Page 101 of Wrong Pucking Player

“What happened?” Wyatt presses. “Shit. Xandra? Are you hurt?”

“Uh…” Talk about having slow processing time. “A little? I don’t know what happened. I uh dro—”

“The glass panel fell from above!” Caren insists.

Say what? Glass panel where?

The way I look up to see the panel above my head is actually missing baffles me because I didn’t even notice that the ceiling of this place had glass-like panels and not the usual crusty whiteboards you see in offices.

Is this the new shit that rich people do now? Aren’t they afraid of it collapsing on them? Hmm. Maybe that’s a poor people thing. We can’t afford insurance or coverage higher than the basic one that covers your funeral costs if you die.

“This suite is in no way suited for someone like me! I found five other faults before that glass panel fell! I had a forty-five minute talk with Mr. Champion, and he assured me everything would be fixed!” Caren goes off, and honestly, she’s a good fucking actor because she has me fooled.

The whole town will hate her by the end of this season if she’s really going to carry this bitchy demeanor the entire time.

“Why did Mr. Champion send YOU to come look into this? You’re an equipment manager! Not the maintenance dude of this building.”

“I offered to come and check because the maintenance guy is off campus. They only now got a hold of him, so he should be here soon,” Wyatt stresses to her but is only a few feet away from me.

Instead of being concerned about the panel above, his eyes are slowly taking me in from head to toe. His gaze stops at my right hand, noticing the trail of blood that’s oozing from the spot where the glass is still in my flesh.

I should get that out.

“Fuck, Xandra,” he hisses and has every intention of walking forward onto the broken glass floor, but I use my free hand to signal him to stop.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. Just a little scratch. You should clean the floor first.”

“What’s a little scratch?”

Actual goosebumps run down my arms as I can’t help but look back to see who’s at the doorframe. Not one, but three men are standing at the little entrance, and it’s clear with one look I know each one of them.

“Oliver? Leo? Armani? What are you three doing here?”

“I own these building complexes,” Oliver announces.

“I help with the maintenance of the players’ buildings down the street,” Leo confesses and points to Armani as if he knows he won’t answer me. “And Armani is—”

“Why are you bleeding?”

All eyes fall on the bulk goalie who looks venomous.

I can see Leo and Oliver’s surprise as they look at Armani, who looks like he’ll pop a damn blood vessel if I don’t answer him.

Instead of trying to act like a maiden in distress, I do what I know will piss him off.

Point to the ceiling.

“Panel fell.” My voice is flat. “Guess you guys did shit installing it.”

The man doesn’t even give anyone a chance to say shit. He stomps up to me, ignoring the shattered glass floor, until we’re literally facing each other.

I don’t even remember when I turned around, but the thought is gone just like my desire to rebel against him because he has me up and over his shoulder in seconds.

“Wait. What?! Armani!”

“Say something stupid and I’m throwing you out the balcony,” Armani snaps.

“What?! Th-That’s murder! You wouldn’t actually kill me, Armani. You’d miss my sassy— AH!”

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