Page 43 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

And nearly drop my phone.

“What the hell?” I’m looking at a fucking murder scene.

Only there’s no body.

“She’s not on her period,” I mutter as if I’d be some sort of expert in that department.

She certainly wasn’t wearing underwear last night—the woman knows how to tease me into oblivion.Maybe she just finished her period off with a grand finale?

Blood everywhere.

I felt stupid thinking about it like that, which is why I scrapped the idea.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily a neat freak, but she really didn’t like things getting chaotic. It nagged at her anxiety. I wasn’t sure if she still dealt with that or the panic attacks she used to experience, but she wouldn’t leave this place a mess unless she was called downstairs.

Deciding that standing there wasn’t going to get this place cleaned up, I try to remember where she stores the cleaning supplies.

Glancing at my phone, I notice Wolfgang’s calling but ignore it and text the group instead.

ME: “At Mkaykay’s. She’s sleeping. I’m cleaning. About to get drilled by Coach Johnson. Will text later. Pray for my survival.”

The chat is going off, but I close it before I can get pulled into that mayhem.

With one last glance at my sleeping Mikayla, I decide it’s time to get to work.

I can’t help smiling the entire time.

Like The Crew Days

~MIKAYLA~

“Maddox?”

I’m snuggling a pillow that’s far too small in comparison to my massive ‘maybe not my ex anymore’boyfriend.

Can I say that? Omg, we fucked last night.

Fucked is an understatement.

We did a lot of fucking. Different positions, paces, and role-playing madness until I literally couldn’t remember my name.

I certainly wasn’t speaking English by the end of it, either.

It’s like I finally got everything out of my system. No longer was my sex life like the Sahara desert. Being sexually pleased after this week of hell was already putting me in a good pucking mood.

Found out I got the internship, went out with my best friend, got drunk and saw both my exes, met my old crew of guy friends and had a fun evening full of laughs, got drunker with karaoke, got driven home on the nicer ex’s motorcycle, then invited him in and fucked the night away.

Yesterday was so amazing.

Slowly sitting up, my messy hair is a tangled rat’s nest, but I confirm with my half-opened eyes that my Maddox isn’t here. A bit of disappointment pools in my stomach as I wonder if he left shortly after I fell asleep. It’s not like him, but then again, it’s been five years.

People can change into new individuals in that allotted time.

Not wanting to dwell on it, I work on getting out of bed before I shuffle to the standing mirror in the corner of the attic near the window to see the collateral damage.

I whistle.

“Pucking hell, I look like I went through the gates of hell and survived,” I say to my reflection as I take in my bruised, naked self—bite marks, hickeys, raccoon nest hair.

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