Page 200 of Wrong Pucking Player

I walk over to Mikayla’s left side and pat her shoulders with squealing pride. I can’t remember the last time she competed, but the fact she can still lift so heavy proves she’s been keeping up with powerlifting regularly.

“That’s the problem with you Pincers. You guys always get all cocky and bold, but you never do your research,” I declare and put my hand over her shoulder.

“How would we do research?” Oscar growls. I feel as though if Armani didn’t want to do hockey anymore, he’d be a great actor. “Mikayla’s not famous or anything.”

“Her Dad is,” Kane reminds.

“Was,” Diesel mutters.

I don’t like Diesel’s comment, but I know he’s trying to act mean for the sake of saving face.

“One Google search and you would have found out that Mikayla Cross Johnson won the powerlifting competition in the female subdivision five years in a row,” I announce and can’t help but narrow my eyes at them. “It would have been six if I didn’t beat her to it.”

“WHAT?” Most of the Vipers gasp as they stare my way.

My Pincers can’t even manage to make a noise as they gawk my way.

Deciding to give them a glimpse, I lift my left arm, which looks relatively small and normal before flexing, which makes the muscles of my biceps bulge out.

“What? You guys think because we’re curvy slim that we can’t lift shit?” When no one answers, I carry right along. “That’s why Mikayla sent me off to go get Wyatt, knowing one of you cocky assholes would have brought me into this. The only time you’ll see me compete with my bestie is professionally, so there you have it.”

Personally, I would have loved to prove to them my strength by showing it here and now, but I recognize that this moment is for Mikayla and the Vipers.

They’ll be other opportunities that will allow me to show my strength to these guys.

Giving Mikayla a squeeze, I let her go and give Pincers my full attention.

“Now, Pincers, since you were too chicken to bet, you guys all lose out on the gym for the rest of the week.”

“Wait, what?” They gasp in surprise.

“Y-You don’t have authority over us,” Oscar mutters.

Oh, he’s loving this. I know he is.

“Yeah, I do,” I reply and cross my arms over my chest. “Coach Johnson and Coach Cyrus have been watching you guys this entire time.”

I noticed them the moment we entered the gym, but I figured they would make themselves known sooner or later. The one thing I can use to my advantage is how both coaches just roll with whatever bullshit I come up with if it favors them.

I point upward to the second floor, where both coaches are leaning against the bar, each holding a cup of coffee. I love everyone’s stunned faces as they gawk at the authoritative figures who wave their free hands.

“Good work, Johnson,” Coach Cyrus approves. “Nice to see you lift again. Been awhile.”

I remember when I first did my lifting competitions, Coach Cyrus and Coach Johnson would attend, even though they weren’t obligated to. Once I got the hang of it, though, I would only tell Mikayla about it. Then, when we were at university, I’d go alone when I needed the sport to keep me sane.

With that toxic relationship with Fernandez, I needed a space to push myself to new limits while being rewarded for my efforts.

“Pincers, why don’t we take training outside to the track?” Coach Johnson suggests.

The guys all groan and plead otherwise.

“Coach, no!”

“Please, Coach. We don’t want to run miles for days.”

“Have mercy on us, Coach! The competition was rigged.”

I can’t even determine who’s saying what because they’re all pleading for mercy.

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