The Wrong Play: A Football Romance (The Wrong Player Series Book 2)
The Wrong Play: Chapter 6

Iwas late.

Again.

I bolted down the hall, my bag slamming against my hip as I turned the corner toward my Intro to Ethics lecture. It wasn’t my favorite class, but it was an easy A—or it was supposed to be, if I wasn’t constantly behind and exhausted and too distracted by my own life crumbling around me to actually focus.

Tasha’s words were still running through my head as I reached the door.

Jace Thatcher doesn’t do relationships.

He could have anyone.

He was probably already onto the next girl.

I shook off the irrational stab of disappointment, pulling open the heavy wooden door as quietly as possible. The professor wasn’t here yet—thank God—but the lecture hall was already packed, students filling the rows, voices a low murmur as they whispered and gossiped about something I wasn’t paying attention to. I raced down an aisle, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw an empty chair and could put down my stuff.

“How do you tell the difference between a frog and a horny toad?”

My stomach dropped.

I turned my head slowly, my entire body locking up as my eyes met his.

Jace Thatcher.

In the daylight.

And holy hell, he still looked just as good—better—without the haze of alcohol and dim bar lighting softening the perfect angles of his face.

His long blond hair was slightly tousled, like he’d rolled out of bed looking that effortlessly flawless. His golden skin still held a lingering summer tan, his strong jawline sharp enough to cut glass. And then there were his brown eyes—piercing, mischievous—locked onto me with a smug intensity that sent heat rushing to my cheeks.

He was leaning back in the chair like he owned the place, one arm slung over the empty seat next to him, his legs spread wide like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.

And me?

I looked like I’d been dragged through a dumpster at the moment.

Oversized hoodie, leggings, tangled mess of hair that I hadn’t bothered to brush, last night’s makeup…and oh yeah, probably still smelling like him.

I was again regretting every decision I’d ever made up to now and hating my roommate for making me flee the room.

His smirk deepened. Why did he have to look so hot doing it? It was annoying.

“A frog says, ‘Ribbit, ribbit,’ and a horny toad says, ‘Rub it, rub it,’” he finished, looking absurdly proud of himself.

I gaped at him, and he beamed like I’d paid him some sort of huge compliment.

An embarrassing choking sound came out of my throat.

“The bartender thought you were my girlfriend.”

My eyes widened in confusion.

He tilted his head, studying me with way too much interest.

“Are you?”

I choked. “What?”

He leaned in slightly, his cocky expression never wavering. “Are you my girlfriend, Riley?”

My stomach twisted at the way he said my name. Like he was tasting it, savoring it.

“How do you even⁠—?”

Jace laughed, completely unbothered. “I told you I was gonna replace you.”

I blinked at him, and his grin spread. “You left something behind, babycakes,” he murmured.

Before I could react, he reached forward, grabbing my wrist, flipping my palm face up, and dropped something into it.

I looked down.

My credit card.

I stared at it like it was a bomb about to explode.

“You—” My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

Jace just grinned.

I snatched my card up, fingers tightening around the plastic, staring at him as I tried to process what was happening.

I had been going to this class for months. He wasn’t in this class.

Which meant…

“You transferred in,” I blurted out, heart pounding.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Turns out I had some free time in my schedule.”

“Jace,” someone hissed from a few seats away. I turned and saw a guy with a baseball cap shaking his head, holding a notebook full of nothing but doodles of dicks. “Dude. Why the hell are you even here? You’re a junior. This is a freshman class.”

I turned back to Jace, waiting for his answer.

His eyes never left mine. His lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh.

“What, can’t a guy expand his academic horizons?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re stalking me,” I accused.

Jace’s smirk grew impossibly wider.

“That depends,” he said, his voice low…intimate. “Would you be into that?”

I flushed, hating that I felt warm all over.

I scanned the classroom, searching for another open seat—one that wouldn’t come with a six-foot-four, cocky, insufferable football player attached to it. My eyes landed on one near the middle of the room, a desk flanked by two already-occupied chairs. Perfect. No room for him to slide in beside me.

Keeping my expression neutral, I strode toward it, setting my bag down as I pulled the chair out. But before I could sit, a shadow loomed in front of me.

Jace.

Standing directly in front of the person next to the empty seat, his broad shoulders squared, his stance casual but somehow…menacing.

The poor guy barely hesitated before gathering his things and scrambling out of the seat like it had just burst into flames.

I gawked at Jace. “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, stepping around him toward the desk, pretending like my heart wasn’t slamming against my ribs.

He turned his head, tracking my every move with that knowing smirk. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

I dropped into my chair, gritting my teeth. “You’re joking, right?”

Jace winked, sliding effortlessly into the now empty seat beside me. “Sure, Riley. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I was about to come up with a scathing retort—maybe even make another escape attempt—but before I could, the professor walked in, effectively trapping me in place.

Jace leaned back in his chair, all smug satisfaction, like he’d just won some kind of game.

I let out a breath, wishing I had something on under this sweatshirt because I was suddenly boiling. I tried to focus on the professor as he set down his books and started rambling about the foundations of moral philosophy.

I was determined to pay attention.

But Jace?

Jace had other plans.

Halfway through the lecture, I felt it—his fingers brushing against the back of my arm.

I froze, resisting the urge to whip my head around. The contact was light, barely there, but it sent a rush through my entire body. I clenched my jaw, staring straight ahead, trying to pretend like I wasn’t hyperaware of him.

Then his fingers traced down, skating over my elbow. I shivered, my entire body going rigid.

I heard him exhale a quiet laugh, and I decided right then and there that I hated him.

All right, that might have been a lie, but I at least hated that my body was reacting. Even through my freaking sweatshirt.

It was official. I was swearing off men. All men.

I tried to ignore him and focus on the lecture. It didn’t work.

His touch was slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive me insane.

Every time he touched me, my stomach tightened, and my breath hitched. I was utterly unprepared for him.

The attention. The heat. The way he leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin, like he was waiting for me to do something—anything—to acknowledge what was happening between us. How it seemed like he wasn’t just looking at me…but seeing me.

I didn’t know how to handle that.

His touch lingered, soft yet possessive, like he had every right to touch me.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes glued to the professor, but I wasn’t hearing a single word being said.

I shifted in my chair, trying to put a few inches of space between us, but the moment I moved, Jace chuckled under his breath.

“Where you goin’, babycakes?”

My pulse spiked. “Nowhere.”

“Sure about that?” He held something up between his fingers, the glow of the screen catching my eye. My phone.

I stiffened. “Jace.”

“Riley.” His lips quirked like he was enjoying this far too much.

I snatched it from his grip, my fingers brushing against his, and I swore I heard the sharp exhale he let out at the contact.

I glanced at my screen. The message app was still open. A new number was already saved under Hottie of my Body.

I shot him an annoyed glare, and he leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper, his words ghosting over my skin like a promise.

“Now I’ve got your number. And you’ve got mine too. Buckle up, buttercup, because it’s about to get fun.”

I scoffed as Jace’s fingers traced a slow, lazy pattern along my hip, where my sweatshirt had ridden up and exposed a sliver of skin. My body completely betrayed me by shivering again under his touch. I should have pulled away. I should have moved.

But I didn’t.

I just sat there, heart pounding, cheeks burning, completely trapped in the moment⁠—

Until it hit me.

Another touch.

Another man.

Another time.

I sat stiffly on the couch, pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands as Callum poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“You’re too tense, darling,” he murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. He was always drinking. Always watching me over the rim of his glass with those knowing eyes.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile, trying to please him, because it was easier than the alternative.

“I just…” I hesitated, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my sweater. “I was looking at some other programs, maybe a veterinary program?”

His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Riley,” he chided, setting his glass down on the coffee table before turning to face me. “We’ve talked about this.”

My stomach clenched at his words.

He’d helped me with exactly one application. The only one I’d actually been able to submit. At the university where he taught—Chapel Hill.

“Besides, you’d never be able to keep up with that rigorous of a program.”

“Well…I mean, maybe, I could,” I murmured, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

His expression darkened, his fingers curling around my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “Are you doubting me?”

My throat felt tight.

I shook my head quickly. “No. Of course not.”

His thumb brushed my lower lip, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he leaned in, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always made my stomach turn.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Then his lips were on mine.

I froze.

I always froze.

It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser.

It was that I never had a choice.

His hands were already moving, gripping my waist, pulling me closer, fingers digging in.

He always kissed me like he was sealing a deal, his mouth a contract I had no say in. Like he wasn’t just claiming me—he was reminding me he wasn’t optional. His hands never allowed space, never let me pull away, always holding, always directing, controlling, demanding submission without a single word. It wasn’t about passion. It was about possession.

His lips trailed down to my jaw, my neck.

“I’m all you’ve got,” he whispered. “No one will ever want you the way I do. No one will ever love you the way I do.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to convince myself that I should feel grateful.

That Callum loved me.

That he was taking care of me.

That I was lucky.

Because like he said—who else would want me?

Sick.

Exhausting.

Naïve.

Too much to deal with.

He had told me so many times.

I felt the weight of him, the pressure, the power in his grip.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and when he pulled back, he smiled like he’d won something.

Like I was his, no matter what.

I jerked away from Jace’s touch like I’d been burned, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe past the sudden wave of panic.

I could feel his eyes on me, sharp and focused. He knew something was wrong.

I forced my gaze to the front of the room, gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white, willing the memory away, willing the panic down.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

By the time class ended, my pulse had finally slowed to something almost normal.

But my decision had already been made.

I needed to stay away from Jace Thatcher.

As the students around us started gathering their things, Jace leaned toward me again, completely at ease.

“What just happened, Riley-girl?”

I stood up fast, clutching my bag against my chest like it was a shield.

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” I said, my voice steady despite the lingering panic in my veins.

Jace arched a brow, the corner of his lips tugging up like he found me amusing. “Up to?”

I swallowed.

“You transferred into this class. You’re following me around. You—” I gestured vaguely, my fingers curling into fists. “I’m not interested.”

His expression didn’t change. His eyes stayed on mine, assessing, calculating.

And then, he smiled.

A slow, knowing smile that sent butterflies shooting around in my stomach.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

I took a step back, forcing space between us. “Leave me alone, Jace.”

For a moment, he just watched me, like he was deciding whether or not to listen.

Then, finally, he lifted his hands, palms up.

“Whatever you say, Riley-girl.”

I didn’t wait for anything else.

I turned and walked away, forcing my legs not to shake, forcing my heart not to pound, forcing myself not to think about how good it had felt when he touched me.

Jace Thatcher was dangerous.

I’d already been burned by one fire.

I wasn’t going to get burned by another.

JACE

Riley ran.

Again.

And I let her—for now. But if she thought that meant I was letting her go?

Adorable. Truly.

I leaned back in my desk chair, biting into the Costco corn dog I’d just heated up—because my body was a temple, obviously—as I stared at my laptop screen, my fingers twitching with anticipation.

She thought she could walk away, that she could just pretend like last night never happened.

She thought she could run from me…

Precious.

Her name was bold at the top of the page. Riley St. James.

Mine.

I wasn’t good at school—not in the traditional sense, anyway. Classes, tests, actually studying? No, thanks. The only reason I was even here was because of football. But computers?

That was different.

It started when I was a kid—messing around on an old laptop that barely functioned, figuring out how things worked, breaking them down, and building them back up. By the time I was thirteen, I had figured out how to hack into my middle school’s grade system. Turns out if you changed your grade by one point every other week—no one noticed.

From there, I started messing with stocks.

At first, it was just a game. I ran simulations, learned the system, and read the trends. By the time I turned sixteen, I was making actual money. My friends in high school spent their part-time paychecks on specialty Nike sneakers and video games. Meanwhile, I was reinvesting mine, building accounts in fake names, keeping things quiet.

I managed Parker and Matty’s money now too.

Not that they really knew what I was doing with it. They just knew it was growing.

“Dude, should we be concerned that you’re handling all our investments?” Matty had asked once.

“Not unless you want to be poor,” I’d answered.

That had shut him up. Matty had grown up poor—like his dog had to lean against the fence to bark kind of poor—his words not mine, since I didn’t even know what that meant. It was probably supposed to be funny, but since Matty wasn’t funny, it just made no sense.

But I digress…

Hacking, tracking, reading numbers—it all came naturally. And right now, all of those skills were being put to good use.

Because Riley St. James?

I was learning everything about her.

I pulled up her credit card statement, scrolling through her transactions. My girl did not have my spending habits. She spent almost…nothing.

Riley was on the base plan for the campus dining hall, which means that she got two meals a day of their cheapest meal option, and her last grocery store trip had been almost three weeks ago. The receipt showed protein bars, soup, electrolyte drinks—shit you bought when you weren’t feeling well—or you couldn’t afford anything else and were just trying to get the most bang for your buck.

Was she sick? Because the money problems didn’t make sense. I’d found her birth certificate…and then her parents. And they were rich, North Carolina high-society people.

Unless they’d cut her off for some reason.

But why would they have cut off the most perfect little angel baby on earth?

I frowned again because I didn’t like when I couldn’t figure things out, and I especially didn’t like that I couldn’t replace out everything I wanted to know about my future wife.

I pulled up her medical history—nothing easy to replace, of course, but I had my ways. Chronic fatigue disorder. Periodic flare-ups.

The words sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t know much about her yet, obviously—I hadn’t been watching her long enough to notice anything was off—but this? This changed things.

Chronic meant long-term. It meant this wasn’t just some temporary thing she’d get over.

I clenched my jaw.

That explained the transaction gaps, the lack of social charges. She wasn’t just avoiding people—she probably couldn’t go out sometimes.

Fuck.

I didn’t like not knowing what I was dealing with. I didn’t like that I’d just assumed she was fine when, clearly, she wasn’t. Had I missed a sign last night? Had she seemed tired when we were talking? Was this something that made her life harder every day, or only sometimes?

I had no idea.

And I hated that.

I leaned back, tapping my fingers against my desk, already pulling up articles, medical journals, anything I could get my hands on. I needed to know what this meant, how bad it could get, what I was supposed to do with this information.

Because if she was sick, if she was dealing with this every day and pretending like she wasn’t, then I needed to catch up. Fast.

I needed to know how much she could handle, how much I could push, what she’d need from me—whether she wanted my help or not.

I leaned back, running a hand down my face.

I didn’t know much about Riley yet.

But I knew one thing.

She was mine now. And I took care of what was mine.

My phone buzzed.

This was going to be good.

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. Here we go.

Oh. I probably should remember that.

I didn’t respond right away.

Because yeah. It did. But I also liked to keep them on their toes. Can’t have them getting too complacent in this best friendship.

I snorted, contemplating such a necklace for a moment before deciding that was a little too vampire for my taste.

I tossed my phone onto the desk, grinning as I stared back at her name on the screen.

Matty didn’t get it. But Riley would.

Soon enough, she’d understand—there was no running, no hiding, no pretending this wasn’t real.

And when she did?

She’d never want to escape me again.