The Wrong Quarterback (The Wrong Player, #1)

by C.R. Jane

Our love interest is possessive, obsessive, and the perfect shade of red for all you red flag renegades out there.

There is absolutely no shade of pink involved when it comes to what Parker Davis will do to get his girl.

Parker Davis only has eyes for her.

You can’t steal something that belongs to you.

“Football is easy if you’re crazy as hell.” —Bo Jackson

This was going to be fun. Gray was probably pissed too—and that only made it worse.

Before I could answer, headlights flooded the road in front of us, blinding, too close. “Fuck!”

“Casey!” Gray’s voice cut through the haze. I blinked again, focusing on him as he twisted in his seat, panic etched into every line of his face. “Are you okay?”

Gray’s eyes flicked from me to Ben, and suddenly everything shifted. His expression changed, terror flashing in his eyes. He leaned over, shaking Ben’s shoulder. “Ben! Ben, man, wake up!”

Ben didn’t move. Gray’s voice broke, his hands trembling as he shook him harder. “Come on, Ben! Wake up!”

I watched Gray, his face desperate, his voice fading as everything around me blurred into darkness.

And I could finally understand what she was saying. “Ben.” Over and over again she was saying my brother’s name.

“He’s gone, Casey. Ben’s gone.”

The world shattered. And I knew I’d never be the same again.

The world hadn’t stopped like mine had. It just kept moving, indifferent to the gaping hole his absence had left.

Grief is like that, I guess. You think the world should stop, should fall apart with you, but it doesn’t. It keeps going. And you’re left standing in the middle of it, feeling hollow, watching everything move on like the person you loved wasn’t the very center of it all.

It felt wrong to think about what else I’d lost that night.

The ability to play the piano.

“I don’t even know how to do it. We had it all planned, you know? The dorms, the games…everything.”

Ben wasn’t just my brother—he was Gray’s best friend. And now, he was gone, leaving this gaping hole in both our lives.

“I’ll wait for you to get older. But in the meantime, you don’t have to worry about being alone, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He was wearing a polo shirt and boat shoes—a look Ben would have mocked him endlessly for. He looked every bit the preppy college guy. But not really like my Gray.

And what if I woke up and you were like standing over me and breathing heavily?” She shivered like she was picturing it right then.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I promise not to steal your snacks…and the other things.”

Coach pretended to snarl at Jace, but it was hard to stay mad at my golden retriever best friend.

“Yes we have to. I’m not going to catch one ball until you listen to me,”

“This is chaos,” Coach muttered, and I nodded. The best kind.

“Move fasta. Mufasa,” Jace emphasized. When not a single player laughed, he scowled. “Y’all need to get a better sense of humor.”

“On three—one, two, three—TENNESSEE!” The cheer echoed, settling into my veins as it usually did as we walked off the field toward the locker room.

“Can I remind you that she was so desperate to have my babies she tried to put my old cum, that had been sitting in the condom for hours…inside of her—while I was sleeping.”

“So a hot girl tries to have your babies, Davis, cry me a river,” said Matty. I gaped at him.

I’d been woken up by McKenzie screaming because her cunt was on fire—thanks to the hot sauce I made sure to pour into every used condom for that reason alone.

Jace had read about some celebrity doing it when we were freshman. We’d started trying it, as a joke, never thinking it would come in handy.

Walker: I’d like to file a formal complaint. Cole: ?

Me: I’m joining.

Walker: You can’t join in. The formal complaint is against you. Cole: Well, now I just feel attacked.

Me: We’re the ones who should feel attacked. You share the same last name as us, and you appeared on national television with a fucking bird on your head.

Walker: What part of this conversation screamed that we liked it? Cole: It’s called fashion.

Me: It’s called embarrassing. I wish it had crapped on your head.

“Good one,” Jace muttered, as I elbowed him for standing practically on top of me.

Me: New family rule. No stuffed animals are allowed on national television.

Cole: I can’t promise that, Parkie. It’s whatever I’m feeling in the moment.

Walker: How about the next time you get that feeling, you let us know, and we’ll make sure you “feel” a new last name before you go out in public.

Cole: Rude. My feelings would be hurt if I didn’t know that I was awesome.

ghosts were real. My mom was one.

Jace: What does a hot dog use for protection? Matty: Please, fuck, no. Me: Just let him get it out.

Jace: How magnanimous of you, QB. Matty: Are you going to tell us? Jace: Tell you what? Matty: Fucking hell. The answer to the joke. Me: I believe it’s called a punchline.

The professor in question shot me an exasperated glance from behind the desk where she’d been going over her lecture plans. I shrugged, because what could I do? I was worth the hype.

Jace: 1) Are you too lazy to write out “in my opinion” now. 2) Literally no one calls you “big dick.” I literally have an inch on you. So it would be a false statement.

Matty: IT’S A QUARTER OF AN INCH, SIR. WHICH STILL MAKES IT HUGE.