Page 76 of The Wrong Play

And yet, I couldn’t let it go.

Couldn’t let myself be happy.

Because when you spend a year learning that love comes with a price, you start assuming every touch comes with a debt.

Outside, Knoxville pulsed with pre-game energy—orange jerseys crowding the sidewalks, the roar of tailgate chatter rolling into the cafe every time the door opened. A week ago, I didn’t get the hype. Football had been nothing more than a game to me, an excuse for people to scream at a TV and paint their faces like war was coming. But now?

Now, I got it.

Because when you were sitting in that stadium, when you felt the ground shake beneath you as thousands of people lost their minds, when you saw a player break free andrun—unstoppable, untouchable—yeah, you understood.

And one player in particular?

Jace Thatcher.

He wasn’t just hype. He played like he was born for it, like he had the world in his hands, and all he had to do was decide what to do with it. I knew nothing about football, but I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of him the entire game.

Not that I would be admitting that to him anytime soon. His head was already too big.

Just like another part of him…

The bell above the door jangled, snapping me out of my haze, and there he was—prowling toward me like he owned the place, all broad shoulders and messy blond hair, a Tennessee Tigers shirt stretched tight across his chest. His brown eyes locked on me, glinting with the unshakable certainty that twisted me up inside—half in irritation, half in something I was obsessed with but refused to name. My cheeks blushed automatically thinking of yesterday’s Jeep incident.

Gird your loins,Riley.Your vagina has been a hoochie mama,but that ends now.

I blinked at him as he came up in front of me, taking in how ridiculously gorgeous he was and having a bit of trouble with the whole girding thing.

“Morning, Mrs. Thatcher,” he drawled, leaning over the counter and getting way too close to me. My heart ached a little at his grin, and his voice, with its lazy Tennessee lilt, somehow managed to wrap around me like a warm breeze.

Those words, though…I wanted nothing to do with them.

“What can I help you with?” I said, trying to keep my tone brisk and business-like.

He grinned as if he could see right through me. “AlthoughIshould be the one gettingyoucoffee, I would absolutely love a caramel macchiato, extra vanilla cold foam, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and if you could draw that little leaf thing on the top—I’d love that too.”

I gaped at him, my hand freezing mid-reach for a cup. “You want…what?” My voice came out a little incredulous, but who could blame me. Jace—who was six-foot-four inches of cocky football muscle—had just ordered what might be the girliest drink on the planet.

“You heard me,” he said with a wink, propping an elbow on the counter in a way that had me automatically admiring his bulging bicep…a real problem for sure. “I’m very secure in my masculinity, and it’s a known fact that everything is better with cold foam. Why settle for black tar when I can have the good stuff?”

He crooked his finger, and I automatically leaned in closer as if my chin was attached to his hand with a string.

“We’re both aware of the size of my cock, buttercup. It can take extra cold foam.”

I blinked again, heat creeping up my neck as I yanked my head away, fumbling with a cup. “You’re ridiculous,” I scoffed, my voice coming out far too breathy considering my girds were supposed to be loined—or whatever the correct way to say that was. His gaze caressed my skin as I somehow managed to combine the rest of the ingredients. Hopefully I was doing this right. It was a little difficult to concentrate when he was watching me like he wanted to eat me alive.

He’d smelled good.Why did he have to smell so good? My chest tightened with a cruel ache. Callum had been a cold shadow that had choked me the entire time I’d been with him. But Jace…Jace felt like a wildfire, burning too bright, too close, and I couldn’t help but feel the heat.

“Ridiculous is part of my charm, cupcake,” he said, sipping the air like he was already tasting his drink, his voice dropping flirty and low. “And while you’re at it, yes, I would love for you to be my date to the tailgate tonight. One shot, Riley St. James—me, you, whatever your choice of beverage is, and a whole lotta me looking cute for you. Thanks for asking me out, I accept.”

Callum’s voice filled my head.

“You’re not smart enough,not talented enough.For fuck’s sake,you’re not even pretty enough.”Callum let out a slow exhale, like he was disappointed in me.“Pathetic little thing,always trying so hard.But for what?You think anyone actually sees you?”

I slid the macchiato across the counter with a trembling hand as my dream from last night played through my head like a horror film. The cold foam was piled high with a pink sugar dusting that looked absurdly dainty for him, and I kept my eyes on it as I tried not to fall apart. “My answer hasn’t changed, Thatcher. You should take a hint. What we’re doing is just sex. That’s all.” My legs shook underneath me as a wave of exhaustion swept over my skin. I’d been pushing myself too hard lately, and it was constantly in the back of my mind that any day now…my body was going to revolt.

He took the cup, smirking like I’d handed him a golden ticket instead of a no. “I know we came to an understanding last night, Riley-girl—it’s not just sex. We both know that. I’m not willing to accept the ‘no’ when your eyes are screaming ‘yes’ so loudly. As well as all the other parts of you that have been…screaming so loudly lately.”

I blushed at his reminder of just how loud I’d beenscreaminglast night.

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