Page 123 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

Fucking complicated.

One thing I struggle to do around Mickey is lie. She sees right through me. Doesn’t matter how hard I try. All my peers wish they could read me, but Mikayla Cross Johnson has X-ray vision because she sees right through me and is always on point.

Fuck. She can’t be here.

“Jayce? What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps.

I hate that whenever we confront each other, it’s like we’re on the verge of a fight. I could be appreciating the sky, and she’ll appear out of nowhere to bring me down for doing something unexpected.

I despised that the world seemed so against our union.

I didn’t want to give up on her.On us.Yet, how do you fix something that always feels so fucking broken?

She doesn’t even try to be on my side.

Not in comparison to Maddox.

She always makes sure to listen to his side of the story before judging. No matter what occasion when an unexpected confrontation occurs. Heck, she does a better job with the other douches.

Wolfgang. Ace. Fucking Damien.

They always thought of themselves as the superior side of our crew. I’m sure they believe they got the better end of the stick when we broke apart.

They got our girl.

Only it didn’t last long. A few years was all it needed for them to go their separate ways.

Good fucking riddance.

Mikayla should have been my girl from the beginning.

Her mom ruined everything.

Destroyed my thrilling risk taker who did everything I asked.

I was grooming her to perfection. Who cared if some people disliked it because of our age difference?

She loved me.

No, she still loves me.

My risk taker is just in the depth of all those walls she made to protect herself since her mother’s passing.

Just have to break those walls down and free my girl.

Then she’ll realize how good she had it with me. How right she was with me and how wrong that she’s wearing another team’s jersey.

My Mikayla is wearing the wrong fucking jersey. I’m gonna prove that to her. Just wait.

“I’m the victim here,” I voice defensively and roll my eyes. “Nice to know you care.”

She gives me a look that screams ‘shut the fuck up,’ but she argues with, “Last time I checked,”—she paused to look at her Apple watch on her left wrist, then back at me—“which was two seconds ago, you’re still breathing.”

Great.

“None of this shit is my fault,” I protest and point to the white Tesla SUV. “They almost hit me. I literally saw those high-beam electric headlights flashing before my eyes. Next thing you know, they’re crashing into the tree.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just stares.

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