Page 46 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“See. If you’d just come back to the hotel like a good leader, none of this would have happened,” Wolfgang complains as he side-glares at Maddox.

The 6’5” man doesn’t give a flying fuck. I can see it all over his face because he’s smiling so fucking big at the reminder.

This man has no shame… wait. Oh fucking God!

Now I get it.

Maddox had to have met my dad first.

Meaning, Father knows we fucked.

Of course, he knows! Why else would Maddox stay over? For my well-being?

I wanna go back inside and hide, but Wyatt catches sight of me.

“Afternoon, Mishka,” Wyatt greets, only for Wolfgang to grab the closest thing near him, a towel, and throw it in Wyatt’s face.

“Fuck!” he curses. “Wolfgang!”

“Listen here, champ! Only my Russian ass is calling her Mishka!” Wolfgang emphasizes and lets his thick Russian accent seep into pronunciation. “Mishka. My nickname for Mikayla. Figure something else!!”

“You guys are not going to start this here,” Wyatt groans.

“Start what?” One of the guys I don’t know questions. He’s clearly clueless.

“Oh, no, Ethan. You don’t want to get into this,” the other guy I don’t know stresses. “We’ve warned you in group chat. Coach’s daughter is off limits when it comes to these selfish assholes.”

“Selfish?!!” Ace gasps and points to his comrade in question. “Watch that newbie mouth of yours, Clayton. Unlike Maddox and Damian, I ain’t a team player off the ice.”

“Neither am I,” Wolfgang adds and finishes his push-up before jumping up, completely drenched in sweat. “I can pucking fight!”

“Pucking?” Ethan looks even more confused.

“It’s the substitute for fucking,” Wyatt reveals to the lost man. “You don’t swear in front of Coach Johnson.”

“Why?” Ethan asks.

“Probably doesn’t wanna acknowledge Maddox fucking his—” Clayton begins but is gasping for air and wheezing over because Wolfgang punched the poor man in the gut.

“If I have to do any more pucking pushups today, you BOTH are getting PUCKED!” he screams.

“Why do I feel it’s too late,” Damien mutters in dismay.

They’re all looking at my dad, who’s totally in “Coach Mode.”

I know that look more than anyone.

They’re screwed.

Time to save my boys.

“Either go run a mile around the block or stay here and face the wrath of my lovely father,” I announce and head down the steps.

They’re all looking at me like a descending angel ready to take them away from a year of endless torture.

“RUNNING!” Damien, Ace, and Wolfgang declare and are already gone before I reach the group. They disappear in a blink, leaving a pool of sweat, empty water bottles, and towels behind.

“Oh, I ain’t suffering,” Ethan declares and grabs Clayton before he says something stupid. They’re next to race down the block, following where my three Musketeers left.

---