Page 182 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“Uhhh,” Marcus begins, and I totally realize we forgot they were even here. “So Mikayla burns for both of you?”

“Yup,” Damien doesn’t even hide it, which makes me give him a ‘are you crazy’ look. He smirks at my expression while he turns his attention to Marcus.

“Got a problem?”

“Nah,” Marcus admits but points back to Coach Cyrus. “But I swear coach is still here.”

Coach Cyrus rolls his eyes.

“I’m not getting into this,” he announces but looks at me and Damien as he points between us. “Make her cry and I’ll not only bench both of you, but I’ll ensure your lives are living hells for the entire season.”

We shiver at the mere idea.

Matched with the thought of Coach Johnson getting involved.

“Yes, Sir,” we say in unison.

“And I got a photo of that,” Ace laughs. “Oh, man. I’m framing that shit. Blackmail at its finest.”

“Fucker,” Damien curses and stomps over to take Ace’s phone, but the man is running out of the locker room. “Get back here!”

“I’m gonna show Mickey this!” he cheers.

I just shake my head.

“Rest up, Captain,” Marcus declares. “We’ll be back.”

“Thanks,” I reply and watch him leave.

Only Coach Cyrus is left as he observes me for a moment.

“You can ask if you want to ask,” I voice as I lean my head back against the lockers behind me. The pulsing ache and pains of the game are settling into my bones, but if I get up and go shower, I could delay the effects for a few more hours.

Fuck, I’m getting old.

“You, Damien, Mikayla?” Even though it’s a question, it sounds more like a confirmation.

“Yes.” I don’t hide the truth as I lower my head so I can look back at my coach with a serious expression. “Me, Mikayla, and Damien.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, and he slowly nods.

“Cool.” He turns with the intention of letting go of the door. “Doesn’t affect your contracts. Just be wary of the press.”

“Got it,” I reply while trying to hide my relief.

He’s not angry.

He’s actually supportive.

“Good play tonight. You have my permission to get wasted tonight.”

“Thank the fucking heavens,” I groan in relief. “Get drunk, have a smoke, and maybe fuck my Baby Girl. That would be the ultimate prize for tonight’s victory.” I slip up with admitting my intentions with Mkaykay tonight, but Coach clearly ignores it.

“Pucking,” he corrects, and I laugh.

“God, we’re going to get that word put in the dictionary by the end of the season.”

“Let’s make it happen,” he encourages. “See you in a bit.”

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