Page 15 of Faking the Pass
Yeah you do. I’ll take tens and twenties.
I laughed out loud, making Rosie turn her head and give me a curious look. I tapped out a response.
I’d think you’d do this one pro bono considering you can buy and sell all of us. Including Merc.
Our brother Mercury had just gotten a huge bonus after conquering his own white whale last season—breaking the NFL record for most receiving touchdowns in a single season.
But Wilder’s security company had done very well. It would take the three of us many years of playing and some pretty hefty endorsement deals to catch up with the oldest Lowe brother.
His next text read:
I’ll think of something else you can do for me.
I chuckled, typing a response.
You got it. As long as it’s not teaching Theo about what DOES go in the potty. Later.
Using a home security app on my phone, I unlocked the door to let our grossly overpaid “delivery man” inside.
Wilder took good care of his employees, and they were usually doing much more important jobs than clandestine grocery runs.
The man walked into the kitchen then pulled off his hat. It was Gray Lupine.
I’d known him for a while. Like most of the other guys Wilder employed, he’d served with him on the same SEAL team.
Gray no longer worked for Wilder, but he was one of his closest and most trusted friends.
The last time I’d seen him was when the two of them had come to watch the Nauticals’ summer training camp.
Gray gave me a big smile, holding up the grocery bags.
“Anyone ever tell you that you live like a monk? I mean, where are all the trans-fats and partially hydrogenated seed oils? Where are the Ring Dings? You might think a pro football player lived here or something.”
He set the bags on the counter, and we gripped hands.
“Thanks man,” I said. “I literally don’t know what we would have done.”
The way Gray raised his brows and looked side to side, I could practically hear the silent questions he sent my way.
We? And where is she?
“You can sit up,” I said to Rosie. “He’s a friend. We can trust him.”
She’d been lying flat on the couch, obscured by its side panels. Now she sat up, her hair mussed, looking fucking stunning in my old t-shirt.
Giving him a sheepish grin, she raised one hand in a wave.
“Hi. I’m Rosie.”
“Good to meet you,” Gray said in an admirably unawed tone.
Of course he’d met plenty of famous people, so it probably didn’t affect him.
Blushing, she lifted her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry about my appearance. All my makeup and hair stuff is in there.”
She pointed to her suitcase at Gray’s feet then slid off the couch and came toward us. When she reached him, she extended a small hand to Gray.
“Thank you, Mr….”
“Gray,” he says.
“Mr. Gray.”
He laughed. “No. That’s my first name. Though back when we were on the SEAL teams together, everyone called me Wolf. My wife Scarlett thought that was my real name for a week after we met.”
“Sounds like an interesting story,” Rosie said.
“It was an interesting week.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, and we all laughed.
Reaching for her suitcase handle, Rosie said, “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take this back to the room and put on some real clothes—not that your t-shirt hasn’t been a lifesaver, Presley.”
“Sure,” Gray and I said in unison, then we both watched her walk away and turn the corner toward the bedrooms.
After hearing a door click shut, he let out a low whistle. “You poor bastard. No wonder Wilder said you were in distress. It must be torture being trapped here with that .”
He was being facetious, but it was true. It was just a different kind of torture than he imagined.
I admitted to nothing.
“Well, this whole thing is kind of messing up my training schedule. And I was hoping to do some fishing during my forced break from playing.”
“The fish will still be there in a few days when this is all over,” Gray assured me. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Pretty sore. But I’m sure this is normal for six days post-op. They put in a couple plates and thirteen screws. I’ve got a follow-up appointment next week—that is if I can leave my own house to get to it. How’s operation blonde-wig-at-the-airport coming along?”
“They saw a few cars take off to go check it out,” he said. “The rest of them are still out there, though.”
He gestured toward the front of the house and the street beyond it. “Unfortunately, I think these guys are devoting some extra resources to the story.”
I glanced back toward the hallway to make sure Rosie hadn’t returned.
“I feel so bad for her. As inconvenient as this is for me, I can’t imagine what it feels like for her.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen some scandals,” Gray said. “But this one’s a ten-point-oh on the Richter scale. The fiancé has had his people calling the office, demanding to speak to Wilder. I guess he’s ripshit he hasn’t been able to get in touch with Rosie.”
“She hasn’t had her phone. She left it at the mansion,” I explained.
“Yeah, I know. We retrieved it—it’s with her other stuff in her suitcase.”
A bolt of alarm went through my midsection. Rosie had her phone back.
That meant she’d be able to access social media and see all the asinine things people were saying about her. She was probably back there reading all that toxic shit right now.
“Well thanks. I appreciate you running the gauntlet out there for us.”
“Not a problem,” Gray said. “I was available, and you’re a friend. You two take care and stay safe.”
Then with a mischievous grin, he added, “And if your first week together is as memorable as mine and Scarlett’s was… well, then I’m sure I’ll be seeing you both around. Some things are just too good to let go of.”