Page 49 of The Wrong Play

And to top it all off? No shame.

None.

Not a speck.

Because no matter how many times I rejected him, he still found ways to wiggle back into my personal space and waste my time with pickup lines that were about as effective as a wet napkin in a hurricane.

“Come on, Riley, just one drink.”

I sighed, not looking up as I rang up the last item. “Still not interested, Eddie.”

“Why not?”

I shot him a look and deadpanned, “Because I don’t want to.”

The customer grabbed their bag and hightailed it out of there, eyes wide like they had just walked in on something deeply uncomfortable.

Eddie smirked, undeterred. “Fine. No drinks. What about coffee?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Eddie.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “All right, all right. But one of these days, you’re gonna give in.”

I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers into my temples. I really needed a different job.

I glanced at the clock, my shift was almost over. Almost. Just a few more customers, and then I could go home and?—

It started as a low rumble.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination—some lingering headache from dealing with Eddie’sthirddinner invitation of the week. But then it got louder.

And louder. Until suddenly?—

The entire bookstore wentsilent.

I froze, fingers hovering over the register as my latest customer turned toward the entrance with wide eyes. Eddie, standing way too close beside me, stiffened. “What the hell?” he muttered.

I turned my head slowly, and immediately blinked a few times, unsure if I was dreaming or not. Barreling through the entrance, taking up theentireentrance to the bookstore, was ahordeof massive men.

Men that looked vaguely familiar thanks to the fact that Imayhave looked up the school’s football roster after my run-in with Jace.

The men were built like walking refrigerators, with arms the size of small tree trunks and bellies that could double as beer kegs. One guy’s stomach jiggled with every movement, his entire torso covered in chest hair that I couldseebecause—oh yeah—they were all shirtless.

They were all singing, and not just singing—absolutelybutcheringTaylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me.”

It washorrendous.

It wasincredible.

Everyonestoppedin their tracks.

A woman in the self-help aisle clutched her chest like she’d just beenshot.

The girl in front of the counter looked at me like I had personally orchestrated this disaster and demanded, “What’s going on?”

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