Page 63 of The Wrong Quarterback

Matty growled when she ducked down in her car, and Jace grinned because one of his favorite activities in life was annoying him.

“Ooh, I have a good one. It perfectly fits this situation,” Jace said, right as Coach blew on his whistle.

“What?” I asked, as we began to jog over to where the team was gathering.

“How does a wiener go camping?”

“How does this have anything to do with Parker literally stealing someone’s girlfriend?”

Matty complained.

“You can’t steal something that belongs to you,” I told them, and they both blinked at me…looking concerned.

“The delusion is setting in. We’d better call a doctor,” Jace whisper-yelled.

“We can’t. They would lock him up,” added Matty.

“Are you going to finish the joke or what?” I asked.

“In a Wiener-bago,” Jace said quickly.

We both stared at him.

“It’s not funny because you ruined it with all your talking. But I’ll forgive you this time. What I really want to know ishow exactly are you going to make heryourgirl? I know what happens in these situations. She’s going to be telling herself that all men are ogres. And you, my friend, are going to be the ogre-ist.”

“Ogre-ist. That’s definitely not a word,” I told him.

“He has a big brain, he would know,” said Matty.

“Can you answer the question?” Jace sighed.

I grinned.

“Is that…a dick reference…when you smile like that?” Matty asked. “Because it’s a little creepy.”

“I’m glad someone said it,” Jace commented.

Coach’s whistle pierced the air again, cutting through the scattered chatter on the field. “Quit your fucking yapping and start drills, gentlemen! Hustle up—let’s see if any of you can actually move today.”

Jace shot me a look, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t over. If you’ve got a master plan, I want to hear it, Davis.”

I chuckled and winked before lining up as Coach Everett barked out the next set. “Sprints first! I want to see speed—down and back in under twelve seconds. If you’re late, we’re doing it again.”

We took off at the whistle, feet pounding against the turf, the steady rhythm broken only by the slap of cleats and heavy breaths. I kept my pace, pushing hard, glancing around to clock who was dragging behind. Jace was keeping up, stride for stride, his eyes narrowed, challenging me with every step.

As we crossed the line, Coach’s voice boomed again. “Good, now we’re going through passing drills! Davis, take lead. Receivers—run those routes clean, or we’re starting over.”

I nodded, grabbing a ball and huddling with the receivers. “Alright, quick slants to start. I want those cuts sharp. No sloppy routes, or Coach is gonna have us doing burpees ’til tomorrow.”

The receivers grumbled but nodded, spreading out as I lined up. Jace was first, lining up on the left. He took off at the snap, darting inside, making a tight, precise cut, and I fired the ball right into his chest. He caught it clean, tucking it in and turning upfield before sprinting back, giving me a quick nod.

And so the drills continued, each one faster than the last, Coach’s voice keeping us in line.

When he finally whistled that practice was over, I was the first one off the field.

After all…I couldn’t be late. I had a tutoring session to get to.

I’d been a little afraid Casey was going to ghost me tonight, and I would have to track her down. But there she was, sitting at the same table by the window, where the light softened everything, and she looked like an angel I didn’t deserve.

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