The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 27

I was in my happy place, lying next to a very naked Riley, her warm body tucked against mine, her slow, even breaths ghosting against my collarbone. She was actually sleeping soundly, and I was not about to mess with that.

Which, obviously, meant something was about to ruin it.

Buzz. Buzz.

I cracked one eye open, barely lifting my head from the pillow as I reached over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.

Unknown Number.

I swiped it open.

I stared, then contemplated throwing my phone at the wall and pretending I never saw it.

This would also be noted in my comment card to the Sphinx because they should have better timing than this. Naked soulmates were a line that should not be crossed.

Rubbing a hand down my face, I blew out a breath. I didn’t need a second text to know that ignoring them would only lead to something worse. Like them dragging me out of bed themselves. Or worse, waking up Riley. Which would probably lead to jail time on my part, and I was way too pretty for prison.

I glanced at the babycakes in question. She hadn’t stirred, blissfully unaware that I had been summoned by the secret society from hell. Her face was soft and peaceful, her hair fanned out on my pillow like a fucking wet dream. A dream I really didn’t want to leave.

Sighing, I pressed a kiss to her forehead before grudgingly slipping out of bed and grabbing the sweats I’d thrown on a chair earlier today, along with a pair of shoes. At least I had the opportunity to be dressed for this fun adventure. That was an improvement to waking up practically naked on a rooftop.

Maybe I’d note that in my comment card as well.

I walked through the house, grabbing a bag of cookies as a to-go snack as I silently cursed the Sphinx and their obsession with making my life as inconvenient as possible.

When I stepped outside, the cold night air hit me like a slap as I glanced around for some masked weirdo.

And then I saw it.

A black sedan idling in front of the house, its headlights off, its trunk…open.

I paused and tilted my head, questioning the eternities. Then I slowly turned my gaze toward the masked driver sitting behind the wheel.

“Seriously?” I called, shoving my hands into my pockets.

No response.

Just silence and the gaping, open trunk.

I let out a deep, soul-weary sigh.

“All right, let’s break this down, buddy. You text me from a random number in the middle of the fucking night, drag my ass out here in the cold, and now you expect me to willingly climb into the trunk?”

Still nothing.

Just the faintest twitch of the driver’s head.

I groaned, rolling my shoulders.

“Do you know how inconvenient this is for me? Do you? Because I just got her to sleep. I was having a perfectly nice moment in there. And now, instead of getting laid or sleeping like a normal human being, I’m out here contemplating whether or not I want to end up murdered or not.”

Silence.

I exhaled through my nose, tilting my head up toward the sky.

“Fine,” I muttered, already knowing I was going to do it. “Fuck, I hate this club.”

I trudged toward the car, dragging my feet just to be petty. When I got to the trunk, I glanced inside.

Dark. Empty. Literally the perfect murder setup.

“Just so we’re clear,” I said, looking back toward the driver. “If this is some kind of murder plot, I hope you know I’ll haunt the hell out of you. I’ll be terrifying, knocking over glasses, and whispering creepy shit in your ear forever.”

Still fucking nothing.

“I love this for me,” I muttered as I climbed in.

A moment later, the trunk slammed shut.

And just like that, I was off to my latest terrible decision. But at least there wasn’t a blindfold involved this time.

I woke up groggy as hell. Which, given the circumstances, was probably not a good thing.

My head was foggy, my limbs felt like lead, and there was a distinct lack of oxygen in my life.

For a second, I had no fucking clue where I was. Then reality came back in bits and pieces.

The Sphinx. The masked driver. The fucking trunk.

And then—oh, yeah. I inhaled a decent amount of gas fumes before I passed out.

Fantastic. There goes my big brain.

Through my half-conscious state, I realized that the car had stopped. The faint hum of an engine was gone, and somewhere in the distance, I heard…wind? Rustling leaves? Definitely not civilization.

The trunk had been popped open.

Which meant either they were letting me out, or they had finally decided to finish the murder they’d been subtly working up to.

I blinked, trying to clear the probable brain damage I just acquired, before pressing my palms against the trunk’s interior and shoving it all the way open. Cold air rushed in, hitting me right in the face.

I squinted, blinking blearily against the sudden darkness that stretched in every direction. Woods. I was in the middle of the fucking woods.

A sigh left my lips, part exhaustion, part deep-seated annoyance at the constant and utter disregard for my comfort.

I groaned, sitting up and swinging my legs out of the trunk, taking a second to assess the bullshit.

Tall trees towered around me, their jagged limbs clawing at the sky, completely void of streetlights, roads, or anything remotely resembling an exit. Nothing but a dirt path behind the car and the ominous feeling that I was very much alone.

Well, aside from whoever the hell drove me here.

Speaking of…

I turned toward the driver’s seat, ready to ask what fresh hell they had in store for me now. Except—the car was empty.

I squinted. Then checked again. Still empty.

My ride had fucked off into the night without a single explanation.

Because, of course.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ward off the incoming headache that was already forming.

All right.

Waking up in a gas-induced coma inside a trunk in the middle of nowhere? Not ideal.

The fact that I was now completely alone with zero clue what I was supposed to be doing?

Definitely worse.

“Cool,” I muttered to myself, standing up and stretching out my very kidnapped limbs. “I’ll also be noting this in my feedback.”

I pulled my cookies from my pocket and started to eat them as I took a slow, assessing look around, my shoes crunching against the dirt as I turned in a slow circle.

No lights.

No signs.

No cryptic Sphinx assholes waiting with a neatly typed-out here’s what’s about to ruin your life instruction sheet.

Just…the forest.

And the fact that the only thing I had going for me was my sheer stubborn refusal to die like a freaking squirrel.

A rustle behind me sent a sharp shock through my spine.

I whirled around, fists clenched.

I told myself it was just the wind. Just an animal. A raccoon, maybe. A deer, if I was lucky. Something non-murdery.

Except…it didn’t feel like something.

It felt like someone.

Watching.

“Don’t let us get you, Thatcher,” a voice suddenly cut through the silence, distorted and mechanical, warped by a voice changer. “Run.”

I waited. Breathless. Tensed for whatever came next.

A beat of silence.

Then—laughter.

Low. Amused. Hungry.

The kind of sound a predator makes before it pounces.

My stomach clenched. My pulse thrummed. And then, I did exactly what the voice ordered…because I wasn’t a fucking idiot.

I ran.

The uneven forest floor snagged at my shoes, roots jutting from the dirt like tripwires. I leapt over a fallen log, my foot slipping on wet leaves before I caught myself and shoved forward again.

Branches clawed at my skin, leaving thin, stinging cuts on my arms.

Then—a metallic crack split the night air.

My body jerked on instinct, muscles screaming for cover.

What the fuck was that?

And why couldn’t I hear crickets? Where the fuck were the crickets? Or the squirrels? Give me a deer or something!

How had they managed to replace the creepiest forest in all of Tennessee?

Or at least, I assumed I was in Tennessee.

Laughter echoed through the trees again.

I jumped.

And not just any kind of laughter.

Clown laughter. The distinct, nightmarish kind. The kind on Emma’s poster.

And then it wasn’t distant anymore.

It was closer.

I was being hunted. By clowns. Of fucking course.

A whizzing sound zipped past my ear. I flinched, twisting mid-stride—just in time to see pink paint explode against a tree trunk beside me.

I blinked. Paint?

They were hunting me with paintball guns?

I snorted.

Because now, all I could picture was a group of Sphinx members in ski masks, sprinting through the woods, giggling like gremlins as they tried to snipe me with Dollar Store warfare.

If Matty, Parker, and I actually made it into this society, we were revamping their trial system immediately.

A second shot whizzed past me, closer this time, nearly grazing my shoulder.

Okay. Less funny.

I ducked, rolling under a low-hanging branch, my muscles burning. This extra workout wasn’t ideal, if I was being honest.

The trees were thinning ahead—maybe, probably, hopefully. Then, a faint sound reached me, low but steady—an engine.

A car.

I veered toward it, ignoring the sharp sting of a branch slashing across my cheek as I pushed forward. The forest spat me out onto asphalt, my boots skidding slightly against the rough pavement.

A weak street lamp flickered in the distance, casting a dim, stuttering glow over the road. And just beyond the curve ahead, I saw it—a gas station, glowing faintly, a beacon of questionable salvation.

Then—headlights.

A car barreled toward me, cutting through the dark. My stomach clenched, but I stumbled forward anyway, throwing up an arm, hoping like hell they saw me in time because being hit by a car wasn’t on my approved list of how I would die.

The tires screeched, rubber burning against pavement as the driver slammed the brakes, stopping just inches away.

A beat of silence.

Then the window rolled down, and a middle-aged man, clutching a Styrofoam cup, blinked at me like he’d never seen something more shocking in his life.

“Hell’s bells, kid. You trying to get yourself killed?”

I held up a finger. Because, one, I was slightly out of breath. And two…this guy could be my ticket out of whatever Blair Witch fever dream I’d been dropped into.

“Lost—got separated—no phone.” My words came out uneven. “Can you—take me?”

Wow. Fuck. How far had they chased me? A hundred miles?

The man’s gaze flicked behind me, into the woods. His lips pressed into a thin line, like he was weighing his options.

I didn’t blame him.

Judging by what I could see, I was several inches taller than him and outweighed him by all muscle. Not to mention, I looked like I’d just crawled out of a horror movie.

Dirt-streaked. Sweat-drenched. Probably one bad decision away from complete feral.

Then, there was a new sound…of boots. Pounding against the asphalt. Steady. Purposeful. Way too close.

My stomach twisted as I turned, and there—emerging from the trees, stepping onto the road—a masked figure. Just standing there. Still. Watching. Waiting.

More shadows lurked behind them, barely visible in the darkness, shifting like specters at the tree line. The air thickened, pressing against my chest, heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous.

The man in the car followed my gaze, his face draining of color as he muttered, “Nope.” His grip tightening around his Styrofoam cup like it was a lifeline.

Before I could react, he slammed the gas and the tires screeched, the car fishtailing slightly, and then…he was gone.

Rude.

The red taillights of my only shot at escape disappeared around the bend, leaving me standing in the weak glow of the flickering gas station sign. The distant hum of the car’s engine faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the whisper of shoes on pavement…way too many shoes.

The masked figure in the road still hadn’t moved. But the others, they were shifting, creeping forward at the edges of my vision, coming out of the trees like the zombies in that show Matty liked to watch.

I blew out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. Think, Thatcher. Use that big brain.

My body was still humming from the sprint, my lungs still burning, and my hands were braced on my knees as I tried to decide whether I was screwed or just mildly screwed.

The lead guy finally took a slow step forward, and I straightened, trying to look less like a guy who was two seconds from dropping dead of exhaustion and more like a guy absolutely ready to throw hands.

News flash…I was absolutely not ready to throw hands.

“All right, gentlemen,” I said, voice steady despite the fact that I could literally hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “I think I’ve passed this one, we should call it good.”

They said nothing.

I sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s exactly the answer I was hoping for.”

My gaze flicked to the gas pumps. Then to the rusty old truck parked beside them, its driver inside the store.

And then—to the set of keys hanging right from the ignition.

Bingo. I bolted for the truck, and shouts rang out…footsteps pounding after me.

I threw myself at the driver’s side door, yanking it open so fast it nearly took me with it. My foot hit the step, my hands gripping the wheel, my other hand slapping the lock down.

Just as one of them grabbed the handle.

Too late, sucker.

I twisted the keys—and the engine roared to life.

The guy outside yanked on the door hard, and I shifted into drive, slamming my foot down so that the truck lurched forward, jerking him off-balance.

I wasn’t usually one for Grand Theft Auto…but also, don’t leave your keys in your vehicle at a shady gas station at two in the morning. That’s just common sense.

The bell above the gas station door jingled, and I barely had time to process it before a voice bellowed from behind me. “HEY! WHAT THE HELL—THAT’S MY TRUCK!”

Shit.

I could hear the guy storming out of the store and the unmistakable sound of a six-pack thunking to the ground as he realized his ride was peeling out of the parking lot without him.

“SON OF A BITCH!” he roared, and yeah—he was not happy.

Which was fair. But in my defense, I was dealing with some larger issues at the moment.

I floored it, speeding out of the lot as the masked freaks lurked by the pumps, watching as I made my escape.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t that lucky.

I took the first turn out of the gas station, gripping the wheel as I barreled down a back road, my heart still hammering. The truck rumbled like an earthquake, the shocks barely hanging on, and the check engine light flicked on in a way that made me genuinely concerned that this thing might just die mid-escape.

But I didn’t have time to dwell on it, because, sure enough—headlights appeared behind me.

They were following. Of course they were.

“Satan’s left tit,” I muttered, adjusting my grip, scanning the road ahead. I didn’t have a long-term plan yet, but I had a short-term one.

Step one: Get the hell off the main roads…and figure out how to get to campus.

Step two: Get this truck close enough to campus that I could ditch it without immediately being tackled by campus security.

A sharp turn loomed ahead, and I took it too fast, the back tires skidding. Gravel sprayed up as the truck bounced onto an unpaved path, jostling me like I was on a fucking mechanical bull.

I gritted my teeth, barely keeping the thing straight. The road was narrow, winding, more of a suggestion than an actual road, but it was exactly what I needed—thick trees, fewer eyes, and plenty of room to lose my new fan club.

I sped up, rattling over dirt and rocks, glancing in the mirror. The headlights were still there, but they were farther back now. Hesitating.

Probably deciding whether their shady masked society rules allowed for off-roading pursuits.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t care.

Up ahead, I spotted a clearing. A break in the trees, just wide enough to see the lights of campus in the distance.

Perfect.

I veered toward it, the truck bucking over roots and potholes like it was personally offended at my driving decisions, and then—finally—I hit the main road.

I was just outside campus.

I slowed down just enough to make sure I wasn’t about to plow through a pedestrian and then yanked the wheel, cutting toward a deserted lot near the athletics building.

The truck screeched to a stop, and I threw it into park and jumped out.

And booked it.

I slipped into the shadows of the nearest building as the sound of the truck’s engine ticked in the silence, and I’d barely made it twenty feet before the black cars came screeching onto the road behind me.

I ducked behind a dumpster, chest heaving, watching as they rolled to a stop near the abandoned truck.

Doors opened.

Figures stepped out.

I stayed crouched behind the dumpster, my breath still coming fast. There might have even been a little blood in my mouth from the fact that my lungs were still recovering from being chased through a fucking forest.

The blacked-out SUVs idled near the truck, their engines humming low in the quiet night. For a second, I thought they might get out and come searching. That I’d pushed my luck too far, veered too far off script.

But then, one of the masked figures stepped out.

He turned toward me, and I froze, every muscle coiled, my pulse hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape my body.

But he didn’t move toward me. He just stood there, watching. Creepily. And then—he nodded, a slow, deliberate gesture of acknowledgment.

Like I’d done exactly what they wanted.

Like I’d pass the third trial as a matter of fact.

I exhaled, tension unwinding in slow, measured increments. My hands, still curled into fists at my sides, finally relaxed.

The masked guy lingered for another moment before turning, slipping back into the car without another word. The doors shut in near-perfect unison, and then, with a smooth purr of the engines, the SUVs peeled away, leaving me alone in the parking lot, standing next to a stolen—borrowed—truck and way too many questions.

I didn’t move right away. I just watched the taillights disappear down the road before finally letting out the breath I’d been holding.

Then I glanced at the truck.

I should probably…yeah.

I yanked the driver’s side door open, reached inside, and killed the headlights. Left the keys on the seat. Figured the poor bastard who’d owned it deserved some kind of kindness after I jacked his ride and sent him into cardiac arrest.

Then, with one last glance at the empty road, I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking.

Back toward campus.

Back toward my life.

Back to where Riley was still hopefully laying naked in our bed.

I was elbow-deep in chili when Matty shuffled into the kitchen, squinting like he had just been reborn into the world and wasn’t happy about it. His hair was a wreck, his sweats were half falling off his hips, and he looked like he had just been punched awake by the clown on Emma’s poster.

He stopped in the doorway, rubbing his face, and blinked at me.

I ignored him and kept stirring—this recipe was finicky.

Matty cleared his throat. “Uh…what are you doing?”

I gestured at the pot like it was obvious. “I don’t know, Matthew, after my latest near-death experience with the ‘Elite League of Lunatics,’ maybe I worked up an appetite.”

He stared at the simmering pot, then at me, then back at the pot.

“For chili? At eight a.m.?”

I turned off the burner and lifted the wooden spoon like I was about to give a TED Talk on the philosophical importance of comfort food. “Chili is an elite post-trauma meal,” I said, dead serious. “Hearty. Protein-packed. Warms the soul. If I were on death row, this would be my last meal.”

Matty pulled out a chair, dropped into it, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Why does chili sound good to me right now?”

“Because you have good taste, obviously.”

He groaned, shaking his head, but he still reached for a spoon, which meant I won.

I set a steaming bowl in front of him, and he eyed it like it might fight back.

“Do you even know how to make chili?”

I froze mid-stir, spoon hovering in the air. Slowly, I turned to glare at him. “Do I—? Do I know how to make chili?”

He lifted a skeptical brow. “Yeah. ’Cause I’m pretty sure I once saw you Google, ‘how do I turn on an oven.’”

I crossed my arms. “That was for science.”

Matty sniffed the air dramatically, as if he were a bloodhound on a case. “Right. And what’s your scientific conclusion? That this is edible, or that my intestines are about to file for legal emancipation?”

I jabbed the spoon in his direction. “Eat it or starve, Matthew. Those are your options.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he dipped his spoon into my creation. “Fine, but if I die, I expect you to lie at my funeral and say I was your favorite.”

I grinned as I scooped up my own first bite. “Oh, I will. And I’ll say you died doing what you loved.”

Matty scowled but begrudgingly took a bite, chewing like he was preparing for an exorcism.

I was ready to defend my honor, but then my bedroom door creaked open, and Riley stepped out looking…fuck.

Hair messy, tank top loose against her shoulders, bare legs peeking out from beneath my boxers.

Adorable. Sexy. Sleep-rumpled perfection.

She stretched, and my brain went static.

Matty exhaled dramatically. “Fucking hell. Can you keep it in your pants for, like, five minutes?”

I shoved a piece of cornbread in my mouth so I wouldn’t say something deeply inappropriate.

Riley blinked blearily at us, then at the table, then at the chili. Her brows furrowed. “Are you two seriously eating chili at—” She glanced at the clock on the stove. “Eight in the morning?”

I swallowed the cornbread and pointed my spoon at her. “You don’t get to judge. You’re wearing my underwear.”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “You don’t wear your underwear, so someone has to. And besides, your underwear is comfy.”

“Chili is comfy.”

Matty groaned. “It’s too early for this.”

Riley shook her head and padded toward the cabinets, muttering, “I will be opting for cereal.”

I smirked. “Your loss, sweetheart.”

Matty snorted, and I narrowed my eyes at both of them.

Betrayal.

Absolute betrayal in my own kitchen.

But fine. More chili for me.