Page 104 of Wrong Pucking Player

“At least come to the family dinner in a few weeks. Can you manage that?”

“Fine,” Armani sighs.

“You’re the best,” Oliver hums. “See you at the gym. Your girl works out there, so I hope to see your bulky ass there, too. Not like it’s hard to miss your massive frame.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you, too. Wake your girl up in five. Want to have our talk before Cyrus finishes whatever task Mr. Champion makes up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Armani brushes off.

Soon enough, the washroom is quiet. Only the sensation of Armani’s stroking fingers through my hair tames my racing heart.

“The real question is whether she’ll think I’m a monster after this,” he quietly mutters, which makes my heart ache because despite whatever is unfolding before my eyes, I know one thing is sure.

Armani is far from a monster.

FORCED ROOMMATES

~OSCAR~

“Armani. Where do you think you’re going?”

I’m fixing my bag full of equipment, wearing my favorite set of black sweatpants. I didn’t bother removing my jersey, needing a bit of insulation, even though I was still soaked in sweat.

I was the first one off the ice and into the changerooms, and now I was going to be the first one to ditch and go to the dorms to visit a certain team nurse who wasn’t here today.

Called in sick, my ass.

It’s been two weeks, and we’re having our first game at the end of this week. Despite the time, we haven’t managed to have our “talk” regarding bringing Andrews into our hidden plan to take out four criminal families hiding behind the surface of being hockey fanatics and supporters in the sports industry.

Winchesters is one of the two ringleaders, in particular.

I’ve been playing double agent since the moment I met him. That was why I became his friend, to begin with. Get some information, feed it over to the upper family, and move along.

However, that start of our ‘friendship’ ended up lasting an agonizing ten years plus, and now here I am, on the same hockey team as the douche who treats me like utter shit.

If he knew my family was far richer, had more connections, and could squish his entire bloodline in seconds, he’d humble himself real quick.

Who am I kidding? That wouldn’t humble his ass. His brother is better than him, yet he denies it every chance he gets.

I pause in my tracks, realizing my rather delayed response time. It makes me groan in annoyance, knowing I hate having a conversation after any intense game plan.

I sweat a lot.

A lot, as in I need IV liquids and to replenish myself with bottles of Gatorade to keep myself standing.

Jayce fucking knows that, yet he’s surely stomping over here to stop me from leaving.

Fuck.

I already feel lightheaded, which means it won’t be long before my legs decide to stop cooperating.

“What, Jayce?” He needs to get to the point.

“You think because you did a good job on the ice that you can act like you’re the fucking captain of the team?” Jayce snaps.

He’s coming from behind me before he pushes at my shoulder. It does enough to sway me just a bit, but no way can he push me down just yet.

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