Page 265 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

I frown at his words as he swiftly turns, so I no longer have him in my dragging grasp. He moves to the nearest chair, pulling and spinning it until it’s at the perfect position where he can lower and rest his arms along the back of it.

Those identical bluish-green eyes lock on mine, the intense blue overriding the usual green that reminds me of sea foam. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in the same radius as my twin brother.

The way we breathe in sync within a few seconds.

How our movements mimic each other without trying.

Even our nostrils flare at the same time with no mental effort.

I hate having my brother around.

I’ve never wanted to admit it, but he’s truly the “Jayce” I wanted to be when we separated and I came to Strattonville. Despite my getting the better end of the stick to live with Dad here while Jamie was raised in Moscow with our mom’s relatives, he grew up to be the better version of myself.

Stronger.

Faster.

Smarter.

Even more attractive.

When I stood next to him, I always envisioned him as the bad boy while I was the good child Dad put all his hope into because I was older by a few seconds.

I used to take pride in being privileged with such an opportunity. To gain your parent’s favor, knowing it was because of one obvious trait that would never change or go away. That’s what I always thought, but I noticed the shift in things.

How things were beginning not to go in my favor.

The thing that helped me get the protection and opportunities I needed was Jamie Winchester was in Moscow, living his life. The lack of social media content being released to the rest of the world made it so I could live this popular life of achievement without being compared to my little brother and whatever accomplishments he succeeded in without my company.

Or Father’s aid.

Now he was back.

At the worse time ever.

Trying to dethrone me before I can enjoy the fruits of my labor.

“Wait… what did you say?”

I don’t know why it took so long to register in my brain, but when it finally sinks in that Jamie potentially met with Mikayla—my fucking girl—a possessive rage almost blinds me and makes my vision cloaked in nothing but red.

“Your girl knew I wasn’t you. She pointed it out like my social bunny Siri before I was advised to introduce myself because you North Americans are very strict with your whole mannerisms. A bit amusing when you guys never really return the polite gestures or commentary.”

He shakes his head and shrugs.

“So, how are you, brother?” he asks the prime question that’s nothing but utter bullshit to tick me the fuck off. “I swear this is a no smoking on the property building, yet here you are, doing exactly that.”

He takes another inhale, letting the stream of smoke out before he grins widely.

“Since you’re on the last straw with Father, I figured I’d take this out of your grasp,” he encourages and takes the intensity of my glare like a champ. It does nothing to intimidate him in any way. “Don’t want you getting caught by the administration. They wouldn’t hesitate to call Dad, and well, I feel like he has enough on his plate with your bullshit.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jamie,” I snarl. “Who gave you permission to see my girl?”

“Last time I heard, isn’t your ‘girl,’ who I’m assuming is your ex, dating at least two or three players?”He wonders. “Or was it four?”

I hold my tongue when he brings that up, giving him a chance to smirk while he takes another go at my cig. Instead of letting the stream out immediately, he tosses the cigarette away like it’s nothing but trash.

“Jamie!”

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