Page 70 of Caught from Behind

Because…

Some things never change.

“What the fuck are you idiots doing?” I ask, moving to where Lake is propped up against the wall, watching the shenanigans take place.

“Rookies,” he says by way of explanation, and I get it then.

Get what Knox is spearheading.

“Storm,” I mutter, spotting a familiar duffle bag on the end of the bed my idiot teammates have somehow moved out into the hallway.

The queen-sized bed. A pair of nightstands with lamps. The TV stand and television itself. An arm chair, floor lamp, and ottoman.

Jesus Christ, they’ve even brought a vase of flowers and the fucking bath mat.

“Yup,” Lake says on a sigh as Bear carefully positions the floor lamp based on Knox’s very specific instructions: “A little more to the left. A little more. No, a little more?—”

Bear growls.

“Perfect,” he announces wisely, spinning slowly as he takes stock of the hallway that now looks like one of the generic hotel rooms we’re all staying in threw up in it. “Just perfect.”

“This is why Leo offered to buy Storm and me a drink?” I ask Lake.

I knew that something was up—and that something was likely shenanigans—but I didn’t expect this.

That a hotel room exploded in the hotel hallway.

Lake’s mouth tips up slightly at the edges. “Gotta give the rookies their due.”

“So long as my room isn’t in the hallway,” I mutter, “I fully support Knox’s nonsense.”

“Knox’s Nonsense,” my idiotic teammate in charge of this shit says, coming up and leaning against the wall on my other side, surveying his handiwork. “That should be the name of my prank show.”

“Punked already existed a lifetime ago,” Lake says.

“So, maybe I’ll throw it out there on YouTube.”

Lake lifts one shoulder, drops it. “People make a shit-ton of money on there.”

“And none of that is telling me my shit isn’t in the hallway,” I say, pinning him in place with a narrow-eyed stare.

Knox clamps his on my shoulder. “Your room is untouched,” he says. “And only because you’ve gotten your head out of your ass about my sister.”

I groan quietly, but Lake beats me to replying.

“You’re the only motherfucker on the planet I know who’s actively encouraging someone to fuck your sister.”

Knox stiffens then exhales, shakes his head, waggling his finger at us. “Nice try, asshole,” he mutters. “My sister is a virginal—” A smirk. “Or rather, Riggs here is the virgin—ow!” He clamps a hand to his arm, rubbing the spot I punched.

“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking out my fist. “Fucker is a ball of muscle.”

Lake shrugs again. “So much time in the gym, so little time to be an actual human being.”

“Rude,” Knox says. “Well, not about the muscles.” He flexes, waggling his brows. “And your nonsense isn’t true because I also spend a lot of time in the bedroom. So much time.”

Lake groans, reaches over me to shove at his shoulder then pushes off the wall, turns for his room. “I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.” He brushes a finger over the shorn patch on the back of my head as the guys have begun to do—like I’m a fucking Buddha statue or a lucky rabbit’s foot.

I smack him away. “Asshole.”

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