Page 42 of Wrong Pucking Player

SHE’S THE ONLY ONE

~OSCAR~

Does this woman understand the power she holds against me?

It’s one of the many questions that repeat in my mind as I maintain my jogging pace a few strides away from the woman in question.

Alexandra Mackenzie Andrews.

The only woman who seems to ignite some sort of emotion in the depths of my cold heart.

I don’t remember when this sensation came to the surface. Why I felt this need to aid her in ways that didn’t necessarily stop her from being true to herself.

Maybe it all started when she entered the crew years ago when Mikayla Johnson introduced her to all of us.

Honestly, I don’t even fucking remember why I suddenly felt this infatuated need to bother her in any way I can.

After five years, I thought I’d never see her again. That my ongoing dedication to water her plants and making sure her place was dust free over the years was just my way of dealing with this sensation that has never really gone away.

I’m not attracted to Andrews… at least, I keep telling myself that because I know I’m into men.

She probably knows I’m into men.

It’s never been something I’ve been vocal about. I haven’t presented to the world that I’m gay or interested in men. I’m at the stage of my life where I’m aware that I’d suck cock and enjoy it, just like I’d take it in the ass like a fucking champ. However, the idea of fucking or eating pussy makes me cringe.

With the one exception a few feet ahead of me.

Just staring at her behind makes me tingle in various places. My nostrils flare in hopes of catching another whiff of her delicate flowery scent with hints of vanilla. I don’t know what body wash or perfume she uses on the regular, but the aroma has haunted me in my very dreams for years.

To smell it again feels like I’ve dived into a miraculous dream.

Her blonde hair is long, enough that she can put it in a ponytail that bounces and swings from side to side with her running pace. She’s wearing shorts that grip her plump ass far too perfectly, and the glimpse of her breasts in that low-dip sports bra makes my cock twitch in need.

Fuck… when was the last time I masturbated over a woman?

Years.

Many years.

Since she was eighteen and I began having wet dreams about her.Being five years older than her is probably a bad sign, but what if she’s into older men?

It shouldn’t even matter.

She’s not my type.

I’m not into women.

Period.

Fucking Andrews. Back to fuck up my life.

The crazy thing about Andrews and me is that we only had three things in common—we lived in government housing, both enjoyed physical activities that get our hearts pumping, and argued with one another like cats and dogs.

I remember Diesel and Kane used to say that meant we had ‘chemistry’.

Chemistry my fucking foot.

If we really had some sort of chemistry, surely, she wouldn’t have disappeared for five-plus years. Then again, back then I wouldn’t consider myself someone she could rely on to help her with whatever she was going through.

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