Page 119 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“Logan York, what did you do?”

He slowly unwrapped the bandage from his dick and revealed a…tattoo?

“You tattooed your dick?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not surprising since the rest of your skin is covered, but why now?”

“I—I was feeling inspired,” he said, as I leaned forward to look.

“No,” I whispered when I realized what it was. “That’s my?—”

“Your lip marks inyourlipstick shade? Why yes, yes it is, Red,” he said proudly.

I gaped at him.

“Nothing says you’re in love more than a dick tattoo,” he told me with a wink, sounding like he was quoting someone.

My gaze went from his dick to his face, and then back to his dick.

He grabbed a Dallas Knights V-neck and slipped it on along with some briefs and a pair of sweatpants.

I was still gaping at him when he finished getting dressed, so he grabbed my hand and led me out of the room.

Logan stopped and then turned around, looking much more relaxed as he tapped on my chin to close my mouth.

“You, me…my dick. It’s forever, baby.”

“Right,” I finally murmured, still in shock over his tattoo…and how absurdly pleased I was about it.

Maybe I wouldn’t tell him that part, though.

But he was right…what could say forever better than…

An inscription on your cock?

* * *

“Are you sure you want to come in? I thought you wanted to relax today. Being around a bunch of sad kids is definitely not relaxing,” I told him as we pulled into a parking spot outside the group home. I wanted him to come in with me, but I also wanted to give him an out. This place could be a lot.

“I happen to love kids. And maybe I can help make them a little less sad. I brought some signed pucks with me. You think they’ll like that?” he asked, sliding on a backward hat as he opened the truck door because his goal was to torture me today.

“They will love that,” I said softly, feeling strangely emotional.

“Don’t look so shocked, baby. There’s not anything I wouldn’t do for you.” He pressed a kiss against my lips before he walked around and helped me out.

When I walked into the group home with Logan by my side, I could already feel the tension building in Rome’s small frame from across the room. He was sitting in his usual spot, huddled in the corner of the play area, his knees pulled up to his chest, his blond hair falling over his face like a shield. The moment he saw Logan—this tall, broad figure next to me—I watched his shoulders tighten, his body curling in on itself even more.

I couldn’t blame him. Logan, with his size and presence…and tattoos could be intimidating, especially to someone like Rome, who had learned to associate new people with hurt, with loss. He’d been through so much, more than any little boy should have to bear. And even though I trusted Logan completely, I knew this was going to be hard for him.

I knelt down beside Rome, speaking softly, trying to make my voice as gentle as possible. “Hey, Rome. I brought someone to meet you today.”

His eyes flicked up to me, wide and cautious, before darting to Logan. He didn’t say anything, just stared at him, his tiny body still folded tight. My heart ached watching him.

The monsters who had hurt him should be destroyed.

Logan crouched down beside me, his presence suddenly much smaller, softer, as if he could sense the fragility of this moment. “Hey, Rome,” he said, his voice calm, gentle in a way that surprised even me. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Sloane says you’re really good at coloring.”

His eyes shifted toward the coloring book on the table but didn’t move. Rome was still watching him, wary and waiting. I could see the fear in his eyes, that instinct to shut down, to close himself off. I knew it all too well.

Logan stayed where he was, not pushing, not getting closer. He didn’t try to force himself into Rome’s space, and I was grateful for that. He just sat there, a safe distance away, giving him time.

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