Copyright (C) 2022 Kandi Steiner

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Kandi Steiner

Edited by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing

Cover Photography by Ren Saliba

Cover Design by Kandi Steiner

Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

The Wrong Game - Prologue

The Wrong Game - Chapter One

More from Kandi Steiner

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Dedication

To the girls who see the box society has placed them in

and then work mercilessly

to tear that motherfucker to pieces —

this one’s for you.

Chapter One

Giana

It was on the most beautiful day that I fell victim to Clay Johnson’s post-breakup meltdown.

The summer sun was high and bright in the sky, warm on my skin as I bounced across the North Boston University football field with my iPad in tow, checking off the list of players I needed to pull over for interviews after the first day of fall camp. Fall was whispering on the cool breeze, the faint scent of apples and fresh turf promising another exciting year for the NBU Rebels.

This time last year, I had been an anxious mess — not that I didn’t still shake like a leaf any time I tried to order a six-foot-three football player around. But now, I at least had the mediocre confidence of having an internship under my belt, of being hired on part time as the team’s Public Relations Assistant Coordinator.

This was my team, my year to shine, and my time to step out of the shadows.

My caramel curls bounced as I swept across the field, tapping shoulders of the players I needed and directing them where to go. I only blushed three times, and I managed to speak just above mouse-level and keep eye contact with all of them.

Progress.

I’d earned my spot here, just like these players would fight for their spots on the team this season.

Confidence, I hoped, would come with time.