Page 103 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“You okay in there?” A cheery voice came from the doorway. One of the wardrobe people, the bubbly redhead one, peeked her head in. She glanced at the briefs in my hand and raised an eyebrow. “Need help?”

“Nope,” I snapped. “Got it covered.”

She didn’t get the hint to leave. “Just making sure. Some guys get weird about this part. You’ll be fine. And don’t worry—we’re not going to need to stuff those briefs.” Her gaze bounced from the briefs…to my dick. I was regretting my life choice of wearing my gray Dallas Knights sweatpants…but Sloane was a big fan of them.

Now I knew why.

I froze, slowly turning to glare at her. “If you mention my dick again, you’re going to regret it.”

She burst out laughing. “Relax, Mr. York. Just trying to break the ice.”

“Consider it broken,” I muttered. Her smile died when she realized I probably hadn’t been joking, and she quickly left the room.

I had no tolerance for women hitting on me that weren’t named Sloane Calloway.

Sliding off my sweatpants, I changed into the briefs, staring at myself in the mirror.

That girl hadn’t been wrong about how these things would fit—my cock did look enormous.

FML.

Although maybe I could keep them after the shoot to show to Sloane. She would definitely like them.

And at least I wasn’t posing for Geraldine. This had to be way better than that.

Right?

Think of the zeros, Logan. Think of the zeros, I told myself as I opened the door and gestured for the makeup people to come in and start working on me.

* * *

When I finally walked onto the set, I was greeted by a pristine white table, where a monstrosity of a burger was sitting on a tray. It was stacked with cheese, bacon, and lettuce—and dripping with enough sauce to drown someone.

The director, a tall guy with a man bun and an accent I couldn’t place, was hyped like he was directing the next Oscar-winning film. He clapped his hands together. “Logan, darling! You look stunning. Absolutely perfect. This is going to be iconic. Sensual. Revolutionary.”

All of those attributes seemed to be a stretch, but he seemed so excited about it, I couldn’t burst his bubble.

I grunted, crossing my arms, well aware of everyone in the room staring at me as I stood there, practically naked. “Thanks. So, uh, what’s the game plan?”

He smiled, holding up his hands like he was directingThe Godfather. “Simple. You and the burger. Chemistry. Seduction. Make it sizzle.”

“Sizzle,” I repeated flatly, even though I had no idea what that meant. “Got it.”

He waved over the cameraman, who was adjusting his equipment. “And Logan, darling—don’t be afraid to use your body. The briefs are workingwonders.”

I ignored the urge to punch something and went to stand where the director pointed. The lights came on, the burger gleamed under the spotlight, and I prepared for the most humiliating hour of my life.

And then it happened. I was just about to pick up the burger when a door opened, and in strolled my worst nightmares.

Ari and Camden.

Fucking Tucker. He was Camden and Walker’s agent, too, and there was no way he hadn’t spilled the beans.

Traitor.

Before I could even process the fact that I was going to hear about this for the rest of time, it got even worse.

“Let’s see some passion!” the director called. “You’re not just eating the burger—you’rein lovewith it. Take a bite. Slow. Sultry.”

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