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CHAPTER 29

LOGAN

“T his was a really good idea,” I said dreamily as I stared at the ceiling, idly stroking the Stanley Cup as it sat on the ground next to me.

“Oh Stanley Cup, oh Stanley Cup, how lovely are your…” Ari belted to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree” as he put his hand over his heart.

“Please stop,” Lincoln groaned, not actually sounding annoyed by it. “It’s not even Christmas.”

It was probably hard to be annoyed at anything when you were this drunk. Everything was happy, happy, happy.

“What’s happy, happy, happy?” Camden asked, plopping down on the other side of the Cup.

Oops, I’d said that part out loud.

“Everything,” I answered. “Absolutely everything.”

“You know what we need?” Ari said suddenly, cutting off his song mid-verse.

“Are you going to tell us?” Disney asked, when at least three minutes had passed.

“I was just making sure all of you were paying attention,” he said, holding onto the wall.

“What are you doing?” Lincoln muttered.

“Does the room seem to be spinning? Or is it just me?” Ari asked.

We all were suddenly looking around the room.

“I think it’s spinning,” I told him, shaking my head and making the spinning worse. “Hold onto the Cup, Hero,” I drawled. “We can’t let it get away.”

Camden grabbed it with both hands. “Wait, you forgot to tell us what we needed,” Camden said. “I can’t hold onto Stanley forever.”

“It’s been three seconds,” Walker said, shaking his head.

“Tacos! We need tacos from Maria’s!” Ari said, pointing his finger.

“Do you think Maria’s will also be spinning?” I asked, not sure how that would work.

“Definitely not. This place is the problem,” Ari said. Walker and Camden both nodded their heads in agreement.

“My place is not the problem,” Lincoln said, as he tossed another shot back. “Monroe loves this place.”

“Well, she ended up with you. So her taste is questionable, don’t you think?”

Lincoln gaped at him…as did Walker.

“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 room is spinning.”

“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.

Lincoln shot him a look from the front passenger seat. “I heard that.”

“Wasn’t trying to hide it.” Camden smirked.

“I have an idea,” Ari announced.

“We’re still trying to do your first idea,” I said, feeling hungry all of a sudden…for tacos.

“Go to Inked on Main Street,” Ari ordered.

“This is actually a good idea, Lancaster,” Lincoln said with a grin.

“What—what’s a good idea?” I asked, looking between them.

“We’re going to make a man out of you, Rookie,” Walker said, and there was a weird, evil-looking grin on his face.

“Maria’s. I want Maria’s,” I squeaked as we turned down a street downtown.

“Trust me, you’ll be thanking us later,” Camden told me, patting me on the back. “I haven’t had any regrets.”

“And he has virgin blood tattooed all over his dick,” Ari casually remarked.

The driver made a choking sound and started coughing loudly. Lincoln handed him another hundred.

We pulled in front of Inked. “Drink this,” Lincoln ordered, giving me another shot.

I threw it back immediately. “I don’t think you’re supposed to drink before getting inked, and I’m way beyond drunk,” I gasped.

“Eh, they see everything at this place,” Ari said happily as he jumped out of the car.

I suddenly seemed to be stuck to my seat, so Walker helped me by pushing me out of the vehicle. Camden caught me right before I landed face-first on the concrete.

“Hero, I think you need another tattoo as well,” Lincoln said as he began to corral us toward the door.

Camden’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Am I finally getting…”

Lincoln grinned back.

“Come back,” I whispered as the Uber sped away from the curb.

“Maximus 5000 probably intimidated him,” Ari said, staring after it.

“Probably,” Lincoln drawled.

Ari glared at him. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t sense any sarcasm in that answer, Golden Boy.”

Lincoln winked at him. “You’ve always been good at pretending.”

Ari’s glare turned into a grin. “Good one.”

“Can we please focus on…I don’t know what we’re focusing on. But this seems to be a terrible idea,” I groaned as I was shoved inside the tattoo shop.

“It will all be over before you know it,” Walker assured me, shoving a full bottle of vodka into my chest.

“Where are you guys keeping all of this?” I asked, momentarily distracted as I took a big gulp.

“What can I help you boys with?” the front desk girl asked us, eyeing everyone…hungrily.

“We’re here for a dick tattoo,” Lincoln said, his voice blank and disinterested as he casually examined his fingernails.

Her eyes widened.

“And a butterfly tattoo,” Camden added excitedly.

Her gaze bounced around us.

“Well, okay then. Let me show you back.”

I was feeling faint as Ari pushed me forward. “Help!” I called out…to no one.

The guys all had the nerve to snicker at me.

“We are helping, Rookie.” Lincoln grinned as we made it to a back room. “You aren’t going to chicken out on us, are you?”

I stared at the equipment laid neatly on a table and gulped imagining that anywhere near my dick.

“For the Circle,” I muttered to myself.

And then suddenly, all of them had shot glasses in their hand and they were toasting. “For the Circle!”

Fuck. This was really happening.

* * *

“Is this some kind of weird sex thing?” the tattoo artist asked as I went to pull my dick awkwardly out of my pants.

“Alcohol. I need more alcohol,” I said loudly, looking around for help. Lincoln, Ari, Camden, and Walker were watching a replay of Game seven on ESPN and not paying attention—-despite the fact that this situation was all their fault.

“You’re not supposed to be drunk when you do this, man,” the artist complained, keeping his gaze averted from my dick. “Fuck, maybe I need alcohol too. I did not think there would be this many dicks in this job.”

“You’re not allowed to drink!” I squealed, my voice at least three octaves higher than usual in my panic.

“Yeah, you’re right,” the artist grumbled, nodding his head at what should have been already obvious.

I glanced around. Was this a joke? Like, were there hidden cameras focused on me right now, and any minute they were going to pop out and say “Surprise!” or something like that?

“But is it?” he pressed.

I glanced down at him. I’d obviously been around a lot of tattoo artists in my life—my skin was practically made of ink at this point. But I decidedly liked this particular artist the least.

“Is it what?” I snapped, wanting to yank the tattoo gun from his hands and throw it at the wall. Tattoo guns should not be this close to dicks. I’d tried to tell the guys this over and over again.

How the fuck had I ended up here?

Oh right, obsessive, crazy love. That was how I’d gotten here. And the four worst friends on Earth.

He started cleaning the area, and I wanted to curl up in a ball.

“A sex thing. Like are y’all…all together?” He glanced at the guys. “Which one of them is Monroe?”

I barked out a crazy-sounding laugh that almost turned into a wail when the gun touched my skin, the edges of my vision going dark.

Look, as a fucking NHL hockey player, I was tough. I’d had teeth knocked out of my head, multiple bones broken, and I’d once skated an entire game with a broken kneecap in college.

But having a needle on your cock was on a whole other level.

“No, this is not a sex thing,” I finally muttered, once I was convinced I was not going to pass out.

“Hmm,” he answered, clearly not convinced as he stared hard at my dick as he worked.

“Alcohol!” I all but screamed as Camden gave me an amused look over his shoulder.

“I thought you said you shouldn’t be drunk for this?” Lincoln asked casually. I growled. Of course, it had to be Lincoln who said that. And, of course, it made me straighten up.

“Just do it,” I snarled.

“How ya doing over there, Rookie?” Ari asked, taking a swig of his beer without offering me any because he was an asshole.

“Just dandy, Lancaster. Never knew a needle shooting ink into my stick could feel this good.”

Ari snorted, and the tattoo artist guy twitched, his face growing uneasy. He obviously hadn’t gotten my sarcasm.

“Which one of them did this to you?” he finally muttered, gesturing to the red lipstick stain design he’d transferred on my skin to trace. His cheeks were bright pink.

“None of them did that to me,” I snapped indignantly. “That’s from my future wife!”

He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

He definitely did not believe me.

The needle touching my dick again made me flinch.

“No moving,” he said, and it was all I could do not to punch him. But then I’d just have a weird red outline on my dick, and Sloane wouldn’t think that was hot. I needed the whole shading effect to really impress her.

Camden appeared next to me with a shot glass. “Here you go,” he said.

I yanked it out of his hand and threw it back, the burn hitting me just right. “Just for that, I’m not going to call you Grandpappy anymore,” I told him seriously.

“Really?” Camden asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

“At least, not for a day,” I amended, because it was important to tell the truth. I wasn’t going to give up the years of happiness I’d get from calling him that for one shot.

All right, judging by my train of thoughts, the alcohol was already kicking in again.

“You really aren’t supposed to drink,” the tattoo artist grumbled. So, I took another shot just to spite him and myself. Because I obviously couldn’t be trusted to make good decisions under peer pressure when I was drunk.

I only cried one tear during the process, something that Lancaster only mocked me…a little.

“All right, done. Hopefully your…girl…likes that.”

“Why do you keep saying girl like that? It is for a girl.”

He shook his head. “Of course it is,” he answered soothingly, like I was crazy for saying it. “Now you said something about a butterfly? Is that also on a dick?” He winced when he said it, and Ari snorted.

“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” the artist mumbled under his breath.

Camden sat on the table and lifted his shirt. “Let’s do it right on this shoulder blade,” he told him, practically beaming as he pointed it out.

“It needs to look like this,” Lincoln added, pulling up his shirt and revealing the giant butterfly tattoo that stretched across his entire chest and down to his abdomen.

The tattoo artist’s eyes bounced from Lincoln’s chest, to Camden’s back…then to me. “Are you sure this isn’t a weird sex thing?”

I glanced at Lincoln—just to make sure I was allowed to answer. This was secret COT stuff after all.

Lincoln shook his head as he took another draw from the bottle of tequila he’d procured from…who knows where.

“Not a weird sex thing,” I confirmed. “I’m allowed to get it…right?” I asked Lincoln.

Ari waved his hand in front of Lincoln’s face. “Don’t look at him. Look at me. What if I said no?”

“Are you saying no?” I asked, moving my head to try and look at Lincoln around Ari’s arm.

“You can have one too,” Lincoln said, but the words were muffled because Ari’s hand had gone over Lincoln’s mouth.

“What was that?”

“ I said, you can have one too, Rookie,” Ari said primly.

Lincoln rolled his eyes and then nodded, with Ari’s hand still pressed against his mouth.

I did a fist pump, wincing as a sharp pang went through my dick.

“Definitely a weird sex thing,” the artist whispered, his ears red as he started on Camden’s chest.