Page 67 of The Wrong Play

Tasha tugged me down the steps, chattering about tailgates and some sorority mixer after, her voice a blur as my eyes darted around, taking it in. The stands were packed—orange and white bleeding together, flags waving, the air thick with beer and sweat and that electric hum of a game day. She stopped, plopping down, and I sank into the seat next to her, my bag thudding to the concrete under my feet. Then I looked up—really looked—and my stomach dropped like a rock.

Front row. Practically on the freaking field. So close I could see the scuff marks on the sideline, the sweat on the referees’ foreheads as they jogged past, the field passes on some of the people wandering around. My breath caught, a sharp hitch in my chest, and I slouched lower, tugging my hair forward like it’d hide me. “Tasha,” I hissed, voice tight. “You didn’t say we’d be this close.”

She grinned, popping a piece of gum in her mouth, completely unfazed. “Best seats in the house—sorority perks. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for this,” I muttered, my hands twisting in my lap, nails digging into my palms. The77on my cheek felt like it was glowing, burning, like every eye in the stadium could see it, could see me, sitting here like some desperate groupie, stalking the guy I’d pushed away. I’d told him no—told myself no—and now here I was, painted up like his biggest fan, heart hammering so loud I swore it’d drown out the crowd.

The field was still empty, and I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down. He wouldn’t notice. There were thousands upon thousands of people here, and he’d be concentrating on thegame. Maybe I could keep my head down, blend in with the crowd, sneak my glimpse and get out before he ever?—

The roar hit first, a wave of noise crashing over the stands as the team burst from the tunnel, their helmets glinting under the lights. My eyes snapped up, traitor that I was, as I desperately scanned the pack of broad shoulders in orange jerseys.

And then, there he was.

He was jogging out with his helmet tucked under one arm, his long hair flowing out behind him. His stupid, cocky…incredibly gorgeous grin tugging at his lips like the roar of screaming fans was no different than any other day, and he was king of it all. My chest tightened, a quick, sharp squeeze, and I slouched lower, heat flooding my face, the77prickling like a brand.

Jace moved like he always did when I saw him—loose, easy, all swagger and muscle. His pads shifted with every step, and I watched in awe at the sight of his biceps flexing as he caught a football. I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t want to.

My breath was shallow as I stared, my hands clammy against my jeans. Two days without him, and it hit me like a freight train—how much I missed him…and how much I hated myself for it. I’d pushed him away, and now I was here, creeping like some lovesick idiot, desperate for just one look.

Then it happened. His head turned, casual at first, scanning the crowd, and his eyes found me. Instantly. Like he’d known exactly where I’d be. His piercing brown eyes locked on me, cutting through the chaos like a laser, and my heart stopped, a dead thud in my chest. His grin faltered, just for a second, then stretched wider—smug, knowing, a little dangerous—and I froze, my face on fire, the77screaming my guilt louder than the crowd ever could.

But then I saw it—something on his cheek, a smudge of black under the stadium lights. I squinted, leaning forward despite myself, my breath catching as it came into focus.

Riley St.James. My name. Scrawled across both cheeks in bold, messy paint, right there for the world to see.

Shock hit me like a slap, my jaw dropping, a choked sound slipping out before I could stop it. “What the—” I whispered, my hands gripping the seat…my brain short-circuiting. He’d painted my name on his face…my name. Like some kind of claim, like a mirror to the77Tasha had slapped on me. My stomach flipped, a wild, dizzy lurch, and I sank back, my pulse roaring as his gaze held mine, way too long and intense, before he turned back to the field, jogging off with that same damn swagger.

“Shit,” I breathed in a shaking voice. Tasha nudged me with a giggle I barely registered. He’d seen me. He’d seen the number. And now, I’d seen my name on him—Riley, right there, like he’d marked himself with me.

I loved it.

JACE

The stadium roared as we took the field, the noise shaking the ground as we ran, but it barely hit me. My head was somewhere else—locked on one thing, one person, like a missile with a target painted in neon.Her.

Helmet tucked under my arm, I stood on the field, sweat already beading down my neck from warm-ups, my eyes scanning the stands like a predator sniffing out prey. Even if I hadn’t given the tickets to that sorority chick so I could make sure Riley was here, it wouldn’t have taken long to find her—it never did. I had a built-in radar for Riley St. James, some fucked-up homing device wired into my bones. I hadn’t asked for it; it would have been easier without it, but hell if I was turning it off now.

There she was—front row, smack in the middle of a few sorority girls. Her blonde hair was a wild mess over her shoulders, catching the stadium lights like some kind of golden beacon. And those hazel eyes…I could feel them from here; even if she was doing her best,I don’t see Jace Thatcheract.

Then I saw it.

My number.

Big, bold,mine.

An orange, inked-up 77 scrawled across her cheek. Holy fuck…

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Matty hissed, his gaze weirdly up in the sky.

“What’s wrong withyou?” I growled back, because something primal had risen up in my chest when I saw my number on her skin, and I kind of felt like a grizzly bear…or a lion. Those were cooler. But seriously…how the fuck was I going to react when I got her to wear my jersey if this is how I was acting now?

One thing was for sure, I was definitely winning today, and the game hadn’t even kicked off yet.

“Why are you…” Matty continued, waving down at my…crotch?

Ohhh…the Anaconda was currently at full mast. Apparently, seeing my number on my lady was cause for him to celebrate.Down boy…that would not be pleasant if I got hit in this condition. I turned toward my bestie, hoping changing my viewpoint would help me to settle. “It’s okay, Matty. That extra inch won’t bite,” I told him assuredly.

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