Page 168 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“I was doing laundry,” Wyatt argues.

“Laundry doesn’t clarify why your shirt is backward,” Knox laughs.

“Ugh. It gets hot in the room filled with dryers. I wanted to see who’s winning this shit,” he argues.

“So, how’d you know we’re competing, huh?” Ethan asks.

“Mackenzie told me!”

“Mackenzie,” the boys repeat my best friend’s middle name.

“I bet you there was more than just telling involved,” Sebastian casually states.

“What more would they be doing?” Clayton asks.

We all snicker and laugh while Wyatt grunts a bunch of curses.

“Anyway,” I call out to break them up before things get saucy while pointing out the obvious. “Jayce, you’re next.”

“Why don’t you go first?” He counters me.

“Because I don’t feel like it,” I reply with a smirk that grinds his gears. “Now, step up to the plate or get the fuck out and let Oscar try.”

“Wow. Since when is Mikayla so damn bold?” Kane wonders.

“Don’t know, man. She’s being too cocky,” Diesel grumbles.

“It’s the pre-workout,” I reply to them and wink. “Now, next time, say it to my face, not talking on the defeated sidelines.

“Woot,” Marcus cheers. “Sassy Nurse Johnson unlocked.”

“I really like when she’s bold like that,” Liam admits.

“It proves she’s totally related to Coach Johnson. They got the same attitude when they’re into the competition.”

“Nurse Johnson, you should coach us sometime,” Clayton suggests. “Give Coach Cyrus a run for his money.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tease back, then concentrate when Jayce approaches the barbell. “Let’s see it, Winchester.”

I know he wants to say something, but he grits his teeth and prepares to lift the set weights of 260 lbs. With a grunt, he begins to lift, his face getting redder by the second while his whole body shakes. He doesn’t even make it halfway before it drops.

“Winchester is out!” I call out, and the Vipers are losing it.

“Fucking yes!”

“One more to go!”

“Sassy Nurse ready to destroy the Pincers.”

“Beat Oscar, Johnson, and the team owe you lunch for the whole season.”

The others are rooting in agreement, which has Oscar’s grunting as he stomps to the bar.

“Up the weight to 300 lbs.,” he instructs.

My boys gasp.

“Wait, what?” Dimitri questions. “300? Are you mad?”

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