Page 119 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Gay and yet you’re fucking Andrews,” Winchester snarls.

“Nah,” Oscar comments and even shakes his head. He then points back until his thumb is directly aimed at me. “Cyrus Jr. is fucking Andrews. I, on the other hand, have the intention of dating Andrews. There’s a difference.”

I can see the corner smirk on Oscar’s lips before he begins to walk away.

“Hope you stick around, Equipment Manager,” he calls out to me. “I’m sure, Andrews would love your company over some cheap fast-food dinner.”

I have nothing to say as he heads down the stairs, leaving the three of us in speechless silence.

Leo ends up reaching out to pat my shoulder.

“See that?” he begins. “Now that’s how you claim what you want.”

I can’t even deny him because he’s right.

He’s pucking right.

DINNER FOR THREE?

~MACKENZIE~

“Huh?”

I blink a few times because I’m clearly hallucinating.

Armani and Wyatt are standing at my doorway.

“Cyrus Jr. came to see you but was chickening out until I threatened to beat his ass,” Oscar announces as he uses his free hand to point to the blond in question.

“You did not threaten to beat my ass,” Wyatt snaps with a side glare.

“Right, right,” Oscar brushes him off. “I threatened to beat your ass if you didn’t order something for Andrews to eat while she recovers from being sick.”

“You ordered food, too?” I ask Wyatt, noticing the way his cheeks are burning red.

He’s looking anywhere but me, which isn’t usual for him.

Where’d his confidence go?

“It may be a tad late, but I clicked the express delivery option. It’ll deliver to the door,” he reveals and manages to finally look me in the eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Ah,” I begin and smile. “Much better. Maybe my body was just tired since I’m out of my routine. Sleeping in and taking some medicine helped a lot. I came by to see if I could be around for the last bit of practice but missed it.”

“Missed Winchester showing off,” Armani notes. “You didn’t miss shit.”

That makes me snicker before I gesture for them to get inside.

“Come inside,” I encourage. One whiff of whatever Oscar is holding catches my attention. “What in heaven’s name did you buy?”

“Oh,” Armani begins as he walks over to place the two bags filled with various styrofoam trays onto the marble surface. “Come here and check yourself.”

I close the door far too fast and skip to the island. Before I can go on a scavenger hunt with my nose, Armani stops me, his hands landing on my waist.

“Not that bag,” he points out and even rests his chin on my left shoulder. “The black bag on the far right.”

“This one?” I point to the bag in question.

I’m also really enjoying the scent of the cologne that he’s wearing. He must have put some on when we went downstairs, but not sure if he carries a little bottle of cologne with him like he does his cigarettes.

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