More Than A Game Book 1: More Than A Game
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Anne Laura van Rooij
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19,4K
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Tessa Hartwell has spent high school keeping a low profile, focused on her future and far away from football drama—until Zane Mercer, her school’s star quarterback and resident flirt, decides she’s worth chasing. Charming, competitive, and hard to ignore, Zane isn’t used to hearing no. But just as Tessa begins to wonder if there’s more to him than his cocky grin, Logan Carter—the quarterback from their rival school—enters her life. Thoughtful, steady, and able to see past her walls, Logan complicates everything. With homecoming near, friendships at risk, and the whole school watching, Tessa has to choose.
The One Rule I Never Thought I’d Break
TESSA
There are two things I swore I would never do in high school. One, fall for a football player. Two, get tangled up in the world of golden boys and homecoming drama.
Yet here I was, standing in the middle of the chaos that was Westbridge High, watching Zane Mercer—the school’s all-star quarterback and professional flirt—flash his signature grin at me like he had the entire universe in his back pocket.
And the worst part? I felt something.
It was fleeting, barely there, but enough to make my heart do a stupid little skip that I immediately wanted to take back. Because I knew his type.
Zane Mercer was the kind of guy who collected hearts like trophies. He was the name whispered in the hallways, the guy who had an entire section of the bleachers dedicated to girls wearing his jersey, the boy who could walk into any room and own it without even trying.
And me? I was just Tessa Hartwell. I wasn’t part of the cheer squad or the “It Girl” crowd. I didn’t have a list of ex-boyfriends or a reputation for being anything but…me.
I liked my books, my coffee shop job, and my quiet little corner of the world where I didn’t have to compete for anyone’s attention. So when Zane leaned against my locker, arms crossed, smirk in place, I already knew this was going to be trouble.
“Hartwell,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you stalking me?”
I didn’t even look at him. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. I wake up every morning thinking, ‘How can I plan my entire day around Zane Mercer?’”
His grin widened, all confidence and mischief. “Flattering,” he said.
I shut my locker with a bang and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Delusional.”
This was how it always went. Ever since sophomore year, when Zane first tried his charm on me and failed miserably, we had fallen into this weird unspoken game. He’d flirt. I’d shut him down. He’d smirk. I’d roll my eyes. And the universe would stay exactly as it should be.
At least, that’s what I thought. Until today.
Because today, he wasn’t just being his usual flirty, annoying self. Today, there was something else in his eyes—a glint of curiosity, like I was a puzzle he had just now decided he wanted to solve. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
If you went to Westbridge High, there was an unspoken rule about dealing with football players. Rule one: Never make eye contact in the hallway. To them, it’s basically an invitation to flirt.
Rule two: Sarcasm is their love language. Do not engage. Seriously. (Unless you’re me, and apparently, sarcasm is a reflex I have no control over.)
Rule three: If a football player, especially the quarterback, talks to you, brace yourself—your life is about to get unnecessarily complicated. And Zane Mercer was the worst offender of them all.
He had this thing where he could make anyone feel like the center of the universe—for about five minutes. And then, just as easily, he’d move on to someone new. I wasn’t about to be someone’s five-minute distraction.
Which is exactly why I ignored the way his smirk made my stomach flip and focused on getting the heck out of there. I took one step toward the library. One.
But then his arm shot out, blocking my path like he had every right to do so. “Hold up.” His voice was light, teasing. “Where’s the fire?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “The fire is me trying to leave this conversation.”
Zane only grinned. “Too bad. I’m feeling chatty today.”
Of course he was. A couple of girls walked by, whispering. I could feel their stares burning into me.
This was exactly the kind of situation I tried to avoid. But Zane didn’t care. He was Zane. He thrived on attention.
I crossed my arms. “What do you want, Mercer?”
He studied me for a second, then said, “Homecoming.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Homecoming,” he repeated. “Go with me.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that was not one of them. I stared. He smirked. I stared harder.
This was a joke. Had to be. Zane Mercer did not ask girls to homecoming like this.
Publicly? Casually? In front of people? No. He made a show of it. He did grand gestures.
Which meant…this wasn’t real. It was a game. And I wasn’t playing.
“Not interested.”
He tilted his head, like I had just spoken another language. “Come on, Hartwell. It’s just a dance.”
“Yeah, and I’m just saying no.”
His lips twitched. “I think you’re scared.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Scared of what?”
“Scared that you might actually have fun.”
I scoffed. “Scared that I’ll be another girl on your list, you mean?”
Zane’s playful smirk faltered—just for a second. And that’s when I realized…I’d hit a nerve.
For a brief moment, Zane looked…different. Less cocky quarterback, more actual person. But before I could figure it out, he covered it with another lazy grin. “You wound me, Hartwell.”
I sighed. “Look, go ask one of your fan club members. I’m sure there’s a waiting list.”
“But I want you.”
The words were casual, playful, but something about the way he said them made my breath catch. And that was the problem with Zane Mercer. He knew exactly what he was doing.
I needed to get out of here. Before I did something dumb. Like…smile. So I did the only logical thing: I turned and walked away.
Zane laughed behind me. “That’s not a no!”
I ignored him. Because, honestly? I wasn’t so sure anymore.
