Page 9 of Wrong Pucking Player

Using the good old ‘late’ excuse gets my bestie every time.

You’re late for Coach Johnson, and you’re doing sprints and drills in front of his garage for all the neighborhood blocks to witness from their windows.

“You’re right.” She shivers for added emphasis. “Food first! Clean up later.”

“Clubbing later,” I say with a wink and head to the ladder.

“Oh God. How about Jack’s first?” she offers back as she follows my lead. “I wouldn’t mind getting a drink tonight.”

“A drink or getting shit-faced drunk?”

“You already know my answer,” she says with a taunting grin that has me hollering.

“Bitch, I’m such a bad influence.”

“You and me both,” she teases in return and whispers, “But if my dad has to deal with my drunk ass a second night, you gotta bail me out.”

“It was my idea, Sergent Johnson,” I declare as I reach the bottom of the ladder and spin around to give her a salute.

She laughs like crazy at my seriousness before giving me her biggest smile.

“You’re the best, Mackenzie.”

I can’t grin any wider.

“Likewise, Bitch. Now change that shirt before you stain the cushions later in the living room.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She brushes me off before she goes to change her shirt.

I pull out my phone at the vibration of it, glancing down to acknowledge the incoming message.

AUNTIE B.

“Hey, Sweetie. Can we talk later? It’s important.”

Frowning at the message, another comes through.

One that makes my heart skip and my pussy clench.

SEXY WYATT (EX-BOYFRIEND):

“Hey, Xandra. You in town?”

“God…” I mutter to myself, knowing how tempting the mere idea of Wyatt being in the same room as me would do to me.

Fuck. He’s back in Strattonville? No. He didn’t say that. He could still be in America. Or Dubai. Or wherever the fuck he’s been for the last five years.

I’m still trying to figure out why I never blocked him.

Still madly in love with the sexy sinner who knows how to eat pussy out like a four-meal course.

“Admit it, Xandra. You’re horny as fuck,” I mutter to myself and turn the screen off.

“What?” Mikayla asks.

I look up to see her about to come down the ladder.

“Was making our reservations,” I declare and give her a defiant grin. “Ready to get shit-faced later?”

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