Page 37 of Wrong Pucking Player

Staring at the ‘OUT OF SERVICE’ printout that already has graffiti over the taped sheet of paper, I mentally accept that I have no other choice but to take the stairs.

“Guess this can be my pre-workout drill,” I tell myself before turning left to head to the stairwell. It sucks when you live on the top floor of buildings like this.

Lucky number 14 seeing as 13 is non-existent in buildings thanks to all the superstitions around it.

Strattonville doesn’t play around with stuff like that. The olden days of bad luck and the idea that witches exist still haunt some of the elderly here. Aunt Beverly is always yapping about things like that.

Don’t go out at night. No animals roaming the house after twelve. See a black cat and you’ll die. All the lovely things.

How tempted I was to get a little black cat with yellow eyes, let it roam the house past twelve, and call the cute thing Lucky 13.

Not to forget coming home at three in the morning to prove I won’t be possessed by the devil.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the fourteen floor, leaving me to make a mental note to up my cardio regimen this week. I won’t lie and say I’ve been on my cardio game these past few weeks. I really haven’t for a number of reasons. This internship gave me enough anxiety as the days went on since submitting all the paperwork needed to have a fighting shot.

To think I got in…

It still hasn’t really registered that I, Alexandra Mackenzie Andrews, got an internship and may even get a job out of this.

Have a respectable career in the world of sports even.

That was the scariest part of all.

What happens after the internship part?

My performance would determine where I’d walk next in the professional world. Would set up my future career, my salary, and the overall ‘status’ I carry in this society.

Would determine whether I’m shunned by all the rich people in this town as usual or whether I’d be acknowledged and even accepted.

The real question I’m not ready to face is whether I really want to be accepted in a community that judges me in the first place.

That would never accept someone like me who Wyatt is interested in… all because I’m a poor bitch.

Sighing and shaking my head, I realize I’ve been standing in front of my unit for far too long.

Which reminds me…

“Fucking hell,” I curse and rush to look into my strap pouch to confirm I’m a fucking idiot. “Of course. Of course, you’d do something like this, Mackenzie. Come all the way here, paid a damn Uber, tipped two dollars, and here I am without my fucking door key!”

It doesn’t matter how many times I scramble for the very item I’m begging is hidden in the one zip pocket or three card holders.

It’s not here…

Meaning I came all the way here for nothing.

Also meaning I have nowhere to sleep tonight.

“Fuck.”

“So, you gave up on saying ‘puck’ like your forever bestie?”

I freeze at the deep familiar voice, my brain searching my memory banks until it lands on the photographic memory of the only man who carries a deep Russian accent.

A mere turn of my head to my left puts a face to the man I’ve forgotten existed in the last five-plus years.

Oscar Armani.

Jayce Winchester’s best friend and the right man for all things sinister.

---