just handed me over to a monster.

I nodded stiffly, turned on autopilot, and walked out of the office.

I barely registered where I was going.

One second, I was pushing through the doors of the admin building. The next, I was standing outside, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

I needed air. I needed out.

I stumbled toward the nearest bench and sat, my entire body shaking.

I knew Callum was ruthless, but this?

This was a new level.

He’d done what he always did—made sure there was no way out. Made sure I had no choice but to sit across from him, week after week, knowing exactly what he was capable of.

My hands curled into fists.

I needed a plan. I needed to figure out a way to get out of this.

But how?

If I refused, my future was on the line.

If I complied, I was handing myself over to him.

I couldn’t win.

The realization crashed over me like a wave of nausea.

I wrapped my arms around myself, hating the way my body still shook.

Somewhere in the distance, the bell tower rang, signaling the start of the next class. Students milled past, laughing, talking, completely oblivious to the war raging inside me.

Callum had me exactly where he wanted me.

And I had no way out.

The door creaked open, and I felt it before I even saw him—the shift in the air, the quiet intensity that followed him like a shadow.

I kept my eyes on the ceiling, my pulse a slow, steady thrum beneath my skin, even as my body hummed with the awareness of him. The weight of his stare pressed against me, heavy and unrelenting.

Then, his voice—low, hushed, threaded with concern.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Jace murmured.

I swallowed, forcing my expression into something neutral before turning my head toward him. He was standing in the doorway, his long hair damp from a post-practice shower, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his Henley. His brown eyes flickered in the dim light of the bedside lamp, scanning me like he could read the wreckage inside me if he looked hard enough.

I should have known he’d notice. Jace wasn’t the kind of man you could hide things from.

I exhaled softly, shifting against the pillow. “I got called into the Academic Affairs office today.”

His brows furrowed, and in one fluid motion, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “For what?”

I hesitated, a weight pressing against my ribs. “Academic concerns.”

His expression twisted into confusion. “What? But your grades are fine.”

That made me pause.

I lifted a brow. “And how exactly do you know that?”

Something flickered across his face, too fast to catch, too fleeting to decode.

Then he schooled his expression, casual, easy, but there was something off—something tense beneath the surface.

“You’ve mentioned it,” he said after a beat, but his voice had shifted, like he was testing the excuse as he said it.

I didn’t argue. Because, right now, it honestly didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the way he was looking at me—the way he always looked at me. Like I was something fragile but untouchable, something wild but his to protect.

Jace pushed off the doorframe and stalked toward the bed with slow, measured steps. He sank down beside me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and he didn’t speak.

He just waited.

For me to tell him the truth. For me to trust him with it.

But I still couldn’t bring myself to do it.

So instead, I did something reckless. Something desperate.

I reached for him.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and before he could react, before I could think better of it, I kissed him, panicked and frantic, like I needed him to tether me before I drifted into the abyss.

Jace made a noise of surprise against my lips, but he didn’t hesitate.

His hands came up, rough and warm and grounding, framing my face as he kissed me back, consuming me, like he was trying to pull every unspoken word from my tongue.

I climbed into his lap without thinking, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips, my hands threading through his damp hair as his fingers dug into my waist.

I didn’t want to think.

I didn’t want to feel the way Callum’s presence was crawling under my skin like poison.

I wanted this. Wanted Jace.

His touch, his warmth, the way he always made me feel like I was something worth protecting.

His grip tightened, his lips parting like he was about to say something, but I beat him to it, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“Do you mean it?” I whispered against his mouth, breathless, desperate.

His fingers flexed against my skin at my question, his lips hovered over mine, just an inch away.

“When you say always. Do you mean it?”

Jace pulled back just enough to look at me, really look at me.

His warm brown eyes—wild and molten in the soft glow of the lamp—searched mine, trying to piece together what was unraveling inside me. Then, he exhaled, the sound rough, raw, like it physically hurt him that I even had to ask. He reached up, brushing his knuckles along my jaw, a touch so tender it nearly broke me.

“Riley.”

His voice was deep and steady, but there was an edge to it, something fierce, something unshakable. “Always isn’t something I just say.”

My throat tightened.

“But—”

He cut me off.

“No.” His grip on my waist tightened, like he could physically hold me together, keep me from slipping away into whatever storm was raging inside my head. “You don’t get to doubt that. Not with me.”

His other hand found the back of my neck, his thumb brushing soothing circles against my skin, his hold firm but gentle, like he was tethering me to this moment.

I closed my eyes, swallowing down the lump in my throat, willing my body to believe him.

But Callum’s voice still echoed in my ears.

“You think you can leave me, darling?”

A shudder raked through me, and Jace felt it.

Of course he did.

Because Jace Thatcher didn’t just see me.

He felt me.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath fanning across my lips.

“You’re mine, Riley,” he murmured, soft, but so damn sure. “Not because I own you, not because I control you, but because you are the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. And I’m never letting you forget that.”

My chest constricted so painfully I thought I might break apart right there in his arms.

“Jace—”

“No.” His hand slid to my cheek, tilting my face up until our eyes locked again. “No running, Riley. No second-guessing me. If I say always, I fucking mean it.”

Something cracked open inside me—something deep, something terrifying and warm and devastating all at once.

A breath hitched in my throat, and without thinking, I kissed him again—slower this time, softer, like I was memorizing the shape of his lips, like I was imprinting the feel of him onto my skin.

Jace groaned low in his throat as his arms wrapped around me. His hands splayed across my back…his hold became an unspoken vow.

Mine. Always.

Jace kissed me again, slower, deeper, like he was trying to erase every doubt, every fear still lingering beneath my skin. His hands were warm, steady, moving down my back, over my hips, before gripping my thighs and guiding me back onto the bed.

I let him.

Because I needed this.

I needed him.

The weight of him pressed against me, solid and familiar, as his lips traced a slow, burning path down my throat. I arched into him, my breath hitching when his teeth grazed my collarbone, when his hands roamed like he was memorizing me all over again.

“Jace…”

He hummed, the sound low and knowing, vibrating against my skin as he pushed my shirt up until I was bare beneath him. His hands skated down my stomach, his mouth following, leaving kisses that weren’t just kisses but promises—soft, reverent, possessive.

His fingers hooked into my leggings, dragging them down slowly, teasingly, until I was left in nothing but lace. His hands settled on my thighs, spreading me open, his breath hot against the sensitive skin.

“You know why I love doing this?” he murmured, his voice like warm whiskey and sin, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tangling in the sheets as my body automatically arched for him…reached for him.

“Why?” I breathed.

He kissed higher. Too slow. Too soft. His tongue flicked out, teasing, making me whimper.

“Because you fall apart for me.” His brown eyes burned as he glanced up. “Because I can feel you. Every shiver. Every sigh. Every time you gasp my name like you can’t help it.”

And then he kissed me there.

A slow, soft press of lips, before his tongue parted me, licking through my slick folds with a lazy, devastating stroke. My breath hitched, a sharp, startled sound, and Jace made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me open like he wasn’t planning on letting me go anytime soon.

I was already trembling.

Already lost.

His tongue flicked over my clit, gentle, teasing, before sucking it into his mouth, and I nearly came off the bed.

“You’re a god at this,” I gasped, immediately embarrassed that those words had come out of my mouth.

Jace laughed against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure spiraling through me. “I prefer Jace, but I’ll take it.”

I barely had time to glare at him before he buried his face deeper, licking and sucking with slow, torturous precision, his hands gripping my hips to keep me from squirming.

“Jace—” My voice broke on his name, my thighs trembling against his shoulders.

He growled, deep and low, like my voice alone could unravel him.

“Yeah, Riley-girl. Just like that.”

He slid one finger inside me, slow and deep, curling just right, and I gasped, my hips jerking, desperate for more, more, more.

“Jace, please⁠—”

“I got you, babycakes,” he promised, adding another finger, his tongue working my clit in tight, perfect circles, pushing me higher…

Until I shattered.

My body arched, my hands flying to his hair, my mouth falling open on a strangled cry.

Jace groaned against me, licking me through it, dragging it out until I was trembling, spent, barely able to breathe.

Only then did he pull back, his lips slick, his eyes burning as he crawled up my body.

He kissed me slowly, letting me taste myself on his tongue, like he wanted me to know exactly how much he loved wrecking me.

I clutched his face, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him, needing him to take me completely.

“I need you,” I whispered, my voice raw with desperation, my nails sinking into his shoulders as his thick length throbbed against my stomach through his sweats.

Jace groaned, the sound dark and wrecked, his forehead pressing against mine as he shoved his pants down, his cock springing free, hot and heavy as he dragged the tip along my slick heat and lined himself up with agonizing precision.

“You sure, baby?”

I nodded.

He exhaled, a shaky, reverent sound.

And then⁠—

He pushed inside me, sinking into me inch by inch, until there was nothing left between us.

I gasped as I drowned in the feeling of him.

“Fuck, Riley,” he groaned against my mouth. “I’ll never get enough.”

He stilled, his body taut with restraint as he gave me a second to adjust to the enormous shaft that had just taken over my insides.

I kissed him, slow and deep, rolling my hips up, a silent plea for more—needing him, needing this. My fingers curled against his back, pressing him closer, desperate for the friction, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of him.

“Move, Jace,” I whispered against his lips, my voice breathless, needy.

And he did.

His thrusts were deep and controlled, like he was savoring every second. His forehead pressed against mine, his hands roaming, gripping, caressing, like he couldn’t decide which part of me to hold onto the tightest.

“Mine,” he murmured against my lips. “Every fucking inch of you.”

I moaned, arching into him, matching his rhythm, meeting every thrust, every movement, feeling him everywhere.

It was slow. It was intense. It was everything.

He kissed me through every moan, every gasp, every quiet cry of his name.

And then—he shifted, angling his hips just right, and I shattered again, my body tensing, then releasing all at once.

Jace let out a low, guttural groan, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate as he chased his release. His breath came in hot, unsteady bursts against my skin, his grip on my hips tightening like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between us.

And then, as if the need to claim me wasn’t enough, as if he had to remind me that I was his in every way, he softened—his movements slowing, his lips seeking me.

He pressed his forehead to mine, his lips skimming over my temple and my cheek before finally capturing my mouth in a slow, lingering kiss—like he needed to taste me, to keep me close. His arms tightened around me, holding me like I was something rare, something he’d never let go of.

Like I was the most precious thing in the world.

I shivered as he tucked me against his chest, his heartbeat a wild, erratic drum against my skin.

Neither of us spoke.

There was no need.

Because this?

This was everything.