So This Is War
Chapter 10

“Is he going to be mad that I’m in here?” Sandie asks as we watch the game on Levi’s large-screen TV rather than my computer in my tiny bedroom.

“He won’t even know.” I scrunch down on the couch and lean my head back against the cushion. “Ugh, wearing that bra was absolute torture today. Sure my boobs looked great, but that was so uncomfortable.”

“Beauty is pain.”

“More like horniness is pain.”

Sandie chuckles. “But it worked, right?”

“Right. Not sure what else I can put him through. When I was talking to him while he was out on the ice, I was playing with his jersey, and he didn’t tell me to stop. It felt . . . real.”

“Real?” Sandie asks with a raise of her brow. “I thought we were trying to teach him a lesson.”

“We are.” I curl under my blanket. “But I don’t know, even with all of the running around I had to do today, I just felt like it was nice to help him out.”

“Those tasks aren’t from him. Those are from your dad. What’s happening to you?”

I look over at Sandie as the game goes to commercial. “Okay, don’t judge me, but we had a moment this morning in the car. He wasn’t fumbling around all nervous, and he was the same man I met at the hotel. He was charming and smooth and intriguing. He asked me questions, and it just felt like . . . like that night.”

“But you remember what you’re supposed to be doing, right?”

“Yes.” I sigh heavily. “It was just nice for a second, you know?”

“Yes, but we have a goal. That goal is to prove to your dad that you can be self-sufficient, that you don’t need his help, his career directives, or anything to make it on your own. You can’t get caught up in ‘moments’ with Levi.”

“You’re right.” I nod. “You’re very right. Ugh, I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your future self who’s reaching for the stars.”

I chuckle. “Okay, Sandie, don’t be lame.”

“Lame? I’m inspiring.”

“Okay, Miss Inspiring, tell me what you thought of the logos.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”

“I was trying to be patient. But guess what, my patience is up. Do you think they’re good?”

“I do,” she says, but I can hear a but coming along. “They are great, but . . .”

“And there it is.” I chuckle. “Let me have it. How can I improve?”

“I liked the silhouettes that you made. I thought they looked like her, and they were sexy, but I think you could do better with the font. It felt either thriller or old-school romance, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I think she needs something more modern.”

I nod. “For me, font is the hardest. I hate that part of the job. I just don’t feel I have a solid grasp on what works.”

“That’s okay, it will take time. I was showing Dale your designs, and do you know what he said he does when he’s deciding on fonts? He’ll go to Creative Market and look through all the fonts and how the artist pairs them with designs. He was telling me that you can get a strong feel for how they imagined their font being used.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that tonight.”

“And maybe offer her up some new colors for her brand. I know she’s into black and pink, but maybe show her something else. So keep to her branding but offer her something unorthodox.” Unorthodox. That’s exactly what I should do. I’m strong at creating things outside of the box.

“Good idea. Thank you, Sandie.”

“You know I’m here for you. Have you been working on anything else?”

“I’ve been waffling between opening up an Etsy shop or not. I know exposure would be good, but a lot of time and energy and ad spending goes into it. I’m sort of leaning more on UpWork at the moment and interviewing for side jobs.”

“Yeah, I’d focus on UpWork and continuing to update your profile, making sure you have the most up-to-date designs. Once you score a few jobs from there, then hopefully word of mouth will pick up the rest. And I’ll keep an eye out for any job contests I see floating around. Just want to be clear, but you want to stay freelance?”

“Yeah. I know that’s riskier, but I like the idea of being able to do a variety of jobs rather than one particular thing. Like there’s a girl in one of my classes and she got a job working for a triathlon company. It is great money and has benefits, but she said all she does is photoshop triathletes and put them against a banner. She hates that there is no creativity involved. I don’t want to be stuck like that. I’d rather continue this assistant farce and build up my portfolio than take a job remotely related to design just because it pays well. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

“I think that’s really smart. And you’ll get there, but it definitely won’t happen overnight.”

“I know that.” I sigh. “I don’t think my dad thinks I know that, though.” I glance at the TV, where I catch Levi slamming someone into the boards right before he shoots the puck behind the net and right to Eli, who flicks it down the ice to OC. “He probably assumes that I’m living in some fairy-tale land where I’ll replace success overnight with one job. But I know what it means to work hard. I’ve worked hard at maintaining a relationship with him my entire life. And sure, that isn’t job experience, but it’s tenacity and goal setting. It’s made me realize that nothing comes for free, even my father’s love.” I’m not sure I’ll ever forget those words he wrote to Levi, though. How can a father be so blasé about how his daughter is treated? I’ve dealt with his gruff exterior for over two decades. But to insist that Levi make my life a living hell . . .

Do not let her off the hook. Don’t let her skate by. I want you to make her life a living hell, got it?

I can’t deny that stings. That’s not unconditional love. In fact, I doubt I’ve ever had that.

Sandie’s expression softens. “He loves you, Wylie. You know this.”

My eyes well up with tears as I stare at the TV, the camera zooming in on my father yelling at the players to change lines. “I just wish it wasn’t a conditional love.”

SANDIE LEFT, and with another Agitators win under their belt, I retreated back to my bedroom after making sure to leave no trace of us hanging out in Levi’s apartment. While in bed, I started looking through different fonts on Creative Market. Dale was right. There’s a vision each artist has when they create their font, and it’s interesting to see what kind of vision they had in mind. Some fonts I would have assumed could be more on the thriller side, but they pair them in a soft background with natural tones, which totally works. Strangely.

It has my brain thinking differently.

Today felt mindless as I ran through task after task. Trying to replace Levi a new suit, buying him more underwear, picking out some macaroons from a certain shop that he apparently loves. Makes me wonder, are the macaroons for him or is he going to give them to my father later?

And with every task that I checked off the list, I grew more and more frustrated, especially after Sandie left. I spent a solid hour sorting out pretzels for his snacks because he only wanted whole pretzels, no broken pieces. It was annoying and stupid and just made me realize how infuriating the entire situation is.

It’s not like I told my dad that it’s my life’s calling to be a stripper, and I’m giving up everything for it. I want to work in graphic design, a booming profession in today’s online marketing. Yet he wants me to be some boring executive who doesn’t enjoy life because it’s safe.

Well, nothing is safe.

Not even those jobs. At least with this, I can hopefully determine my own destiny. As long as my designs don’t suck and people love my perspective and aesthetic.

Since I left my bedroom door open, I hear the moment Levi gets home. It’s later than before, and I’m not sure if it’s because he is avoiding me or if he put in a quick leg workout after the game—some of the guys do that. Either way, I’m surprised how long it took him to get home.

But instead of going to see him right at the moment, I have another plan.

Is it diabolical?

Maybe.

But like Sandie said, I can’t let up. I have to keep pushing forward.

It felt like talking to Levi from a year ago during the drive into the arena today, and I got lost in it. In him. And a part of me longed for that moment to carry on, for him to be that guy, not my dad’s puppet.

I need to remember that I’m trying to prove a point to two men, and one of them just got home.

I set my iPad down and move to the floor-length mirror. I’m wearing one of my lingerie sets, but it’s more . . . casual. It’s a silky black camisole top with thin straps and lace around the low neckline. The matching shorts—if you want to call them that—have slits that rise to my hips and of course, naturally, I’m not wearing a bra or underwear. I know he told me to, but it’s clear as day that I’m ready for bed. Makeup is off, hair is up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing my fuzzy slippers as well.

The plan is to walk into his bedroom right before he goes to bed, in this outfit, and ask him a few packing questions. Hopefully the outfit will get him worked up.

We shall see.

I brush my teeth, wanting to give the full effect of bed readiness and, for the hell of it, I put on my blue light glasses that I’ll wear when I have to stare at my screen for a long period.

Yup, this looks perfect.

Satisfied, I move down my dark hallway toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. I don’t hear him moving around in the bathroom, so he must be in bed.

Time to strike.

Carefully, I tiptoe down the hallway to his bedroom, not wanting to make a sound but wanting to be a full surprise. And as I inch closer, I start to hear something coming from the other side of his door.

A woman’s voice.

Oh God.

I still.

A sweat breaks out over my skin.

And my heart hammers because . . . he brought someone home with him.

My stomach churns at the thought of him being with any other woman than me. And I know that’s ridiculous, I know. I have no claim over him, but still, I don’t like the thought of someone else being with him when I’m carrying this crush heavy on my chest. And sure, I know I pack him condoms and tease him about hooking up when he’s out of town, but I do that so when he does pull out a condom, he thinks of me.

Slightly manipulative, perhaps, but let’s remember who the master manipulator is . . . him. Need I remind you of the bagel runs?

Needing to replace out if he’s with someone else, I move in closer to his bedroom, my breath held as I lean toward his door to listen intently.

I don’t hear him.

I just hear a woman.

A woman telling him what to do . . .

And then it clicks.

Holy shit, he’s watching a Patty Ford video.

I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hold back my pure joy from the thought of him fondling himself on the other side of this door. My body heats up, a dull throb pulses between my legs, and my mouth goes dry. It’s so incredibly hot that he’s touching himself.

So freaking hot that I lean more toward the door . . . aching to hear him.

I want to hear him groan.

I want to hear his hand moving over his cock.

Hell, I want to see the way he stares at the phone intently, listening to everything Patty Ford has to say.

The urge to see him grows strong, and for an instant, the thought of walking in on him flashes through my mind.

What would he do?

Would he scramble to hide himself?

Would he just look up at me while he strokes himself?

Would he ask me to join in?

My pulse pounds heavily in my ears as questions creep up my spine.

What would happen if I actually walked in? I could pass it off as ignorance. I could apologize profusely. I could lean into him, pressing my hard nipples against his arm while showing him my favorite videos of hers.

Oh God, that last thought, that last idea. Yes, I want that. I want to be on his bed, with him naked, enticing him. Telling him how I like to masturbate when I watch her videos.

I want him to know.

I want him to break out in a sweat.

I want him thinking of me when he watches her.

And before I can stop myself, before I can convince myself this might not be the best decision, I push down the door handle and walk in.

Immediately my eyes land on Levi, who is propped up on his bed, his back to the headboard, his dick covered by his blankets, but his hand slowly working under the sheets. His other hand holds the phone as he stares down at it intently.

So.

Fucking.

Hot.

Bare up top, his chest muscles flex as his teeth pull on the corner of his lip. His bicep flexes with every stroke as the sinew in his forearm fires off with every motion up and down his length.

Mmmm, I want him.

I want him bad.

I want to trade places with him. I want to be the one that strokes him, licks him, sucks him. I want to be the one telling him what to do. I want to be the one he’s fantasizing about.

I could stand here all day, watching him, but given our situation, I know I need to make myself known, so I say, “Oh gosh, I’m sorry.”

He scrambles under the sheet, fumbling with the phone.

“Fucking hell,” he cries out as his wide eyes replace me. He tries to replace his phone in the mess of the sheets, but is so concerned with covering his dick, that he can’t replace it, so Patty Ford’s voice rings through the quiet room.

“That’s it, just like that. Oh God, I love when you touch yourself.”

“Fuck,” he says, his hand moving over the sheets, blindly looking for the phone that I actually spot on the edge of the bed.

I walk up to him, and his eyes grow wider as I approach. He takes in my lingerie set, his tongue wetting his lips, clearly interested in what he sees—exactly what I wanted.

I pick up his phone and then look up at him with a smile. “I love Patty Ford. I come the hardest when watching her videos.” I turn the phone toward me and stare down at the seductress. “I love this video,” I say as I move closer to him and sit on the edge of his bed . . . right next to him.

He’s stiff, unmoving—fairly sure he’s still in shock—so when I lean in, he doesn’t even flinch.

“She has the best boobs ever, and they’re real. There’s nothing fake about them. And I love her movements. They’re not overly sexualized, but they aren’t jagged either. She knows exactly what she’s doing with her hands and how her fingers glide over her nipples, pulling against the hard nub. God, I love her.”

I glance over my shoulder at Levi. His eyes are heady now, the shock gone. In its place, lust.

Definite lust.

The kind of lust that will make me turn toward him, straddle his lap, and take what I’ve wanted for a long time.

After a few seconds of staring at each other, he whispers, “What are you doing here?”

“Had some questions,” I say as I turn more toward him.

I watch his eyes move from my face, down my neck, and to my breasts. His hand is still under the sheets, probably gripping his cock in a death grip.

“Wylie?”

“Yes?” I ask, feeling breathless.

“You . . . you’re, uh . . .”

I smirk and take a chance by bringing my hand to his chest, letting my nails run along his chest hair. His eyes stay fixed on mine, and when he doesn’t tell me to stop, I set his phone down and completely turn toward him.

“Were you trying to tell me something?” I ask as my finger circles his nipple.

His head tilts back against the headboard, and the strain in his neck turns me on even more. From the corner of my eye, I catch him moving his hand along his covered cock, and I’m so tempted to pull down the sheet, to watch him touch himself.

“Fuck.” He breathes heavily just as Patty’s voice continues.

“Like that, oh fuck, my pussy is so wet knowing you’re touching yourself.”

My thoughts exactly.

“Levi?”

“Hmm?” he says as my fingers glide down his abdomen.

“You were saying something.”

He lazily nods and pulls on his lip before saying, “You’re . . . you . . . fuck, that top you’re wearing.”

I smile, knowing I have him right where I want him.

“You like it?” I ask as I puff my chest out.

“A whole fucking lot,” he says.

“It’s so comfortable. I love sleeping in it because it feels amazing against my skin. I love how the silky fabric rubs against my nipples, too.” I trail my fingers farther south, right above where the sheet is.

His hand moves under the covers, and I know for a fact that Patty Ford is no longer part of his thoughts anymore. It’s me.

All me.

From the way he’s looking at my tits.

The way he’s wetting his lips.

He’s one temptation away from giving in.

So, with my other hand, I drag my nails along my collarbone, watching his eyes trail my movement. Slowly I glide them down my chest to my breast, where I lightly run my nails across my nipples, a moan slipping past my lips.

He sucks in a sharp breath and then, to my dismay, looks away.

His expression is pained as he mumbles, “Fuck.” Then he releases his cock and lets out a deep breath. Keeping his eyes fixated in front of him and not on me, he says, “I think you should leave.”

Hope crashes around me. In some made-up land, I envisioned him asking me to take my shirt off.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, wanting to stay casual, even though my entire body is burning. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for your trip tomorrow.”

He wets his lips once again, his eyes now connecting with mine. “You need to leave,” he says tersely.

I glance down at his lap—at the sheet tenting between us—and then back up at him. “Are you going to come?”

His jaw clenches together, and he says, “Once again, you need to leave.”

Seeing the strain in his neck, in his sexy chest, in his shoulders, I decide to push him just a touch more. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m so wet.”

His head falls back against the headboard again, and he takes a few deep breaths. I watch his chest heave, the air filling his lungs and then leaving. “Wylie, I don’t need details. I need you to leave.”

“Okay,” I say as I stand. His eyes land on me again, and for the hell of it, I lean forward, letting my top fall forward, giving him an epic view of my chest, which of course he takes full advantage of. I watch as his gaze floats over my breasts, the way he stares, the hunger in his expression. I leave the phone on his nightstand and then stand back up. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Should I ask you the questions tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he says in a strained voice.

“Okay, see you in the morning.” I turn to walk away and then add, “Also, you won’t be the only one getting off tonight.”

And with that, I leave his room and head straight for my vibrator.

LEVI

THE MOMENT my bedroom door shuts, I sink into my mattress and start jerking off at a rapid pace. Precum covers my hand as I drag it over my length.

I knew the moment I got home tonight, I had to replace release. I didn’t care how, but I needed it. I pulled up a Patty Ford video, shut my eyes, and envisioned Wylie as Patty talked. I was hard and ready to come in fucking seconds.

My balls had started to tighten the moment I spotted Wylie in my bedroom. It was as if I conjured her in my mind and brought her in here. And fuck did she look so mouth-wateringly good. I don’t know what she was wearing, all I know is that if there was a uniform requirement for her job, I’d pick that. I’d pick that all day, every day.

And every time I’d see her in it, I’d pin her against the wall or the cabinet, or the couch, and I’d pull down the front so I could suck on her tits—those fucking gorgeous tits—and I’d play with her nipples and . . .

“Oh . . . fuck,” I groan as I squeeze my cock, my orgasm right on the edge. I hold the base tightly, prolonging the feeling of walking on the edge, waiting to be pushed over.

Hearing her talk about Patty and how she gets turned on, hearing her say she’s wet . . . fuck me.

The way her fingers ran over my chest. Almost to my dick.

The dip in her shirt where I almost caught sight of those hardened nipples.

Fuck, she’s so goddamn hot.

I let go of the base of my cock and then pump hard, up and down, over and over until my cock swells and I come all up the front of my stomach, groaning the entire time.

“Fuck . . . oh fuck.”

Jesus Christ, it’s been too fucking long.

I let go of my cock and stare up at the ceiling, replaceing my breath. What’s she doing? Is she getting off right now? Did she slip out of her clothes and into her bed naked? Is she fingering herself? Is she using a toy?

And why the hell did she come over here in the middle of the night? Just to fuck with me?

She has to be fucking with me.

There’s no other reason.

The only question is, why?

Why is she trying to entice me? Why is she risking her job when we both said we’d keep things platonic? There has to be an explanation, and I need to know why.

I move into the bathroom and clean myself up.

Then I pull on a pair of gray sweatpants, my dick still half hard as I calm down, and then move through the apartment with one thing on my mind . . . her.

I feel frenzied.

Out of my mind.

Ready to fucking lose my shit with the electricity bouncing through me.

Call it adrenaline left over from the game.

Call it seeing her in that night set.

Whatever it is, it’s propelling me straight to her door where I stand for a second.

I listen closely and hear nothing, so I take a chance and turn the doorknob, pushing the door open.

She didn’t knock.

Why should I?

When I walk into her bedroom and look to the right at her bed, instead of being startled at seeing me, she almost looks like she was expecting me.

She’s under her covers, both hands covered up with the faint sound of a vibrator sounding through the room.

Her teeth pull on her bottom lip as she looks up at me.

And just like that, I get hard all over again.

And because I’m in some sort of weird fucking world where time stands still now, I don’t move. I stare. And she doesn’t move as her eyes connect with mine.

I can see it, right there in her pupils, she wants me here.

She was hoping I’d come.

She wants me to see this, and fuck, do I want to watch.

I know I should leave.

I know I shouldn’t be here.

Coach Wood would freak the fuck out, but I’m torn.

I’m out of control.

My will is slipping, and I can’t seem to stop myself.

And because she’s fucking with me, she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t turn off the vibrator. She shifts on her bed so she’s turned more toward me with one leg propped up under the sheets. The shift causes the blankets to fall dangerously close to revealing her naked breasts.

Fuck.

Me.

“Oh, fuck, Levi. Your body. So fucking hot. You’re . . . ohhhh . . . fuck,” she moans as she moves her hand. “Oh God . . .”

My mouth goes dry.

My pulse picks up.

And my cock swells all over again as her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth parts open.

“Fuck, oh God. Oh, I’m . . . I’m coming,” she says right before her moan fills the air, and her body convulses under the sheet.

My skin prickles as I watch her come.

Not only did I fuck up by being in here but the sound of her orgasming is never, ever going to leave my brain.

Ever.

After a few seconds of her catching her breath, she switches off the vibrator, tosses it to the side, and gathers the blankets up around her neck as she props her head on her hand. “Can I help you . . . Mr. Posey?”

Fuck . . . yes.

With one flick of those covers, I could be on top of her. I could be burying my face between her legs. I could be showing her just how much I want her.

But I can’t.

I know I can’t.

I realize I can’t.

This is not some game. This is my livelihood.

This is my ass on the line.

I might be a horny motherfucker with the taste for one woman, but that doesn’t mean I can just toss the promises I made. I do not break my promises. Some would say I’m loyal to a T. The Agitators is my job, and I won’t fuck that up.

Can’t fuck that up.

Despite her eyes falling to my crotch, I take a step back, ignoring the droop in her shoulders.

With my eyes set on her, I say, “Tonight, you crossed a line, Wylie. Don’t cross it again.”

And with that, I push through her door, slamming it as I stride toward my room.

Fuck, I hated that.

I hated everything about it.

WYLIE

OKAY, so I pushed him a touch too far last night.

I get that.

I own up to it.

But for the record, just to be petty, he liked it.

He liked everything about me walking in on him.

Him walking in on me.

And of course, the finale.

I saw it in his hazy eyes and tented sweatpants.

And sure, did I cross the line? Of course, but to be fair, this was the goal, right? To push him as far as he can go? And, well, I did that last night.

I’m just glad I didn’t drag my sheets down like I wanted to. With him staring at me last night, I was seconds away from inviting him into my bed. And from the way his sweatpants clung to his bulge, I know he would have taken me up on the opportunity.

But once again, maybe it was too far. Talking about Patty Ford’s nipples while his hand was on his cock, yeah, that was crossing the line.

Coming in front of him, very much crossing the line.

The good thing is, the mission is accomplished, right? Teaching him a lesson and all. Now, where the hell do I go from here?

I’m supposed to talk to him this morning about his trip and what I should be doing for him while he’s gone. Do I go in all casual, as if nothing happened last night?

Do I ride in with a handful of apologies?

Do I drop down to my knees and ask for forgiveness . . . and maybe something else?

Or do I bend over and tell him to punish me for my bad behavior?

I smile to myself as I pull my sweater over my head. I can only imagine what he’d do if I bent over in front of him.

Chuckling, I slip on my slippers just as my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Thinking it might be Levi, I reach for it quickly.

I sigh heavily and answer.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Wylie, what was that yesterday?”

“I’m great, Dad. Thanks for asking. How are you?” I ask with a roll of my eyes.

“I don’t have time for pleasantries. I repeat, what was that yesterday?”

“You should always have time for me,” I reply.

I can hear his growl through the phone. “Wylie, I have a busy day of packing and getting ready for tomorrow’s game. I don’t have much time for anything, so answer my question.”

“Well, I don’t understand your question, so how can I answer it?” I say as I sit on my bed.

“Yesterday, with Posey, you seemed . . . intimate. What was that?”

“It was me asking him a question,” I say. “There was nothing intimate about it besides how close he was standing, but that’s because it was loud out on the ice.”

“You were touching him.”

“Because he had something on his jersey. As his assistant, I need to make sure he looks the best that he can look.”

“So nothing is going on between the two of you? Because if there is, I can guarantee you right now, everything that we agreed upon will be revoked. This job will be taken away, you will owe me tuition payments, and you are on your own. I’ll not be fucked with. My players are off limits. You know that.”

Grinding my teeth together, I say, “Is that your true opinion about me, Dad? That I would just throw everything away, my chance at proving you wrong about me and my career path, over some guy?”

“I don’t know, Wylie. It seems to me like you’re throwing a lot away recently.”

I twist my lips to the side, trying not to lash out at him—because it won’t do anything. I’ve done it before, where I’ve yelled, trying to get my point across, but that only resulted in an angry father who doesn’t understand me. Someone who tells me that I’m disrespecting him by raising my voice.

So I hold back my temper and calmly say, “Nothing is going on between me and Levi. Absolutely nothing. I’m just doing my job and doing my job well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Without saying goodbye, I hang up on him and toss my phone on my bed.

I press my hands into my face and let out a disgruntled growl of frustration. And for the millionth time in my life, I ask the same questions that I’m sure I’ll never get answers to.

Why?

Why did my mom have to leave him?

Why did she have to leave me with him?

It’s not fair.

My entire life I’ve felt like I’ve had to walk on eggshells around him, judge his mood, and try to fall in line to avoid making his mood worse. He says he loves me, but this isn’t love. This isn’t how a parent should treat their child. I’ve watched Sandie with her parents, how they treat her. Parents are supposed to be loving and supportive.

And sure, yes, I’ve been messing around with Levi because I’m irritated with him for being a part of this master plan my dad constructed, but would I have crossed that line with him . . .

Maybe.

Now, will I?

No.

Fuck, no.

That’s a big fucking no and all because my dad thinks I have no willpower. That he believes instead of doing a job, I’m over here just fucking one of his players.

Well, my dad can fuck right off.

I stand and wipe at my watery eyes.

It’s fine, you’re fine, everything is fine.

I take a few deep breaths, straighten my shoulders, and then head down the hallway toward the kitchen to meet up with Levi.

This phone call was a good wake-up call. Last night was as well. He told me not to cross the line, so I won’t. I’m done messing with him. Now it’s time to focus on what really matters, and that’s making something of myself.

Not for my dad . . . but for me.

When I enter the kitchen, Levi is at the island with one of the many bagels I’ve purchased for him. He paired it with eggs to make a sandwich, and I’m grateful he’s eating it. So grateful that it nearly makes me cry. I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer of emotions this past week, so to see him eat that bagel, one that I’ve lost sleep over, well, it does something to me.

“Morning.” He studies me for a second before asking, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I wipe at my eyes and move toward the fridge, where I grab a strawberry banana Naked Juice. I purchased some the other day, thinking that Levi might like them, but instead, I’ve been the single consumer.

“It doesn’t look like you’re fine,” he says.

I shut the fridge door and turn toward him. “How about we just talk about what you need from me and answer those questions from last night?”

He pushes away from the counter, looking confused as he sets his bagel sandwich down. “Whoa, why are you mad at me? I’m the one you disrupted last night.”

“I don’t care about what happened last night, Levi. I just want to get started on my day, okay?”

His brow creases as he wipes his fingers on his napkin. “Consider me confused because it seems like you’re mad at me, and I have no idea why. Is it because I didn’t knock on your door? Well, you didn’t fucking knock either.”

“Not everything has to do with you,” I say. “This isn’t about last night. Last night was stupid and a mistake, and yes, I crossed the line. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Now, can we talk about your suit?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but he does study me. I can see he wants to press and get to the bottom of my mood change, but thankfully, he moves past it. “Sure, what about my suit?”

Perfect. Revert to work. That’s what you’re here for anyway.

“Because you have such specific measurements, I wasn’t able to pick you up the blue velvet you wanted, but I did order it. Instead, I packed you a navy-blue suit for your trip, along with a maroon one and a black one. I paired them all with shirts, but no tie because I know you don’t enjoy wearing a tie. They also have matching shoes to go with them. You can wear the same shoes for the maroon and black. I packed navy-blue loafers for the blue suit. The macaroons you wanted are in the fridge, don’t forget them. I waited in a thirty-minute line just to order them. Your high-maintenance pretzels have been sorted, social media is ready to go for the rest of the week, and Blakely is sending me your game day shots so I can use them as well. I packed your backpack, but it’s up to you to put any snacks you might want, including the pretzels. While you’re gone, I’ll work on the list you gave me, but is there anything else you need before I leave?”

He stares at me, blankly. Almost shocked from the laundry list I just read out to him. If I’m honest, I’m impressed with myself. Proud of how I’ve adapted from college student to working as an assistant. Dad may never be proud of me—I’m still learning to accept that—but I can be proud of myself.

“Well?” I ask, crossing my arms now.

“Uh, no, I think that’s it.”

“Great, well I’m going to head out. Email or text. Good luck this week.”

And with that, I turn away from him and head down the hallway where I shut my door, flop on my bed . . . and cry.

LEVI

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE THERE?” Halsey asks as he sits down next to me. “I didn’t think you read.”

“I don’t,” I say as I stare down at the book of Vermont that Wylie typed up for me. When I was packing my bag—after getting the rundown from her—I decided to include the book of Vermont out of guilt. She did work hard on it, so I might as well try to read it.

“Are you planning a trip to Vermont?” Halsey asks.

“Nope,” I say, looking down at the book and the bridge image she chose for the cover.

“Okay, then what’s with the book?”

I look up at Halsey and say, “Can’t a fucking guy just want to read a book without getting the tenth degree from another man?”

Halsey blinks a few times. “Uh, a guy can read a book, but you looked tense so that’s why I came over here. The others volunteered me because there was a book in front of you, and they were worried.”

I glance toward the back of the airplane, where Pacey, Hornsby, Taters, and OC are all craning their necks to see what’s happening.

“Tell them I’m fine, and I don’t need them worrying about me.” I reach into my backpack and pull out my Tupperware of unbroken pretzels.

“Well, it seems like⁠—”

“I said I’m fine,” I say tersely, startling Halsey.

He holds up his hands. “Okay, if you think you’re fine, then you’re fine. But you know, if you want to talk about anything, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you, Danny Tanner, now please be gone. I need to read my book.” I shoo him with my hand and then open to the first page.

Halsey scoots away and I’m left in peace with some fine literature.

The first thing I’d like to note about this book is that the Arial font is quite pleasing to the eye, so I’m not mad about that.

I kind of wish there were more pictures, but I made her rewrite the whole thing so how can I be mad about that?

I flip through the first few pages, taking it in. How did she type all this in a few days? She must have magic Mavis Beacon fingers that fly across the keyboard at 100 words per minute. I mean look at this, all lined up and . . .

I glance down at the words.

Wait a second.

I flip to the first page and read the first paragraph, then flip back to the page I was just at. It’s the same. The same paragraph. I flip through some more pages, and lo and behold, it’s the same thing. Over and over again.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter as I slam the Vermont book shut. And here I was, ready to educate myself on the country’s maple candy capital.

How dare she?

Why would she do that?

She knew I’d read it.

Or did she . . .

I pull out my phone and because I’m hooked up to the Wi-Fi on the plane, I can send text messages, so I go to the queens.

Levi: Red alert! A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and I need my ladies.

I pop a few pretzels in my mouth and wait for a response while I sift through the book. At least she had the decency to change up the pictures, but . . . oh my God. I bring the book closer. One of the pictures has a watermark on it from Shutterstock. She didn’t even have the decency to pay for the freaking picture.

The audacity.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Winnie: The queens are here, or at least I am. What’s going on?

Levi: So many things. Let’s start with how she walked in on me last night while I was pleasuring myself.

Ollie: That’s hot.

Blakely: OMG, did she see your tattooed wiener?

Penny: Ew, did she see your O face?

Levi: For the record, I have a nice O face. I saw it in a mirror once and congratulated myself on a dignified and respectable way to experience an orgasm. Second, no, she did not see my wiener, everything was covered up. And third, it was really fucking hot and the minute she left I came on my stomach.

Penny: The coming on the stomach is not a detail we needed.

Ollie: I love it when Silas comes on his stomach, seeing it across his abs. Yes, chef’s kiss.

Blakely: *raises hand* I like it too.

Winnie: I shall not say if I like it or not since my man’s sister is in this text thread.

Penny: Thank you, Winnie. And yes, I like it as well, but I don’t want to picture Posey with cum on his stomach.

Levi: What is your problem with me? You have some sort of aversion to thinking of me in a sexual way. Is it the bologna?

Penny: Yes, and because you’re just . . . Posey.

Winnie: Perfect way to describe him.

Ollie: I second that.

Blakely: Third.

Levi: Not sure if I should be happy about that or not. But either way, back to the topic at hand. She walked in on me, then I got pissed, walked in on her, and then told her she’d crossed the line and left.

Ollie: Hold on, when you say walked in on her . . . what does that mean?

Winnie: Was about to ask the same thing.

Levi: She was getting off as well.

Winnie: Wow, what a night.

Blakely: Did you see anything?

Levi: She was covered by her bedding as well, but she did actually come while I was there.

Penny: Oh my God, she finished in front of you? I think I might like this girl.

Winnie: Bold choice.

Ollie: I’m getting horny.

Blakely: When are you not horny, Ollie?

Ollie: Never. I’m horny all the time.

Winnie: Same. I never knew sex until Pacey came along—sorry, Penny.

Penny: It’s fine. I’m just going to pretend you’re not with my brother and leave it at that. Congrats on the amazing sex.

Winnie: Thank you, he’s so good with his tongue.

Penny: I said congrats, I didn’t ask for details.

Ollie: Let’s talk more about tongues.

Levi: CAN WE FOCUS ON ME! I saw her come last night. I can’t get her moan out of my head.

Blakely: Right, we’re here to support bologna boy. What did you do after she came?

Levi: Laid down the hammer.

Ollie: The hammer being your penis?

Penny: Great question.

Levi: No, not my penis, a metaphorical hammer. Told her she crossed the line. And then this morning, she was a bit cold and standoffish. She actually looked upset, like she was going to cry. I was worried that I’d hurt her feelings, and I’ve been stewing about it all goddamn morning. Then I found something . . .

Penny: ^^^ See that pause, ladies? He uses that for the drama.

Winnie: I was going to say, it’s quite dramatic. Just tell us, why did you have to use the ellipses?

Levi: It’s better that way.

Ollie: It’s more annoying. Just tell us what you found.

Levi: Well, I was eating my pretzels, about to read the book about Vermont that she typed up for me, when I noticed that what she’d typed was the same few paragraphs, over and over and over again.

Ollie: Wow, and here I thought he’d admit she stuffed one of her thongs in his backpack.

Winnie: Or maybe a picture of her, a nudey.

Blakely: Or even sprayed his clothes with her perfume.

Penny: Something other than a book about Vermont.

Blakely: You were right about the ups and downs of dealing with him. Never seen anything like it before.

Penny: Should have been there when he was trying to get you and Halsey together. Epic meltdowns. A total drama queen.

Ollie: Silas told me all about it. He was so irritated one night with the text messages that I had to pacify him with my boob in his mouth.

Winnie: I let Pacey motorboat me when he’s upset.

Penny: I massage Eli’s balls.

Levi: For the love of God, please, stay focused. This is important.

Penny: Right, the book. *rolls eyes* What’s so important about the book?

Levi: You don’t get it. I asked her to type this up.

Penny: And . . .

Blakely: Is that supposed to give us chills?

Levi: It was one of the tasks I gave her.

Ollie: Soo . . .

Levi: And she didn’t do it properly.

Blakely: The actual horror . . .

Winnie: Wait, ladies, I think he’s trying to say that she didn’t do the task properly, which means she didn’t take it seriously, which means . . . maybe she knows that he wasn’t taking his boss duties seriously.

Levi: Winnie, you’re my new favorite.

Ollie: Uh, that seems a little hasty, don’t you think?

Penny: Do you really want to be his favorite?

Ollie: Just nice to be considered.

Winnie: I accept Queen Bee Number One as my title. Thank you.

Blakely: Hold on, if she didn’t take it seriously because she thought that you didn’t take your boss duties seriously, do you think that’s why she double downed?

Levi: Wait, what do you mean?

Blakely: Hear me out. So you asked her to retype this book for God knows what reason and if she was acting as a real assistant who didn’t want to get fired, then she would have seriously typed up the whole thing. But given that she didn’t, that she just made the task look complete, do you think she knows something that you know?

Winnie: Gah! Do you think she knows that her dad’s behind this?

Blakely: That’s exactly what I’m thinking.

Penny: And if she knows about her dad’s involvement, then that would mean she knows that there should be no fooling around, which is why she double downed.

Levi: Wait, I’m lost.

Ollie: So am I.

Blakely: Let me put it to you straight. She knows that her dad put you in charge of making her life hell. Which means she’s going to try to make your life hell in return, and how can she do that? By flaunting herself in front of you. She knows that she’s off limits.

Levi: HOLY SHIT! You think that’s what she’s doing?

Penny: The braless walk around . . .

Blakely: The push-up bra . . .

Winnie: The walking in on you while you’re coming on your stomach.

Levi: *note* I was not coming on my stomach when she was in the room. I was in her room when she was coming. Thank you.

Ollie: OMG, you guys are right. This is the classic double down with a vengeance. She knows about you and her dad working together, and she’s getting back at you by torturing you with her eroticness.

Penny: *Whispers* Erotic torture.

Levi: What the hell is erotic torture?

Ollie: Oh, you poor, poor man.

Winnie: Even I know what erotic torture is. You stand no chance.

Blakely: I think it’s time we just throw in the towel now.

Levi: Hey! You can’t throw in the towel. I need you!

Winnie: He’s right. We can’t dump him when he’s in the middle of erotic torture.

Ollie: I say just give in.

Penny: But what if Coach Wood replaces out? That won’t be good.

Levi: No, it won’t, therefore, we need to figure out what to do. I will say this, she came into the kitchen this morning, apologized for crossing the line, and was also decently dressed. It almost felt like she was throwing in the towel.

Blakely: I wouldn’t trust it.

Ollie: Neither would I. Erotic torture could strike at any time, especially if she double downed. You’re working with a mistress of sex here.

Winnie: For sure a mistress of sex. She has wild ways . . . beware!

Levi: Okay, now I’m scared. How the hell do I battle the mistress of sex, the erotic torture lady?

Blakely: Great question. Anyone?

Penny: Thinking.

Ollie: Well, we could . . . uh . . .

Winnie: There’s the . . . uh . . .

Blakely: You know, we could . . . well, no, that won’t work.

Penny: *thinks*

Levi: This is not helpful!

Winnie: What about this, this is going to sound like a Friends episode, but she doesn’t know that you know she knows, which means . . .

Levi: Hold on a second . . . to quote Friends, the messer becomes the messee?

Winnie: Precisely, and I think we all know the only way to battle erotic torture . . .

Penny: A wet blanket?

Ollie: Deflated noodle? Also known as a flaccid penis?

Blakely: No . . . with . . . *whispers* erotic torture.

Winnie: Precisely. We fight fire with fire.

Levi: Wait, you want me to battle with my penis?

Blakely: Penis, pecs, ass, muscles, I’m sure you have them.

Winnie: The perfectly shaped balls you’ve proudly mentioned.

Penny: You guys, this doesn’t seem like a good idea. We’re talking about Posey here. Do you really think he can go into war, an erotic war, with wielding just his body as a weapon?

Ollie: I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about this tactic.

Winnie: I have confidence in him.

Levi: I appreciate the confidence, but do we not remember the torture I’ve been through the last week? How the hell do you expect me to fight temptation with well . . . temptation? Seems like a recipe for my penis to easily slide inside of her main hole.

Blakely: I TOLD YOU NEVER TO USE THAT TERM AGAIN!

Ollie: You make it hard to help you, Posey.

Penny: Hold on, ladies. Posey, don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to show her who has the upper hand? You do, right?

Levi: I don’t know. Her nipples sort of have the upper hand at the moment.

Winnie: For the love of God, Posey, man up! Do you like losing? Because that’s what’s going to happen here. You’re going to lose! Are you a loser?

Blakely: Are you?

Levi: I’m not. I’m a winner.

Blakely: Then buck up and semi-seduce her!

Penny: I’m not fully on board with this plan, but I can see the benefit of trying to beat her at her own game. Because she won’t go the whole way with you, what happens if you come at her with the same playbook?

Ollie: The more I think about it, the more I think this could work.

Winnie: See! This is the way to win.

Levi: Okay, so I beat her at her own game. How do I even start doing that without looking obvious? I’ve been pretty frank about not crossing that line, especially after last night.

Winnie: Ease her in. Start simple. You’re on an away trip. Strike up conversation. Get to know her better. Act like you’re working, but you’re really flirting.

Blakely: And then when you get back, you serve her your penis on a platter for dinner.

Ollie: I love when Silas does that.

Penny: What kind of sex life do you have?

Ollie: One that involves choking.

Levi: I’m going to leave now. Thanks, queens.

Winnie: Remember, ease her in.

Blakely: Then platter.

Penny: No platter, no nudity. Just shirtless seduction.

Ollie: Then choke her!

WYLIE

I THOUGHT about watching the game tonight but decided not to. After everything that happened this morning with my dad, I didn’t want to see his face. And then with Levi, well, I don’t know. I feel embarrassed now.

Embarrassed over what my dad thinks of me.

What he saw at the arena.

Embarrassed of almost crying in front of Levi.

Of coming in front of him.

Of my behavior.

I basically lost track of everything, and now . . . now I almost feel lost.

I move my Apple pencil over my screen, working out some minor detail changes for Patty Ford’s logo, but I’m not feeling the font or the colors I’m choosing. Everything just seems off, so before I can annoy myself too much, I turn off my screen and set my iPad and pencil to the side. I can work on it some more tomorrow.

All ready for bed, I pick up my phone to mindlessly scroll through social media just as it buzzes in my hand. It’s a FaceTime from Levi.

Uh-oh, what could he want now?

Sitting up in my bed, I adjust my bun on the top of my head and then hold the phone in front of me as I answer it.

His face comes on screen, and he looks fresh from the shower with wet hair and a slightly red face.

“Hey,” I say. “Uh, how’s it going?”

He smiles. “Good. Catch the game?”

“No,” I reply, feeling weird since we haven’t talked on the phone like this before. And with how we last ended things . . . “I was catching up on some work. Did you win?”

“Smashed them.”

“Oh . . . uh, congrats.”

“Thank you. So, I wanted to call you and thank you for the pretzels. I appreciate the hard work you put into those.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I reply.

“I actually am really grateful for everything you’ve done this past week. I know I haven’t been the easiest to work for.”

“You haven’t been too bad, well, besides your good water bagels.”

He smirks, and just the light turn up of his lips has my stomach bouncing with desire. “They were worth it. Best bagels ever. Which reminds me, feel free to help yourself to the stash. You should be able to enjoy them as well.”

“Careful what you say. I might eat them all.”

“Just means more morning trips for you.”

I tap my chin. “Hmm, decisions, decisions.”

He chuckles, and it’s an earthy sound straight from his barrel-like chest. “I do want to thank you, though, so I sent you a gift card to your email. Did you get it?”

“Uh, I haven’t checked,” I say.

“Go ahead and look.” Really confused by this change in behavior and the lightness in his eyes, I swipe out of our chat and go to my email, where I replace a gift card from him to get a massage.

“You’re sending me to get a massage?”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “I booked an appointment for you and everything. Told them it’s all on me. Get what you want. But you have to be there around nine thirty. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t have anything going on other than regular work.” I stare at him for a few seconds. “Levi, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I just wanted to show you that I appreciate you.”

“Well, thank you. That’ll be really nice.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, and ugh, it makes me feel even more guilty for what I’ve put him through.

And because my guilt takes over, I say, “And I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult or unsatisfactory. Just been going through some things, and I don’t think I handled it well.”

“You’ve been great,” he says. “More than great. No need to apologize, but I do need to ask you something.”

“Okay,” I say. “What is it?”

“Today, in the kitchen, were you crying?”

I glance away from looking at his handsome face and tug on the corner of my lip. Why is it so easy for him to read me? He barely knows me, and it’s like he can already see past my defenses. That connection is there, just like the first night we met.

“You were, weren’t you?” he presses.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” I say, looking back at him. “And I mean that. Don’t bother asking me because I won’t say anything.”

“Okay,” he says. “If that’s the case, did your day improve?”

“Uh, yeah. It was okay.”

“Cool, yeah, my day was pretty good, thanks for asking.”

I smile. “Wasn’t aware we were gabbing.”

“Don’t you think you should gab with your boss? I am your only co-worker, after all.”

“I guess you are.” I shift to be more comfortable as I stare at Levi’s face. “How was your day?”

“Like I said, pretty good. Considered going down to the bar after the game tonight but wasn’t feeling it.”

“No?” I ask, feeling grateful that he’s not trying to pick someone up, but I guess, rather talking to me. “Why not?”

“Thought I’d give that Patty Ford girl another go-around since I was interrupted last time.”

“Why, Levi, isn’t that a little too intimate for a boss-assistant relationship?” I tease.

“According to you and the vibrator you packed me for my travels, nothing is too intimate. The more we know about each other, the better. You know . . . so you can meet all my needs.” The way he says that in such a dark voice sends a shiver right up my spine.

If I was still trying to drive him nuts with erotic torture, I might playfully talk about his needs being met, but I keep it clean. “Aw, you do listen to me.”

“I listen to everything you say.”

“Not everything,” I reply. “When I tell you that waking up at one in the morning to retrieve bagels is not my idea of fun, you seem to keep telling me it might happen again.”

“Which reminds me, I’m going to need more bagels.”

I stare blankly at him, and he laughs.

“Fine, I’ll eat the ones we have before I make you grab more.”

“That’s a good boy, Levi.”

His grin nearly melts me right into the spring coils of my mattress. “So which Patty Ford video is your favorite?”

“Looking for ideas on how to get off?” I ask.

“You’re my assistant. Shouldn’t you be helping me make decisions?”

“I suppose so.” I playfully tap my chin. “Well, personally, I like it when she’s fully clothed and slowly takes her clothes off, one by one. There’s this one outfit she wears, it’s an oversized button-up blouse with a tight mini skirt and these high boots. As she’s undressing, she tells you exactly where to touch yourself, and she uses all parts of the body.”

He wets his lips. “Yeah, that’s hot.”

“You’ll enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Also, I’m so glad you’re not going down to the bar. The thought of him hooking up makes my stomach sour. I know I can’t have him, and I know he’s not mine, but I hate the idea of him touching another woman. At least not right now.

What am I thinking? I’ll never be able to have Levi as anything other than my temporary boss. And that’s . . . well, that’s fucking sad. Every moment I spend with this Levi makes me like him more. It’s not as if I’m ready for marriage or want to settle down, per se—I’m only twenty-two—but I genuinely like this man. He ticks so many boxes. Good humor, kind, sexy, fun to chat with . . . real.

He yawns. “Okay, time to release this adrenaline.”

“Is that why you usually pick someone up at the bar?” I ask, not wanting him to hang up yet.

“Yeah.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “I’m usually buzzing after a game, and it’s a great way to blow off steam.”

“So is that a regular activity for you then? Just so I’m aware not to bother you after a game.”

“Yes, it’s a regular occurrence. So, unless you want to walk in on me again, I’d probably stay away. Although it seemed like you were ready for a show.”

My cheeks heat. “No, I mean . . . I was, uh, no, I wasn’t ready for a show.”

He laughs. “Are you sure? You seemed to linger.”

“Was just making conversation.”

“While I was holding my hard dick?”

“Is that, uh, not an appropriate time to converse?” I lightly chuckle.

He grins. “Not so much, Wylie.”

“Oh, okay. Noted.”

He chuckles some more, and God, I love that sound. I love how easy it is to talk with him. This is the Levi that I almost spent the night with. There’s something about him that’s changed, and it’s making me want him so much more.

Which means one thing: I’m glad I put the brakes on the erotic torture because I’m not sure I could hold out. One once-over from him, and I’m pretty sure I’d be pushing him down on the couch and settling on his lap.

“Question for you,” I say.

“What’s that?” He plays with the ends of his hair, his bicep flexing with every twist and pull of the short strands.

“Should I expect you to bring a woman back to your place? Just want to know since you like to get that adrenaline out.”

Please say no. Please say no.

“Why?” he asks and grins even wider. “Jealous, Wylie?”

“What? No,” I say quickly. “Just, you know, wanting to see if I need to account for, uh, more bagels or something like that.”

“It’s rare if I bring someone back to my place.”

“That’s surprising, given the toys and bed you have.”

He wets his lips, and his eyes become hazy as he says, “Didn’t say I never bring women back, it’s just rare. And the women I do bring back have signed an NDA, everything we do is consensual, and we have the same sort of pleasure in mind.”

Dear God.

I squeeze my legs together from what he could possibly mean by that.

Hell, I know what he means.

I’ve seen the ties.

I’ve seen the toys.

I’ve seen the hooks and the blindfolds.

“How, uh, how do you know she’s someone who has that same mindset?”

“Usually meet her at the club,” he says casually.

“The club?” I ask, confused.

He slowly nods. “The sex club, Wylie.”

“Right, oh yeah, sure, of course. Yup, that makes sense.” Sweat forms on my upper lip. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of fun with those women. They’re adventurous.”

“They are.” From the way his lips tilt up, I know he can sense how uncomfortable I am.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to your release. Enjoy.”

He winks.

Freaking winks.

“I will. Night, Wylie.”

“Good night.” I gulp.