Page 16 of The Wrong Play

Excitement.

CHAPTER 2

JACE

“Hey, Matty,” I yelled to him as I lined up for the next play. “What did Cinderella do when she got to the ball?”

I could practically hear his sigh over the roar of the crowd. He liked to pretend that I wasn’t funny…but he was obviously wrong.

“She gagged,” I yelled just as Parker received the snap, and I took off down the field.

There was something magical about the sound of a football spiraling through the air. Maybe it was the way the crowd held its breath. The way the ball cut through the stadium lights, a perfect arc against the night sky. The way I knew—knew—it was meant for me before it even left Parker’s hands.

Or maybe it was just the fact that I was the best wide receiver in all of college football, and when I caught this, the crowd was going to go absolutely fucking wild.

Yeah, it was probably that.

I sprinted downfield, my cleats digging into the ground, my heart pounding like a fucking drumline. The corner was trying to cover me, but I was faster. I always was. I obviously always would be.

Ball in the air. Thirty yards out.

Twenty.

Ten.

It was beautiful. A perfect spiraling bullet heading right for me. I cut hard, shaking my defender, and stretched my arms?—

BAM.

Helmet to my ribs.

Pain exploded through my chest as I hit the ground, the wind knocked right out of me. The ball tumbled from my hands, rolling uselessly across the turf.

“Motherfucker!”

The whistle blew, and I lay there for a second, staring up at the sky, questioning every decision that had led me to this moment. The ref signaled an incomplete pass, and the crowd groaned.

Son of a bitch.

A shadow loomed over me.

“You dead?”

I blinked and found Parker Davis, our golden boy QB, and one ofmybestilicious bros, smirking down at me.

“Pretty sure I just met Jesus,” I wheezed.

Parker held out his hand and yanked me to my feet. I winced, rolling my shoulders. Fucking hell, that hit hurt. “Did you put in a good word for me?” Parker smirked, probably thinking about his little “basement incident” a couple of weeks ago.

“I think you’re beyond help,” I said, trying to blink away the fact that my lungs had forgotten they were supposed to breathe. Fuck.

“Dude, you had it,” Matty said, shaking his head as he joined us. “What happened?”

I glared at him because, obviously, this was the opposite of being a supportive king.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I shot back, rubbing my ribs. “Maybe it was the linebacker-sized missile that just torpedoed into my lungs.”

“Excuses,” Parker muttered, jogging back to the huddle.

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