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And I’m only twenty-four, so I have a lot of years left.
Don’t get me started on the bunnies.
I may be on a self-imposed bunny ban right now while I’m waiting to un-fuck the contract mess my former agent got me into, but sooner or later, I’ll be back in the game and ready to slay. It’ll be hard to live up to my playboy status while pictures of me in tiny blue shorts exist on the internet.
No, thank you. Not going to happen.
I’d rather stay at home than let this costume affect every fiber of my very being.
Okay, fine, that’s a little dramatic, but I’m sure you see my point, which is better than Ian and Owen, who are now taking it out of the box—including the stupid ass hat—and laying it all out on the table.
“I don’t know what this is, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I wish we did this.”
“Best prank ever.”
“I want to start a scrapbook just to remember this moment.”
“Oh, there’s no way I can forget, but we should take pictures just in case.”
“You should put on the hat.”
“No way. You put on the hat.”
I’m definitely not amused. They may not be responsible, but they’re arseholes for laughing at my situation.
Both of them.
While they’re living their best lives at my expense, I slide my phone from my back pocket and snap a picture of the monstrosity to send to Tag.
If it wasn’t the McIver brothers, he’s the next likely culprit.
He’s our left winger, and the biggest jokester on the team. You’d think taking over guardianship of his now ten-year-old niece and being engaged to the love of his life would calm him down, but you’d be wrong.
Just last week he put itching powder in Rhett Remington’s boxer briefs while the guy was in the shower. Maybe not the smartest person to prank since Rhett has a resting bitch face that rivals most teenage girls, and he isn’t afraid to punch his teammates. Of course, that would likely guarantee his trade from the team, and after finding love in Nashville and becoming part of our little family, I know he doesn’t want that.
But I digress. Tag Harris, the most responsible, irresponsible person on the planet.
Me:
Me: Did you do this?
Skin Tag: Do what? What is this?
Skin Tag: Please tell me that’s what you’re wearing tonight. I will literally pay any amount of money to see this.
Me: You didn’t order this for me?
Skin Tag: No, but it’s great. I can’t wait to see your legs.
Skin Tag: They’re going to look fantastic.
Me: Fuck off, you wanker.
Skin Tag: You should really consider shaving them for me, my little British tart. I’ll make it worth your while .
He’s off his damn trolley if he thinks I’m going to wear that.
