Page 68 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Hmm?” He pauses to glance back at me.

“Is it possible to have your number?” I don’t know why I’m asking for it, but I guess if I’m going to live with him soon, I should be able to contact him. “I mean, I won’t text you or anything, but just for emergencies or something.”

“Sure.” He shrugs, an obvious habit of his. “It’s a Russian number FYI. You can call and everything. I have a dual plan for when I’m in Canada and America.”

“Alright.”

That’s intriguing.

We exchange numbers before I’m at the door and watching him as he opens his door to let Muffin dart inside.

“Have fun tonight,” he encourages. “Don’t get wasted, though between you and Johnson, I have a hard time believing you won’t get shit-faced drunk.”

“Hey,” I huff and cross my arms under my breasts since this dress really makes them “extra plump” to rest my arms along my chest. “Have some hope in me.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Not an ounce of hope.”

“Rude ass,” I grumble.

“Takes one to know one,” he counters.

“That’s the most childish shit I’ve heard since when you told me you’d catch cooties when I kicked your balls after you pissed me off at the gym.”

“Don’t fucking remind me,” he groans. “I get enough shit about that from Leo and Oliver, who make it their mission to remind me every damn year.”

“You know Leo and Oliver?” That’s surprising.

“We work out together and shit.” He dismisses it real quick. “I think you forget we’re a small town, Andrews. This ain’t the T.dot where you got your degree from.”

“How do you know that?”

“Wyatt mentioned it,” he reveals. “Hyping you up that you got your internship as a registered nurse and achieving the hardest bachelors. The man is fucking in love.”

That makes me laugh.

“Too bad he can’t make a move,” I huff and roll my eyes.

“He’s too into his head,” Armani whispers, which catches my attention. “When you live on the spectrum of his world, where status and class are all they give a fuck about, it’s kinda hard to live in the moment and fall in love with who you know is right for you.”

I understand far too well.

“What would you do if you were in a similar predicament?” I whisper, though I doubt he’s going to answer me since he’s entering his apartment.

Why am I always asking him questions, anyway?

Is it because he’s so similar to me that I seek his validation and knowledge?

“This world likes to run off of money and power. As if it’s the only thing that matters in this world.” His voice carries from his place before he’s back and leaning against his doorway.

Giving me his full attention.

“But when it’s all said and done, we’re all the same. We all breathe the same oxygen despite us all walking different paths. No matter how you look at it, there will come a moment when we all eventually fall into the same status. That status is called dead and buried six feet under like the rest of those who no longer live in the land of the living,” he elaborates. “No matter rich or poor, our ends are all the same, so why let your status dictate who you’re happy with?”

We share a look as if we’re both trying to absorb the obvious truth in his words and apply it to our lives.

“It sounds so easy,” I admit with a small smile. “Yet it’s hard to follow through with.”

“It is,” he agrees. “By the time you do, the time has passed, and you realize how foolish it is to keep walking down the path you’re headed on.”

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