Page 72 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“Shut it,” he growls in warning. “I’m not a freak like you.”

“So being able to open your heart and love more than one makes me a freak?” I counter and watch him hold back his next words.

It only lasts for a second.

“Yeah. It makes you a gay freak,” he snaps back. “I’m not fucking gay, O’Riley. I don’t suck cock, and I’m not interested in kissing any douche. I eat pussy and only pussy, and no fucking way would I dare share my girl with anyone.”

“Then you’re missing out,” I conclude, my eyes never leaving his as I dare inch enough that our lips barely touch. “I bet Mickey would love to see that shit in the bedroom.”

He pulls back entirely, realizing we “almost” kissed, if you considered the way I brushed his lips with my own. Jayce always has a slow reaction time in heated situations like this, so I’m giving him a chance to catch up.

Giving him the opportunity to punch me in the pucking face.

That’s exactly what he plans to do—his fist recalling back and ready to punch my right cheek.

I kind of regret not wearing my mouthguard at this point, but I brace for it like a man. I’m not going to cower, duck, or move away like in the past.

Jayce sees that last minute, which is why his eyes widen right before his fist is already on a direct course to punching me with full force.

It doesn’t land as he expects it to.

Instead, we’re both staring at his fist that’s an inch from my face—an open palm taking the full blow of his rage.

We shift our eyes to the culprit, who’s casually standing there like he didn’t just stop a fight.

“Owens,” Jayce mutters.

“Damien,” I whisper, and he rewards me with a slight lift of his lips as he looks my way.

“You owe me,” he begins with an added wink. “Made a bet with the boys that you wouldn’t get into trouble on the first day.”

Oh God.

“Don’t tell them,” I groan. If he does, I’ll hear it all season. “What do you want?”

“Movie date,” he says like it’s no big deal, but I stare at him with wide eyes.

The same as Jayce.

“A date?” Jayce sounds mortified. Enough that he retracts his fist as if touching Damien will make him “gay.”

“Yup.” Damien moves in closer until we’re shoulder to shoulder.

Then he reaches for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine in a firm grip. Lifting our joined hands, he emphasizes them in Jayce’s line of vision.

“A date,” he repeats, and for a few short seconds, I see nothing but jealousy ripple through Jayce’s expression. “Got a problem?”

He covers it up just as quickly, taking a few steps back and letting out a huff.

“I’m wasting precious time,” he concludes and looks my way. “Next time you’re going to lie, try to be more convincing.”

He turns to walk away, but I can’t let him go that way.

Let him think he got the last laugh.

“Again, I ain’t lying,” I affirm, which makes him stop a few steps ahead. “Mikayla and I are together. Don’t believe it. Ask Coach Johnson yourself.”

I feel like he’s going to turn around to glare our way. That’s why I’m tugging Damien’s hand and leading him in the opposite direction.

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