Page 31 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

Camden had come up with a plan to get his now-wife, Anastasia, to move in with him. Long story short, I had been left behind to entertain his seventy or eighty-something-year-old neighbor, Geraldine, in exchange for the use of her dogs. I still didn’t know all the details of what had happened that night—and why they’d needed the dogs—but I did know that they’d gotten the better deal. Geraldine was…well, she was something.

Camden: …

Ari: …

Walker: Why did I miss that night again?

Ari: And I still want to know what you were posing for.

Well, I wasn’t going to tell him that.

Lincoln: Regardless, don’t fuck up tonight. Monroe likes me better when I’m holding a Stanley Cup.

I snorted at that. I was pretty sure Monroe’s obsession with him had nothing to do with Stanley Cups.

Me: Got it. Don’t show up with roses and a boom box.

Ari: I feel like we’ve taught you nothing.

Setting down the phone, I shook my head. I was pretty sure I could do almost anything, and it would still be better than the tidbits I knew about what they’d done to get their girls.

Drumming my fingers, I came up with my next plan.

Security tapes.

There were all kinds of facial recognition software, right? I could get some tape of the game from the security guys—who loved me by the way since I always brought them treats. After I’d almost gotten mauled by a group of crazy girls who were nuttier than a bowl of Cheerios, I had made sure that I wasalwaysin the good graces of the security team. I shuddered to think of the state of my balls if they hadn’t pulled that one chick off me.

Picking up my phone again, I called Ernie, who was one of the managers of the security team.

“Ernie, my man, how are you?” I asked as soon as he picked up.

“What do you need, Logan?” he drawled.

Right to the point, I liked it. It was like he could sense the urgent chaos whirling around inside me that demanded I find out who that girl was. Now.

“I need some security tape from last night.”

“Of your five billion fights?”

I snorted. That was a little bit of an exaggeration.

“As great for posterity as that would be, I actually need it of a certain portion of the crowd."

He paused for way too long, and I started to get antsy. “We have privacy laws, I could get in trouble,” he finally muttered.

“Need I remind you I brought some of Mrs. Bentley’s burritos to you last week out of my limited stock?” I answered sternly. Sternly because I would have much rather eaten them myself if I knew he was going to give me trouble.

There was another long pause. This guy had to be the king of them.

“Two batches next week?”

I thought hard about it. I’d have to convince Lincoln of that since Mrs. Bentley was technicallyhishousekeeper and not my personal chef…but that was probably doable.

“Deal.”

There was no pause this time.

“Alright, where do you need video of?”

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