The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 5

I woke up gasping for air.

My body ached, a delicious soreness lingering in places I hadn’t felt in a long time, and for a moment, I was warm. Safe. My mind drifted back, memories of his hands gripping my waist, his mouth branding my skin, his deep, husky laughter vibrating through my chest as he teased me, his eyes locking onto mine as he buried himself inside me.

Jace.

I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memories away, but they didn’t leave. I could still feel him. The way he watched me, like I was the only thing in the room, the way he touched me like he had every right to, and the way his voice had wrapped around my throat like a velvet noose every time he called me sweetheart or babycakes or any of the other things he’d called me.

No. No. No.

I sat up too fast, and my head pounded in protest. A rush of nausea rolled through me, the aftermath of too much alcohol and even more regret.

I needed water. I needed coffee. I needed to pretend last night never happened.

Groaning, I covered my face, and that’s when I felt it—my bare skin.

I ripped my hands away and looked down at myself.

Shit.

I was completely naked under my covers.

Panic shot through me like a struck match. Had I even locked the door last night? Had anyone seen me like this? I grabbed my sheets and clutched them to my chest like they could erase the memory of what I’d done.

This wasn’t me.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who had a one-night stand in a bathroom. I wasn’t the kind of girl who let a stranger unravel her so easily, who let herself get lost in someone else.

I wasn’t. I knew better than that.

Callum had taught me better than that.

So why was I still thinking about Jace?

I dragged a shaking hand through my hair, forcing myself to get it together.

And that’s when I saw her.

My roommate, Emma, was sitting at her desk.

Staring.

I froze.

She wasn’t doing anything—not studying, not scrolling through her phone, not even pretending to look busy.

Just…watching.

My stomach turned.

“Uh, morning,” I said hoarsely.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.

She just tilted her head slightly, her gaze locked onto me like I was a lab experiment she was studying.

Okay. Nope. Nope. Nope.

I kept a sheet wrapped around me while I scrambled to grab my discarded sweatshirt from the floor, yanking it over my head.

“You okay?” I asked hesitantly, my heart pounding.

Nothing.

Fucking fantastic.

I grabbed my leggings, hopping on one foot as I pulled them up. Emma still didn’t move. She just kept watching me, silently, like some kind of horror movie ghost girl.

I yanked open my drawer for socks and caught her slight flinch at the sudden movement.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Slamming the drawer shut, I forced a fake smile as I slid on my shoes and then grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Well. This has been fun. Super normal. Can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”

Still, nothing.

I backed toward the door, keeping my eyes on her, half expecting her to start crawling toward me like a demon from The Ring.

The second my hand hit the doorknob, I yanked it open and slipped out, gulping in the fresh air.

Holy shit.

I stood in the hallway for a moment, my heart pounding, debating whether I should request a room transfer.

But I knew how that would go.

What was I supposed to say? Hey, my roommate just exists too quietly, and I think she might be possessed by a Victorian ghost?

Yeah. That would go over well.

I shook my head, exhaling sharply.

I had bigger problems than my roommate from hell.

Like the fact that I had left my credit card at the bar.

And, oh yeah—the fact that I had slept with Jace Thatcher.

The fact that I had unprotected sex with Jace Fucking Thatcher. The birth control I was on would prevent a baby…but it wouldn’t stop anything else.

A guy who looked like that…aka the hottest man that I’d ever seen in my life.

Fuck. He could have any number of things on that giant dick of his.

If he could do that so easily—if he could pull me onto the dance floor, move with me like we’d been doing it forever, then drag me into that bathroom like he needed me more than his next breath—then how many times had he done it before?

Because it had felt effortless for him. Natural. Like a well-practiced routine.

I wasn’t special. I wasn’t different.

I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face.

I needed coffee. And a redo on life choices.

Maybe, if I was really lucky, I’d never have to see him again.

But who was I kidding? I was never lucky.

The campus eatery was mercifully mostly empty.

I stood in line, shifting from foot to foot, my head still pounding from last night’s questionable decisions. Coffee first. Shame spiral later.

The moment I had the large, scalding cup in my hands, I wrapped my fingers around it, willing the heat to burn away the memory of what I had done. Of who I had done.

I groaned internally.

I needed to forget that guy existed.

But my body had other plans.

Because despite my very real, very justified panic, my lady bits were still basking in the afterglow, completely unbothered by my emotional crisis. The traitors. They didn’t care that Jace Thatcher was probably the most reckless, insufferable, womanizing disaster to ever exist. They only cared about the way he had touched me—like he had every right to. Like he had been waiting. Like he knew me in a way no one else ever had.

My thighs clenched involuntarily, a deep, traitorous ache pulsing in my core.

No. No, no, no.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a careful sip of my coffee, hoping the heat would shock some sense into me.

Turning toward the seating area, I scanned the room for an empty booth, when I spotted her—Tasha.

She was slumped at a table, wearing oversized sunglasses inside like a Z-list celebrity pretending to be avoiding the non-existent paparazzi following them. A barely touched croissant sat on a napkin next to her, and she had two iced coffees in front of her—one half-gone, the other untouched.

I debated walking past her, but her head tilted up slightly, like she had some kind of sixth sense for drama, and she waved me over.

I sighed, gripping my coffee like it could physically anchor me, and walked toward her.

Tasha groaned as I slid into the seat across from her. “Too early,” she muttered. “Too bright.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re wearing sunglasses.”

She just groaned louder, resting her forehead against the table for a moment before snapping her head up. “Wait.” Her head tilted slightly, assessing me from behind the dark lenses. “You didn’t go home early last night, did you?”

My stomach dropped, but I forced a casual shrug. “I—uh—yeah, I mean. Kinda. I left.”

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

Shit.

I cleared my throat and took a deliberate sip of my coffee. “I—um—talked to someone for a second, but that’s it.”

Tasha perked up instantly, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Talked?” She grinned, too wide, too smug. “That’s all?”

I swallowed hard, keeping my face neutral. “Yeah.”

She hummed, tapping her fingers against the table, unconvinced. “That’s funny.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s funny?”

She stretched, rolling her neck like she was settling in for a long interrogation. “Because I could have sworn I saw you dancing with Jace Thatcher last night.”

My blood turned to ice.

I fought to keep my expression impassive, but my grip on my coffee tightened just a little too much. “Oh,” I said, forcing nonchalance. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Tasha’s grin was positively evil. “You guess?”

I shrugged, looking at my coffee like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world. “It was just for a second.”

Tasha leaned forward, her glassy, hungover eyes still way too sharp. “Just a second?”

I nodded.

She smirked. “Just a second with Jace Fucking Thatcher?”

I groaned, slumping into my seat. “Why are you saying his name like that?”

She ignored my question entirely. “Do you know who he is?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I⁠—”

Tasha grinned. “Jace. Thatcher,” she said his name again, slow and deliberate, like I was missing something massive.

I rolled my eyes. “I get it. You’re very impressed.”

She let out a high-pitched laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe. You really don’t get it.”

I exhaled sharply, already exhausted. “Okay. Enlighten me.”

She gestured wildly, like it should have been obvious. “He’s only the Jace Thatcher. Wide receiver. Star player. Campus fucking royalty.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Rumor is he’s a Sphinx recruit too. He could literally say he wants someone, and they’d drop their panties on the spot.”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t know what the Sphinx was. But I did have personal experience with that last part of her statement.

He had wanted me.

And I had definitely dropped my panties for him.

I forced a tight smile. “Well, good for him.”

Tasha snorted. “Oh, honey. He’s good for everyone.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She took a lazy sip of her coffee, her smirk widening. “I mean, he doesn’t really do relationships. Like, ever. The guy has more hookups than I have shoes.”

My stomach dropped.

I don’t know why it made me feel like shit.

I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I wasn’t even looking for a hookup. Last night was a mistake, something I’d never done before, something I wouldn’t do again.

I had no right to feel…disappointed.

But I did.

Because last night, Jace Thatcher hadn’t looked at me like I was just another girl at a bar.

He had looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.

I remembered the way his eyes had locked onto mine, how they had darkened with something intense and undeniable. I remembered the way he had spoken, the way he had moved, the way he had whispered filth into my ear like he couldn’t help himself.

And the way I had felt—not like a nameless, forgettable one-night stand, but like I was his.

That thought alone should’ve terrified me. Should’ve sent me into full-blown panic mode. But instead, something else settled in my chest—something strange, something dangerously close to relief.

Because no matter how complicated this was, no matter how reckless, I had still taken a major step.

Callum was no longer the only man who had touched me.

My fingers tightened around the coffee cup as I inhaled sharply, and I swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts away from that.

Tasha was still talking, still rambling about how many girls he’d been with, how he was the campus legend, how she was so jealous of me.

I nodded along, pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending I wasn’t still tangled in the feeling of him—his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like he already knew I’d give in.

Like I hadn’t spent the entire night haunted by him, trapped in dreams that felt too real, too consuming.

Like I wasn’t still shaking from the weight of it, from the way my body betrayed me, from the way I wanted something I had no business wanting.

I told myself I was fine. That I was stronger than this. That it was just a moment, a mistake, something I could walk away from.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

If I ever saw him again…and he looked at me like last night had meant nothing?

Like I was nothing?

I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.