Page 44 of Wrong Pucking Player

“No,” I sternly growl more to my internal thoughts than to her question, but she takes my answer to heart as she runs just a tad faster.

Only to spin around and run backward.

This woman is fucking wild.

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to be dry and sexually frustrated. They say exercise can help increase your drive by triple the rate and give you a confident boost to—”

“I’m not into women,” I snap without even thinking. I just want her to shut the fuck up.

My declaration does exactly that as she continues to run backward while my slow-ass brain finally registers what the fuck I just said.

What I just confessed out loud.

Fuck!

I come to a stop with a frustrated growl, only to realize Andrews is about to crash into a group of guys.

Oh, fuckery.

“Andrews!” I hiss loud enough to get her attention, but by the time she looks back, she’s already crashing into one of the plentiful douchebags of our building.

They go tumbling to the ground, leaving Andrews to squeak as she lands on top of the guy in three blinks. It’s crazy how the dramatic fall looked graceful in my line of vision, leaving me to mentally groan because I’ve dealt with this before.

I’m getting smitten over this woman, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.

All those emotions I thought I buried inside and replaced with my feelings for that jackass of a Winchester was rising from the ashes to have another round of burning existence.

And torture.

“What the flying fuck?” Frankie exclaims. “This bitch. Get the fuck off me.”

“Actually, I didn’t want to be on you, to begin with,” Andrews begins as she’s inspecting her body to ensure she’s somewhat intact.

One quick scan with my own eyes confirms she’s okay, but that’s before she’s roughly tossed to the side, forcing her to fall onto the asphalt.

My blood pressure skyrockets.

“Ow!” Andrews exclaims and looks up to the man who shoots up and is glaring daggers down at her. “Now, that’s not nice to do to a lady.”

“You fucking cunt crashed into me and you’re trying to talk down to me?” He yells and immediately looks like he wants to punch her in the face. “I run these parts, and you think you’re the shit?”

“Run these parts?” Andrews has the most judgmental face that could possibly form on her damn pretty face. She further raises one of her perfect eyebrows to emphasize her next words. “What are you? A gang member? Take that shit to New York and see how long you last.” She actually laughs at her own comment before shaking her head.

“Listen, douche. This is fucking Canada where everyone only cares about maple syrup, moose, and affordable housing. If you’re living in these parts, it only proves you can’t survive out of this little ghetto, so why don’t you come off your high horse and remember everyone here is on the same level as you are?” She rolls her eyes. “Run these parts? What a fucking joke.”

Why am I tempted to smile?

The man with black hair with a bad red dye situation happening at his roots is fuming with anger as he quakes in place. I can tell from how his hands turn into clenched fists that he’s about to sock her in the face.

“Punch me and not only are you going to go to jail for physical abuse, but you’re going to lose your place in that building that has a five-year waiting list,” she points out fast enough to stop him mid-stride.

When he’s frozen in place at the realization, she smirks and tilts her head to the side—that sly smile on those deliciously soft lips makes me want to kiss them desperately.

“That’s what I thought,” she announces and shrugs. “Aside from you guys being douches, I’ll apologize for crashing into the lot of you. I was distracted by the very hot muscled beast to your right that my mind malfunctioned, and it took me too long to reset before crashing into you in particular,” she declares and points over to me.

All five men are glancing my way, realizing I’m merely two steps from where they stand.

Frankie lays one look at me and cringes at the sight.

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