Page 114 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“You take that back!” Lincoln growled. “Monroe has excellent taste. The best in fact.”

“Take me for tacos, and I might consider it, Golden Boy,” Ari mused, not sounding scared at all.

“Fine, we’re leaving right now,” Lincoln said, stalking…or rather stumbling toward the elevator. “Fuck, maybe the roomisspinning.”

“It is,” I agreed, trying to get off the floor. “Help, I’m stuck!” I called out when I couldn’t stand up.

“You’re just lying there. You haven’t even moved,” said Camden.

Oh. He was right.

I pushed myself off the floor and somehow managed to stand.

“Good job, Rookie,” Camden said, clapping me on the back and almost sending me to the floor again.

“What are you guys going to call me next year?” I asked as I also stumbled to the elevator.

“What do you mean?” asked Walker.

“Well, I can’t be ‘Rookie’ when I’m not a rookie, right?” I held on to the elevator as we began to descend, wondering if that last shot had been a good idea.

“Oh, that’s your name. Forever,” Ari commented. “Just like they call me ‘Chosen One.’ I’m just stuck with it now. It’s a part of me.”

I gaped at him. “There’s a big difference between ‘Rookie’ and ‘Chosen One,’ Lancaster,” I scoffed.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Walker asked, suddenly poking me in the cheek.

“I’m smiling? I’m not trying to smile. I’m trying to make a point,” I said, reaching up and touching my face. Hmm. I was smiling. Fuck. “Help. Something’s wrong with my face!” I screeched.

“Nothing’s wrong with your face, Rookie. You just need another shot,” Ari said as he pulled a full shot glass out of thin air and thrust it against my lips.

That sounded weirdly sexual.

I took the glass and drank it down, wincing at the burn.

“Why did you guys already get all the cool nicknames?” I whined. “Even your dicks have a better nickname than I do.”

Ari nodded. “That is true. Maximus 5000 is very cool. But we’re born how we’re born, Logan.”

Everyone nodded like he’d just said something ground-breaking.

“Well, my dick should have a cool nickname. I have a cool picture of it.” I told them proudly, thinking of the shot I’d gotten of Sloane’s lipstick stain.

“Why do these conversations always go to dicks? I want to talk about tacos,” Lincoln griped as we walked out to the Uber someone had ordered.

“I want to hear more about this picture. Is this something…tattoo-worthy?” Ari mused.

Walker nodded. “Definitely sounds like it.”

“What? No! Tattoos don’t belong on dicks. That’s why I don’t have one,” I told them, right as I slid into the SUV.

The driver, a stern-looking man with bushy eyebrows coughed.

“Ignore everything we say in this vehicle,” Lincoln said, sliding him a hundred dollars.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he answered.

“Look at Golden Boy, thinking he’s in the mafia again,” Camden whispered.

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