Page 41 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

The bottom drawer of Mikayla’s dresser, at the very back, tucked under my stolen sweaters.

When I open it to see the neatly folded bundles of sweaters, I hold my breath and hope for the best.

Thank pucking God!

My baby girl still loves me enough to keep my stash of spare boxers. I have an afterthought, wondering if anyone else fucked her in this very bed and slipped on this pair of boxers, but then again, I know how uptight my girl is with boundaries.

Her room is her safe spot, and very few have gotten the privilege of entering it.

Not even Jayce.

The reminder makes me smirk before I quickly slip into the cotton briefs and walk to the opening.

“Mikayla,” Coach Johnson sounds annoyed.Or has a migraine.“If you’re up, at least answer me.”

I crouch down to unlock the latch before lifting the door to see the tall man with his arms crossed.

“Sorry, Coach Johnson,” I begin and notice his surprise as he looks up to see my massive crouched body in the entranceway.

Probably covered in bite marks, bruises, and whatever else after last night.

“Mikayla’s still sleeping.” My voice is thick as fuck. Thicker than usual, which gives the impression I’ve been asleep, even if it was for a tiny bit. Good for my coverup, though it’s not like I’m trying to hide the obvious fact that I slept over last night.

At the coach’s house, in his daughter’s room, sharing her double-size bed, wearing fucking boxers.

It takes him a moment of blinking and staring at me before he tries to compose his obvious shock.

“O’Riley Wilson,” he begins as his lips dip into a frown.

“Good Morning, Coach Johnson.”

“Afternoon,” he corrects and doesn’t hide his annoyance.

Yup. The man still hates my fucking guts.

“You stayed the night.” He’s not saying it as a question, just verifying the truth.

“Yup.” There’s not a hint of remorse in my voice. “Flight came in last night. Met Mkaykay at the bar. Brought her home. Stayed the night.”

“Mikayla got drunk, didn’t she?” He has to piece it all together, which I expected. That’s why I gave him the summary to use as leeway.

“Mary-had-a-little-lamb shit-faced drunk,” I declare and watch as he groans and pinches his nose with his left hand.

“She never used to drink like that until this bloody week.”

Oh.

“The date is coming up,” I begin and notice his realization before he meets my calm gaze. “Right?”

All he does is nod before he shows a bit of empathy for his daughter’s behavior.

“Thank you for bringing her home safely,” he finally states, even though he’s not looking my way. He hates admitting gratitude to me, even when we’re on good terms. It feels like it’s a father thing until you become their son-in-law.

“Always been my responsibility,” I voice the obvious. “Still take it seriously. Regardless of the past.”

We’re silent for what feels like eons before he clears his throat.

“Let Mikayla sleep for a bit longer,” he concludes but is glaring up at me. “Put some clothes on and come downstairs to be useful.”

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