Page 175 of The Wrong Play

And then I walked out, leaving my girl cuffed to our bed with her favorite snacks and show, knowing that five minutes from now, she’d be fully immersed, only remembering she was technically being held captive when I came back to let her go.

Or not.

That part was still to be determined.

CHAPTER 32

JACE

Isat at my desk, fingers drumming against the wood, my eyes burning from staring at the screen for so long. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Riley was in class, and I had my app up, checking her location constantly to make sure she hadn’t gone anywhere.

It was probably going to take a minute for me to not feel the need to handcuff her for the rest of my life…but that couldn’t be helped. I’d be tracking her even in the bathroom from now on. Although I didn’t think that would be a problem for her.

Just like I’d predicted, when I got back, she was completely engrossed in her show, curled up in our bed like she hadn’t been handcuffed there against her will for the past couple of hours. The second she actually noticed me, though, she put on her best scowl—one that had all the bite of a pissed-off kitten who still wanted cuddles.

“You’re back,” she said flatly.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking. “What, no dramatic escape attempt? No using sheer willpower to chew through the headboard?”

She scoffed, huffing as she turned back to the TV. “I was formulating a plan.”

“Uh-huh.” I walked over and perched on the edge of the bed, glancing at the screen. “Looks like your plan involved getting emotionally invested in a fictional couple instead.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at me. “Shut up. You left me with nothing but this show and snacks. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and stew in betrayal?”

I tilted my head like I was considering. “Thatwasan option.”

Her glare intensified, but again, kitten. More adorable than intimidating.

So, naturally, I climbed onto the bed and took full advantage of my adorable, pretend-angry girlfriend. And by took advantage, I meant I spent the next hour between her thighs, making damn sure she didn’t actually hate the cuffs as much as she claimed.

Which, for the record, she absolutelydid not.

When she finally regained the ability to speak, her breathless little, “Okay, maybe keep them,” was all the confirmation I needed.

I grinned down at her, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “That’s my girl.”

I forced myself to stop reminiscing and concentrate on the fact that my computer was a mess of notes, tabs, and bullshit I had pulled together on Callum Fucking Dipshit—or whatever his real last name was. I was elbow-deep in the university’s faculty directory, sifting through an absurd amount of academic drivel when my bedroom door creaked open.

Matty strolled in, uninvited, might I add, balancing a paper plate stacked with corn dogs in one hand and a bottle of mustard in the other. His usual shit-eating grin was in place as he kicked the door shut behind him.

I glanced up, immediately setting my laptop aside with newfound respect.

“Matty,” I said, solemn as a funeral priest. “You are a man above men.”

He smirked, setting the plate down next to my laptop. “I know.” Then his eyes narrowed as he took in my face. “You good?”

I grabbed a corn dog and bit into it like it had personally wronged me. “I will be,” I muttered around the mouthful. “After Professor Westwood is disposed of.”

Matty sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “So, we’re committing murder now?”

I side-eyed him, chewing thoughtfully. “I had something else in mind, but I appreciate the commitment.” I pointed my corn dog at him. “You’ve just moved up in the best friendship rankings.”

Right then, Parker wandered into the room, also uninvited. “What rankings?” he asked suspiciously.

“These are still per se rankings,” I told him absently, reaching for the mustard bottle. “But I’m fine with you guys competing for ways to stay on top.”

Parker frowned. “I thought you said there wasn’t a ranking.”

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