Declan cuffs him. “You’re not backing out. With Rylen off on his honeymoon, we need all the manpower we can get.”
Wolf leans in, we circle into a huddle, and he outlines his plan.
I wrinkle my nose. “Brandon Campos is not going to be impressed.”
“Sure, he will,” Wolf says with a wink. “Let’s see. Macy, Stacy, Allison, Keisha... They all seemed impressed by my?—”
Grey holds up his hand, palm flat. “We do not need to hear about your latest conquests.”
I shift, uncomfortable because although women throw themselves at the guys, I’m not about that. Then again, I wouldn’t object ifPizzathrew herself at me. I give my head a little shake because yeah, that sounds weird.
“I think Rylen would approve,” Declan says.
Only Wolf laughs, but the sound of it is like a gavel dropping. There’s no reversing course. We’re in this prank and we’re in it together.
We sort out the details to initiate the newest member of the team, throw our hands into the center of our tight-knit circle, and holler, “Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’”—the team slogan.
They convince me, the friendliest of the crew and the guy who’s logged the most time chatting with Brandon, to text him to see if he wants to hang out in the team lounge.
My phone pings with a reply a moment later. “Brandon said that he’s on his way.”
Wolf grins. “Perfect.”
Grey rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I let you guys talk me into this.”
Wolf stops short and flashes a glare. If someone walked in, they’d expect to have to break up a brawl at any moment, but we all know better. This is one football brother to another, reminding him of who he is. Grey needs that from time to time.
“Who started the newbie initiation, Grey?” Wolf asks a moment later.
Grey Adams is the original, the Real McCoy, as my grandfather used to say, and the oldest player on the team. He’sarguably the best. His stats prove it. His commitment confirms it. There is a one-hundred percent chance he’ll be tapped for the Hall of Fame one day. The only problem is, they’ll never get him to smile for the promo photos.
The linebacker doesn’t answer but holds his ground.
“Who was the original mastermind behind all the pranks?” Wolf asks.
Grey’s lips form a thin line and the muscles in his jaw twitch at getting called out on the truth—one he sometimes forgets after the tragedy in his family. He’s the heart and soul of our team, both on and off the field, and we can’t let him slip away.
“Don’t forget who you are. Don’t let it get you. He wouldn’t want that.” Wolf turns back to the room.
Grey exhales and then nods like his head is back in the game. No more needs to be said for him to glean the meaning behind the reminder.
We get into the positions Wolf assigned while waiting for Brandon. Footsteps echo from down the hall.
In Rylen’s absence, Declan leans in. As if starting a game with the classic expression,Hut, hut, hike, he says, “On the count of three...”
We adjust our stances, preparing, and then as the door opens, Declan says, “Now.”
At that moment, whoever stands in the doorway gets an eyeful of the Boston Bruisers’ star players’ backsides.
“It’s a full moon in Boston,” Declan shouts.
Wolf howls.
Someone gasps.
A camera flashes.
A low voice groans.
