Page 126 of Wrong Pucking Player

“You’re not fucking eleven inches!” I literally scream just as he steals and points the camera up, taking a photo.

“There. We’re even.”

“NO!” I scream. “I want a nice one, dammit!”

“For?”

“For my wallpaper,” I groan. “I mean, it’s not like I have family or pets to put on there, but I figured having your annoying ass would be nice to see on my lock screen from time to time.”

He looks down at me while I try not to shy away from the idea.

“You don’t have any group photos?”

“I once did with all of us as a crew,” I admit. “But that’s no more, you know? Why hold on to something that’s never going to return to what it was back then? Everyone else has moved on. Have better priorities and loved ones. I’m the only one still falling behind… but I’m working on it with the internship, you know?”

“You’re not falling behind, Kenzie,” Armani’s voice is soft as he doesn’t break eye contact with me. “You’re right where you need to be. Whatever happens from now on is to lead you down the path you’re meant to walk on.”He leans forward until his lips gently press against mine.

I can’t stop myself from closing my eyes, the shutter sound from his phone only confirming he took a photo.

“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” he confesses when we break the kiss. “Understood?”

Armani…

“Understood.”

He gives me his phone just as the knock on the door makes us realize Wyatt must be back.

Instead of dropping me, Armani walks up to the door, carrying me like I’m nothing but his dumbbell warmup weight.

Opening the door greets us with Wyatt, holding fancy boxes. They look pretty as hell from the design, making me wonder if it’s really takeout, but his attention is on us.

Or on the way Armani’s holding me.

“Kenzie challenged me to bicep curl her,” Armani announces. “I remain undefeated.”

“Wait… what?” That sounds utterly stupid to me. “That wasn’t a fucking bicep curl!”

“I can try again,” Armani swings me with ease.

“AH! Nope. Nope. Down boy, down!”

“Are you scared of heights?”

“NO!” I grab onto his neck, hugging him like a tree. “Swinging rides make me queasy as fuck.”

“Have you been on a rollercoaster before?” Armani asks.

“Yes, and I died.”

“I have a hard time believing that you died,” Armani jokes but walks me over to the kitchen island. He doesn’t have to hold me now, but I’m still clinging to him like it’s my last resort.

“C’mon. Eat your dessert.”

“OH!” I completely forgot about it. “Wait! The food is here.”

“By the time we unbox everything, you’ll be done with your cake,” he points out. “You inhale that sweet shit like it’s meth.”

“I don’t even know how to inhale meth. Wait. Do you inhale that stuff?”

---