Page 173 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Because I can’t afford this.”

“I can,” he counters. “I’m sure set up won’t take long, and our phone lines are on one bill, so you won’t need to worry about it.”

“Oscar.” My voice is barely there now as I look at him. “I… what happened to my phone?”

“It broke.”

I need a moment for it to shimmer.

“Meaning someone broke it.”

“You’re good at critically thinking,” he notes.

“Thanks,” I reply. “Winchester?”

“He thought it was my phone,” he admits with a sigh. “Broke it to bits. I hope your stuff was backed up.”

“It is,” I assure him. “Not like I have much. I never really took photos in Toronto or anything. It’s embarrassing showing my phone when everyone’s always talking about having the latest one.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that now,” he emphasizes. “You can take whatever pictures you want.”

“We… can FaceTime again?” I dare to ask as I try not to blush. “I… liked that yesterday.”

He’s shyly looking around but quietly mutters, “Whatever you want, Andrews.”

This man.

The bane of my existence.

“You’re going to be late for practice again,” I voice.

“Honestly, I don’t care,” he admits and returns his gaze to me. “Leo will think of something to tell Coach Johnson. I just can’t keep missing training sessions with our first game so close.”

“So, no more drama for the season.”

He grins.

“I think that will be a difficult task for you, Andrews,” he teases. “You live for the thrill of drama.”

“Shut up,” I huff and drop the box on his abs.

“Fuck! Andrews!”

“Don’t make me grind your cock into oblivion again,” I warn. “I got stamina.”

“Oh, Andrews, don’t tempt me,” he argues and in a split second, our positions are in reverse—my back pressing against the sheets beneath me while he’s hovering over me with his hand pinned next to the sides of my head. “You’re cunning, I’ll give you that, but hockey players have storages full of stamina.”

“Fuck…” I whisper. “That was hot as fuck.”

“Your honesty is going to give me a fucking boner.”

“You still have one!”

“I’m going to shower.”

“No! We’re not done here! You didn’t tell me!”

“You love men who make you feel like a woman,” he casually replies like it’s no big deal, but hearing it from him really is important to me. “A man who can let you dwell in your feminine nature and encourage it. That’s why Cyrus Jr. is struggling because he doesn’t get that. Also, why that douche Fernandez couldn’t fathom being with you because he’d never be able to recuperate such in return.”

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