Page 46 of Wrong Pucking Player

“You’re right!” Frankie screams, and the way the group takes every bill and coin they possess and make a pile before Andrew’s feet is honestly cringeworthy.

What the fuck is actually happening here?

“Please take this offering, Armani’s girl!”

“Armani’s girl?” Andrews is no longer on the verge of crying. In fact, her expression shows just how ‘icked’ she is with the whole display of submission.

She then looks at me.

“Are you a part of the mafia or something?”

I roll my eyes.

“No,” I begin but quietly mutter, “My stepbrother is.”

That has the group of guys going pale before they bow to the actual ground in my direction.

“PLEASE! Let us be! We won’t bother your girl again, Armani! I swear it! We won’t get in your way again!”

That seems beneficial, especially when I know this route is the usual morning path Andrews enjoys running through.

“Cool.” I just want them to go away. “Be gone.”

“THANK YOU!”

I’ve never seen a group of men run so fucking fast in my damn life. They could get into track competitions with that level of speed and stamina.

“Did that actually just happen?” Andrews ponders before she frowns at the pile of money. “They really didn’t need to give me money. Doesn’t look like they had much, to begin with.” With another pout, she’s taking a closer look at the gash on her elbow. “Ow.” Her shoulders slump while she continues to stare at the wound as if it’s something that can’t be fixed.

For a moment, I see a younger Andrews sitting in the midst of the forest, crying her eyes out.

Her heart completely broken.

“Hey.”

I don’t realize what I’m doing until I’m crouched down in front of her and laying my lips on top of the wound in question.

The surprise that shimmers in her eyes that begin to widen don’t steer me away from actions. It’s far too late to pull back now, so I keep my eye contact with her eyes.

The taste of her blood along my lips.

Pulling back just slightly, I watch as she lowers her eyes to my lips, acknowledging the thin layer of her blood that surely cloaks them.

“You… kissed my elbow,” she barely speaks the words out.

“I did,” I slowly state and dare to lick my lips ever so slowly.

What am I? A fucking vampire?

I can’t fathom what I’m fucking doing, but I only have one explanation for it that I’m willing to share with her, knowing she wouldn’t completely judge me for it.

“My grandma used to tell me that when you kiss a wound, it makes the pain go away faster,” I mutter, though I’m not ashamed of the teachings of my grandmother. She’d lived a tough life, and though I never got to fully grasp her wisdom and love the way I would have wished, I was grateful to have pieces of her knowledge still in my heart.

“That’s a Russian tale my bro used to say,” she surprisingly admits and adds, “Actually, he’s not really my brother, but I think of him as one.” Then she gives that warm, radiant smile that turns my stomach upside down with fluttering butterflies.

“The nurse in me wants to tell you that in the future, you clean the wound before kissing it.” She gives me a wink. “But the feminine side of me wants to say thank you for the kiss. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

My heart skips a few beats.

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