Page 217 of Wrong Pucking Player

I don’t expect to be towered by Armani and Wyatt within five seconds, but here they are, the two of them observing me like I committed a crime.

“What did I do?” I groan.

“You want to get sunburned, Andrews?” Armani groans. “You’re red as a tomato.”

“Ugh. I didn’t know it was going to be so hot,” I whine. “I’ll go reapply sunscreen.”

“We’re going inside, anyway,” Wyatt counters and places a chilled water bottle against my forehead. “You need to drink more water. Your hot as fuck.”

“I’m glad my appearance continues to be steaming hot,” I counter instead, making a few of the Pincers who are listening to our conversation chuckle our way. “And I drank down a whole bottle. Mr. Tobias offered me some.”

“Who’s that?” Wyatt inquires.

“Works with Mr. Champion. Observes the teams and such. You didn’t see him on the bench?”

“Nah,” Wyatt admits and looks to Armani. “Yo, Oscar. You saw him?”

“Nope.” Armani frowns as he peers back at the benches before looking my way.

“You look like Muffin when she doesn’t get cat nip on the weekends,” I voice, making the grumpy man roll his eyes.

“I don’t look like Mittens.”

“You two are going to call that cat different names for the rest of her life,” Wyatt notes and shakes his head. “C’mon, let’s get out of the heat. Don’t want Xandra passing out.”

“I wouldn’t pass out,” I groan.

“That’s what you said when you cut your elbow and look what happened?” Armani brings up.

“That was weeks ago!” I groan, but the massive man is taking my hand and tugging me forward. “Hey.”

“Into the AC building you go,” he urges.

“We should drop by her office. It’s pretty ventilated there,” Wyatt suggests and ends up taking my other hand while keeping up with Armani’s strides.

“That would work.”

“Hello?” I draw out the word in hopes of actually getting the attention of these man-handling men. “Nurse Andrews can speak for herself here. I’m not dead.”

“Sure, sure,” Wyatt dismisses.

“Just rest, Andrews.” Armani presses.

I can’t help but shake my head.

“Men. Overprotective.”

Despite their insistence, it makes me smile, knowing they care about me.

VICTORIES COMES IN THREES

~OSCAR~

“Fuck. We down another forward!”

I’m not sure how to feel about Winchester panicking on the ice.

Seeing him all tense up with nerves because we’re tied and low on players is oddly exhilarating, but maybe I should focus on the problem at hand.

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