Page 10 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“Mishka, it’s late afternoon,” he says in English.

Guess he doesn’t want me blowing a fuse.

“Morning for me,” she giggles. “I only woke up a bit ago.”

“Meaning you’ve always been a redhead?” Wyatt asks before I can try to insert myself back into the conversation.

“Oh!” She seems stunned and touches her hair for a moment. Those jeweled eyes of hers sparkle with a hint of amusement as she looks at the single strand in her grasp before she nervously laughs. “Yeah, no. That’s pucking new.”

Pucking new. God, she’s still doing that shit?

“Aren’t you twenty-five already?” I grunt. “Why the fuck are you still using ‘pucking’ as a replacement for fucking? Like, grow up.” I say the words before I can think, and gut-punching regret hits me like whiplash. It only worsens when I see the way those eyes deflate like balloons of happiness being popped by a pin.

I’m the fucking pin.

“Why do you care?” Her tone is cold, just like her eyes, which look like piercing icicles. “What I say shouldn’t ruffle a featherless ass like yourself.”

Ouch.

“I wonder who plucked them all away with her bitter remarks?” I counter, feeling like an argument is going to stem between us before I can even express our purpose for coming here.

I didn’t know she was home. Sure, this is her place, has been for a few years since her family had to downgrade. I asked her why once, but she shut down and shut me out. That was my sign to fuck off, so I didn’t bother prying. Wasn’t my business, and I had shit to focus on, anyway. Even if we were dating, I guess she didn’t think we were close enough to lean on me.

Her loss.

Now that our team was officially going to compete across Canada and get the chance to go head-on with the big-league teams, the deals were rolling in. I could smell the piles of money we’d be jumping into once contracts were signed.

Can’t fucking wait.

If we were still together, I could get her out of this little shithole.

She deserved better, but her dad couldn’t afford it.

Going from rich to fucking bankrupt probably messed with his head. He hasn’t coached for a hot while, so I doubt he’s doing that for a living.

Heck, what’s my girl doing for a living?

She’s twenty-five, still living with her dad, probably in that tiny attic. Her bathroom—her oasis—is the only luxurious thing in there because they got it renovated or something. They were finalizing things when we broke up.

I’ll never see how that turned out, huh?

“What are you doing here, Jayce?” She practically spits the words out like venom before she’s sweetly smiling in Wyatt’s direction. “You are more than welcome inside, Wyatt.”

Bitch.

“Just forewarning, my bestie is here.”

I don’t even need to glance over to know Wyatt is probably fucking red like a damn tomato.

Fucking weak shit.

“I-Is she?” he stutters as if he can’t believe that Mackenzie girl is around.

Everyone in this small town knows if Mickey is around, Mack is somewhere close by, ready to ignite trouble or tag team with Mickey so they can cause a ruckus together.

And I used to be attracted to that shit.

“Yeah, she’s—“

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