So This Is War
Chapter 8

This is what modern-day hell would be.

This right here.

Sharing a living space—not sure how that happened when I specifically told her to stick to her room—with a girl who apparently doesn’t own any bras. Oh wait, no, that’s not correct. She does own bras, but they tie into a bow in the front and with one tug . . . breasts. Pretty sure that’s how she put it.

This is day two of being back from my trip, and this morning, she walked into the kitchen in nothing but a threadbare tank top. I saw the definition of her nipples and had to retreat to my bedroom where I took some calming breaths and attempted to subdue the blue balls that are squeezing me to death.

I refuse to masturbate to the image of her in my head. Absolutely refuse because the moment I do it, is the moment I lose all control. I have to keep her out of my mind.

That’s how I found myself alone in my hotel room the other night, playing Phase 10 on my phone and swearing at an online player who I didn’t know. Player4756. The motherfucker kept skipping me. Several times, I almost chucked my phone against the wall.

Luckily for me, I could take out some of my pent-up aggression on the ice, and it did me well because it was a shutout game for us. No one was getting by me, and certainly not Eli, either. It was a much better showing than before, and Coach even complimented me, which he never does. Sure, his compliment was a nod of approval, but still, I counted it.

But now that I’m back home, it’s like she’s trying to make me hard every chance she gets.

And it’s working.

Last night, I was hard while eating steak.

I went to bed hard.

I woke up so fucking hard.

And now as I sit here in my living room, staring at the tiny fiddle leaf fig tree she got for me, my balls ache, wanting relief.

“Hey, you in here?” I hear her call out from the kitchen.

Here we go. How is she going to torture me now?

I lean back on the couch and say, “Living room.”

“Oh, hey.” She steps up, and when I look to the side, I replace her wet with a towel barely wrapped around her body.

Fuck.

Me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, averting my eyes.

“Sorry, I tried calling you, but you weren’t answering.”

“Oh, my phone is in my room,” I groan because fuck me, she’s wet.

She’s in a towel, and she’s wet.

“Well, I ran out of soap, and I was wondering if I could borrow some of yours. And I know what you’re thinking, I’m making this up because I was saying how great you smelled last night and I want to smell the same. And whereas a part of that is true, I don’t have any soap and need some.”

Keeping my eyes averted, I say, “Yeah, you can borrow some.”

“Awesome. Thank you. Is it okay if I just finish in your shower since I’m already naked and wet?”

“Finish?” I gulp.

Do you need help finishing?

Because I know a few ways I can get you off in that shower.

“Yeah, finish showering.”

Oh fuck, duh.

Jesus Christ, man. You are way too horny to be having these conversations.

“Oh yeah, sure. Showering. Can’t, uh, can’t just walk away from the water without soaping up, and since you don’t have soap, how can you soap up?”

She cutely tilts her head to the side, her towel dipping just a centimeter. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Fine. Really just doing fantastic. Are you . . . uh, are you okay? Not that I care if you are because you’re my assistant and I shouldn’t be asking you that kind of stuff, but are you okay?”

“Why shouldn’t you care if I’m okay?”

“Did I say that?” I nervously laugh. “I meant that I care, I care about your well-being but not like . . . you know, other things.”

“Actually, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

Yeah, Posey, what the hell are you talking about?

Can’t be sure.

I’m distracted.

Her breasts are ready to pop out of that towel. There’s nothing but terrycloth between us, and I can’t stop myself from getting hard.

Pathetic and creepy, I get it!

You don’t have to tell me.

I wish I could smack my dick into shape, but out of fear I might come from a whisper of a breeze, I couldn’t possibly punish it for being out of control.

“You know . . .” I tug on my hair. “I think I’m tired. Sleep-deprived and jet-lagged are not a good combo. So to sum up this conversation, you can use my soap, finish off in my shower, and I care if you’re fine.”

Her gleamingly beautiful smile nearly makes me weep. “Good to know. And thank you. I really appreciate it.”

With that, she takes off down the hallway, and my eyes trail her, watching the towel climb up against the bubble of her ass just as she disappears into my room.

I drag my hands over my face and groan into my palms.

I won’t last this. There is no fucking way.

And did she have to say naked and wet? I mean, it was obvious, but she didn’t have to point it out.

I don’t think I can keep this inside me. I have to tell someone. I need someone to bounce ideas off and combat this internal hell I’m living in.

I consider going into my room to grab my phone, but knowing her, she left the bathroom door wide open. She doesn’t seem to have any issues with privacy. She just lets it all out.

So instead of doing anything, I just sit here, twiddling my fingers and taking calming breaths. I was so desperate to get over this aching feeling inside me that I watched a twenty-minute video on YouTube on how to combat horniness through meditation.

I take deep breaths, envisioning a peaceful meadow, waves of green bristling against the wind. Puffy clouds against a bright blue sky. And Wylie, running toward me, her tits bouncing against her threadbare tank top tempting the elasticity of the fabric.

Annnnnnd . . . I’m hard all over.

I pick up a throw pillow, place it against my face, and scream into it, only to lower the pillow and replace Wylie standing there, drying her hair while wearing one of my hockey shirts.

Mother.

Of.

God.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

No.

I’m not.

I want to fuck you.

I want to bury myself between your legs.

I want to live there for days on end, making you come on my tongue over and over again just so I can watch you writhe against the mattress.

I want to feel you squeeze my cock.

I want to feel your slick pussy, bare, with nothing between us.

I want to hear you cry out my name until your voice is hoarse.

I want to be rid of this ache that’s holding my dick hostage.

I FUCKING WANT YOU!

I tack on a smile, painfully aware of my desperation. “Yup, everything is great.”

“Okay because it looked like you were screaming into a pillow.”

“Stubbed my toe,” I reply. “Got me good.”

“Ooo, I hate when that happens. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Because I can take care of it for you if you want. Ice it. Massage. Suck on it . . .” She winks, and I nearly choke on my own saliva. Suck. On. It. Yes, I fucking want you to suck on it—it being my cock that is weeping for you.

I nervously laugh. “Uh, not needed. I’ll survive.”

She clutches her chest. “You’re so brave. By the way, I hope it’s okay that I’m wearing one of your shirts. I thought it would be better than a wet towel.”

I prefer the wet towel.

Actually, if I’m taking requests, no clothes would be best. And if you want, you can sit on my lap to air dry if you need to.

“Yeah, totally cool.”

“Great because I might keep it. You have like twenty of these in your closet, and it’s the perfect nighttime shirt.” She moves over to the living room and takes a seat next to me. Okay, so she’s sitting down, that’s what’s happening. Be cool, man. “Have you looked through the social media posts I’ve made? People are loving them.”

“I haven’t. I’ll be sure to look through them.” I keep my eyes forward and not on the way her tits sway against the loose fabric of my shirt.

“Some of your female fans are using the hashtag, Pretty Posey.” She props her head on her hand while leaning against the back of the couch and asks, “Were you aware that you’re pretty?”

“Uh, I prefer handsome, but sure, I do tend to look at myself in the mirror and think, wow, you’re a good-looking man.”

She laughs. “How often? Every time you look in the mirror?”

I rub my palms on my thighs, still looking straight ahead. “I average about once a day.”

“You know, it’s good to have confidence. As long as that confidence doesn’t turn into cockiness.”

“Cockiness isn’t bad,” I reply while I pretend to pick a piece of lint off my shirt. Anything to avoid looking at her.

“Maybe on the ice, but when dealing with women, it’s bad. It’s kind of a turnoff.”

That piques my interest, so I turn toward her. “You’d rather have a blubbering mess trying to hit on you than a guy who’s sure of himself?”

She smiles broadly at me, probably because I’m finally looking at her rather than avoiding her like . . . well . . . a blubbering mess. “I think there’s a fine line.” She drags her finger on my forearm and says, “I think it’s good to have a man who’s confident but doesn’t think a woman is beneath him, like she’s lucky to breathe the same air as him.”

Chills pulse up my arm from her touch. “Uh-huh. Yup.”

I have no other response because my mouth is salivating.

Actually salivating.

In any other circumstances, I’d be turned fully toward her, my hand on her thigh, my thumb rubbing along her smooth skin, moving higher and higher. I’d lean into her, touch her hair, stare at her lips, and get lost in her eyes. I’d make a fucking move, tell her how goddamn beautiful she is, how she steals my breath when she enters the room.

But lucky for me, she’s completely and totally off limits. So off limits that if I were to even think about touching her, I might get my dick skated off by her father.

I remain stiff—in all areas—salivating over a touch of a finger.

“You remember that night we first met?” she asks.

Uh, like it was fucking two hours ago. That night plays in my head every time I shut my eyes for bed. I think about it. Dream about it. Wish about it. That night fucking haunts me.

“Uh, yeah. I believe so,” I say casually.

“You seemed different from how you are now. Like the confidence I was talking about.”

That’s because my dick didn’t have a muzzle on it like it does now.

“Oh, really?” I laugh nervously. “Well, you know, people change.”

“They do, but I think it’s something else. Are you scared of me?”

“Ha!” I bellow. “You? Scared of you?” I shake my head. “No, no, no. Nope. Not scared of you. Not even a little. Definitely not scared. Nope. No scaries over here.”

Now, am I scared of your father?

Yes.

My nipples have inverted just thinking about him seeing us like this side by side on my couch, and nothing is even happening. Well, besides my growing affection for this woman. Oh, did I say affection? I meant erection.

My growing erection.

“Hmm, but you’re so jumpy. Is there anything that I’m doing to make you so jumpy?”

She squeezes in closer, her breast rubbing up against my arm, the distinctive feel of her hard nipple right there on my bicep, poking my sensitive skin. The smell of her shampoo combined with the scent of my masculine soap has my head swirling with debauchery, and when her hand lands on my thigh with concern, I feel the telltale sign of my dick press against the fabric of my pants.

Alert. Alert.

Warning. Warning.

Bad thoughts are occurring.

Sexual thoughts.

Aching urges are taking over.

Hands are ready to cup breasts.

The mouth is ready to suckle.

The dick is ready to pulse between her legs . . .

Posey, you’re going to do something bad if you don’t remove yourself right this instant.

Out of self-preservation, I fly off the couch, letting her fall into the spot I was just occupying as I shout, “Bologna.”

“Huh?” she asks, sitting back.

“B-bologna.” I keep my hands placed in front of my aching cock to block her view of my obvious bulge. “Did you, uh, did you get me bologna? At the store. Did you secure the bologna?”

“Um, yes,” she says with a quizzical tone. “The bologna has been secured.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s important. The bologna is important, Wylie.”

Her brow pinches together. “Yes, I’m sure. The bologna has been purchased and properly placed in the fridge.” She studies me for a moment. “Is everything okay, Levi?”

No.

Everything is not okay.

I have a raging hard-on, I’m fumbling around like a jackass, and I’m pretty sure tonight I’m going to whimper myself to sleep from the thought of the tip of your nipple on the sensitive flesh of my bulging bicep.

But instead of vocalizing my innermost thoughts, I nod. “Just love bologna is all, and someone has been eating my bologna at the arena, so I want to make sure I have some on hand because I like to eat a sandwich before every game. Kind of a tradition, and I really like the way it tastes, makes me feel like I’m gearing up for a takedown. Like a beast. A man beast. A man beast on the ice. That should be my new hashtag.” I nervously laugh. “Man beast on the ice, powered by bologna. And without that bologna, I’m no good. Just wreckage out there with no purpose. Garbage. Trash. Some might say an abomination in skates. So I just want to make sure the bologna is there. So I can be the best man bologna beast out there, you know?” I nervously laugh again, and it comes out more like a giggle which, in return, makes me want to take my own skate to my dick.

“Bologna makes you feel manly?” she asks almost with a sneer.

“Very,” I say. “Like I have a lot of muscles. And with great muscles comes great responsibility, Wylie.”

What the fuck am I saying?

Just shut the fuck up, man.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t have put you in the category of being built on bologna, but okay. And also, your bologna at the arena, the one in the cafeteria? That was yours?”

What the hell does she mean . . . that was yours?

My heart’s beating wildly as I stare down at her. “What do you mean when you ask, that was yours?”

She crosses one beautiful leg over the other and casually says, “Well, I saw it in the cafeteria, and I thought it was up for grabs. I made myself a few sandwiches. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.”

The world stands still as I blink a few times, my brain catching up with her words, processing them, sitting deep in the wrinkles of my cranium, stirring and festering . . . and dipping me right into a frenzied tailspin as my ears boil and my pulse pounds through my veins.

She can’t be . . .

No.

There’s no fucking way.

“Hold on . . .” I take a deep breath, trying to make sure my voice doesn’t come out shaky. “You . . . you like bologna sandwiches?”

“Love them,” she answers with a smile.

Mother.

Of.

Fuck.

This is the worst-case scenario out of all scenarios.

This . . . this is blasphemy.

This is bullshit.

This can’t be the world I’m living in.

No, this is a nightmare. Someone punch me. Poke me. Stick a chopstick right up my dick hole.

Pull me away from this disaster I’m living because, oh my fucking God, the girl of my absolute dreams, the one that’s been persistent in my mind for a year, the girl who could do no wrong, she likes bologna.

No, not like . . . loves.

LOVES!

Actual tears spring to my eyes as panic races through me.

I’m going to lose it. I have two choices, ask her to open her mouth so I can fuck it, right here, right now—possibly while she eats a bologna sandwich—or just run.

Run as far away as I can run.

I choose the latter.

“Excuse me,” I say as I bow my head in dismissal and sprint down the hallway straight to my bedroom, where I slam the door and fling myself onto the bed.

I grab my pillow, bury my head against it, and scream again, muffling myself better this time.

After a few kicks to the mattress, punches, and “why mes,” I snatch my phone from the nightstand and pull up a text thread.

Can’t do this alone. Nope.

Need help.

Now.

Because . . . fuck me, she likes bologna.

She loves it.

I’ve never met another soul who likes bologna. And lo and behold, the woman of my dreams has been stealing my goddamn deli meat right from under me. How did I not know? How did I not see her? How did I not sniff out the evidence like a goddamn bloodhound searching the trail?

I’ve lost my touch.

A curvy woman with red hair has blinded me.

And now, with my dick standing at full mast, I realize one thing. There is no way in hell I’m going to make it through this assignment without reinforcements.

It pains me, but I need help.

Levi: URGENT. CODE RED. DEFCON 1. PLEASE JESUS, HELP ME! I don’t care what you’re doing, drop everything and meet me at Café Peppermint in fifteen minutes. Drinks and snacks are on me. Tell NO ONE!

I set my phone down and take a few deep breaths as my cock strains against my pants.

Whispering meadows.

Babbling brooks.

Woodland creatures.

Deep breaths . . . that’s it.

Fluttering branches.

Cotton-candy skies.

Wylie eating bologna.

No. No. No.

Focus.

Bunny with cotton tail.

Wild berries in brilliant hues of red.

Singsonging birds with white chests.

Chests . . .

Tits.

Wylie’s tits bouncing.

NO!

No bouncing tits in the meadow.

Tits not allowed.

Or nipples.

Or any breasts.

Just woodland creatures that talk and sing little ditties like . . . we are the woodland creatures of whispering pines. We like to sing and dance to help the boner decline . . .

“We are the woodland creatures⁠—”

Knock. Knock.

I shoot up off my bed as Wylie says, “Uh, everything okay in here?”

“Peachy!” I squeak out. “Grand. On the up and up. No help needed.”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like something’s bothering you.”

You!

You are bothering me, you beautiful, magnificent, bologna-eating wench.

“Nope. Everything is wonderful. Loving life.” I offer her a thumbs-up even though I’m pretty sure she wasn’t born with X-ray vision and can’t see me. “Life is a ball of fun.”

I stand from the bed and stare down at my tented joggers. This is not going to do. I can’t go to Café Peppermint with my dick leading the way. They’ll never let me return. So I grab a pair of jeans from my closet and slip off my joggers, say a quick hello to my erection—looking painful, my guy—and slip my jeans on, sliding my dick carefully against the more restrictive fabric.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” she asks.

For the love of God, woman, leave me alone!

I stare down at my dick and how it’s protruding against the jeans. Fuck.

I glance around my closet, looking for something, anything to help cover up, and that’s when I see one of my dress shirts. Untucked, it will cover up just enough.

So I tear my current shirt off and slip a black dress shirt on. I fluff it over my dick, then look at myself in the floor-length mirror. I turn to the side, then the other side.

Yup, I think that works.

“Levi?”

“Yup, hey, hello. Just changing.”

“Oh, are you leaving?”

“Going out,” I shout and slip on my tennis shoes because I don’t care right now. I don’t care what I look like.

Well . . . I kind of care. I don’t need people recognizing me. So I grab a bucket hat and toss that on my head, followed by a pair of sunglasses, and for the hell of it, I wrap a scarf around my neck and up to my chin.

There.

Unrecognizable.

Knowing I’ll be able to walk around undetected, I proudly step out of my closet and straight to my door, opening it to replace Wylie on the other side, worrying her lip.

When her eyes meet mine, the worried expression morphs into humor.

“What . . . what are you doing?”

I adjust my sunglasses and say, “It’s called going incognito.”

“You think you’ll go undetected walking around like that?”

“Yes. People won’t notice me.”

“They’re going to notice the six-foot-four man walking around with a scarf around his neck.”

“Not the people I’m walking by.”

“Oh-kay,” she says, giving me a once-over. “At least tuck your shirt in.” She reaches for the hem of my shirt, but I booty blast the air, backing that ass up so quick and folding over at the waist.

“Penis,” I shout.

“Huh?”

“Uh, don’t touch my penis.”

She stands back. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to suggest tucking your shirt in.”

I stand taller, prouder.

I flip my scarf over my shoulder, and with my chin held high, I say, “And I suggest you don’t touch my penis.”

“Okay, suggestion received, but I wasn’t going to touch it.”

“As long as we’ve made that clear.” Shoulders back, I walk past her—painfully—and head for the door.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Her hand touches my back, and it feels like lava scalding my skin.

“Everything’s fine,” I yelp and hop away from her, my dick nearly acting like a pogo stick for me. “Just fine.”

“Levi, you can talk to me.” She corners me in the entryway, her hand caressing my arm. My cock’s trying to dig a hole through the fabric of my jeans. It’s a wonder it hasn’t popped through and knocked Wylie on the ovaries, saying “Let me in, let me in. Please let me play with your skinny, skin, skin.”

“I know I can talk to you. You’re a great listener.”

She studies me for a second and asks, “Was it the bologna?” She steps in just close enough that her breast rubs against my arm. “I can get different⁠—”

Her nipple caresses my arm hair . . .

“It’s not the bologna,” I yelp. “The bologna is delicious. Top-notch. I fucking love bologna.” And with that, I grab my keys and wallet and bolt out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

“THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING HERE.” I rest my hands on the table. “I know you have busy lives, and I want you to know I value your time⁠—”

“Just tell us what’s going on,” Ollie says, her arms folded across her chest.

“And it better be good,” Penny adds. “Because Eli was just getting out of the shower.”

“Halsey and I were just about to go to bed,” Blakely says. “I think you know what that means.”

I nod just as Winnie says, “Hold on, ladies, before we get irritated with him, let’s hear him out. He wouldn’t pull us all out of our homes for something stupid.” She gestures toward me. “Tell us what’s going on.”

I clear my throat and say, “I have a boner.”

“Oh my God.” Ollie tosses her hands up in the air and stands.

“Jesus Christ, Posey.” Penny stands as well.

“You’re disgusting.” Blakely scoots her chair out, and I hold my hands out to stop them.

“Wait,” I say in a panic. “Just listen.”

“I stood up for you,” Winnie says, looking offended. “And you open with I have a boner? Come on, man.”

“I’m sorry, but . . . fuck, it hurts bad.”

Penny turns to Blakely and says, “I told you this would be stupid, but you were like, ohhhh, let’s give him a chance. It’s Posey, whatever DEFCON 1 means to him, means a leisurely stroll to us. Come on, let’s go.”

“No, wait, please don’t go,” I say, standing and slightly bending over because the boner is still very much present. “I promise, this is worth your time.” The server with our drinks walks over at just that moment. “And see, look, drinks. And treats. You don’t want to abandon drinks and treats, do you?”

Blakely and Penny exchange looks. Winnie wets her lips. And Ollie sits down.

“Fine, but this better be good,” Ollie says, acting like her man, Silas, the grump. Seems as though couples do start to act like each other, which means I hope Mrs. Holmes offers sympathy like Halsey usually does.

They all take their seats. I divvy out their drinks and treats, and watch them settle in.

Once all their eyes are on me, and they seem semi-satisfied with the blueberry coffee cake that’s been passed around, I say, “I have a boner.”

“Mother of God,” Penny whispers.

“And it won’t go away,” I continue.

“That’s what emergency rooms are for,” Blakely says.

“It’s not an emergency room kind of thing. This is a mental thing. You see, I’m in quite the situation, and I called upon you four because I believe you are my best bet at figuring this all out.”

“You didn’t think to text the men who brought us into this situation?” Penny asks. “You know, your teammates, your friends?”

“Why would I ask them for help? They’re completely inept when it comes to love. And before you all start defending them, I’ll have you know I’m the backbone of your relationships. The reason you were able to replace peace and love with the humans you share a life with now is because of me.” I point at my chest. “Without me, you would all be single or with someone else.”

“What do you mean?” Winnie asks.

I sigh heavily and run through the list. I point at Winnie and say, “I didn’t hit on you and take the spotlight. You’re welcome.” I point at Ollie and say, “Oye my dick, that was from me. You’re welcome.” I point at Penny next. “I helped Eli move from ‘I just ate an apple’ to actual conversation. You’re welcome.” Finally, I point at Blakely and say, “Don’t even get me started on the marathon I ran for the two of you. You’re welcome.”

They’re silent for a second, all looking at each other before Winnie says, “You not hitting on me was not a favor.”

“Trust me.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “It was. But we’re not going to get into that. Let’s just say, I value your opinion over theirs.”

Ollie nods. “I can accept that. Also, to be fair, oye my dick was a huge turnoff.”

I lean in and hold my finger up while saying, “But it made you push harder. Therefore, I moved things along.” I curtly bow. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re a moron,” she says.

I nod. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of my moronic tendencies. See how I can admit that?”

“You’re so brave,” Penny says, voice full of sarcasm.

I press my hand to my heart. “Thank you. Now, back to my boner.”

“Can you not start with the boner again?” Blakely asks. “It’s making it hard for me to eat my coffee cake.”

“Do you know what’s hard?” I ask with a quizzical brow.

“Dear Jesus, Posey, just tell us what’s going on,” Penny shouts.

“Right.” I take a deep breath and say, “I want to fuck my coach’s daughter.”

They all still, staring blankly at me.

Finally, Blakely leans toward Penny and says, “See, I told you it would be good.”

Penny lifts her drink to her mouth. “You were right. I apologize.”

“What do you mean you want to fuck her?” Winnie asks.

“I think it means he wants to stick his penis inside of her holes, right?” Ollie asks.

“Precisely. In every hole, just to be clear. All holes she’s offering up,” I say.

“We don’t need the details.” Penny holds up her hand. “But tell us how this happened and how you came to this conclusion of wanting all her holes.”

“It started about a year ago,” I say. “I was trolling the lobby, looking for my next conquest.” All the girls roll their eyes. “When I came upon a redhead with the body of a goddess. Now, I need to preface this by saying I’m obsessed with redheads. There’s something about them that gets my dick spiking up like a turkey thermometer.”

“Ew,” Blakely says. “Can you not say shit like that?”

“I would appreciate that as well.” Winnie holds up her hand. “I don’t need the visuals.”

“None of us do,” Penny adds.

“Noted. Trying to paint a picture, but fine,” I say. “Anyway, we had an amazing night. We talked, she rubbed my penis through my jeans, we kissed . . .”

“You know, I do love rubbing Silas’s penis through his jeans,” Ollie says.

“I like a good jean rub, too,” Blakely says.

“I made Pacey come once while doing that.” Winnie beams.

“Eck, that’s my brother,” Penny complains.

Winnie shrugs. “What? He really liked it.”

I clear my throat. “Ladies, focus.” They all bring their attention back to me, so I continue. “The kiss was . . . well, it was life-changing. I felt it all the way down to the tip of my penis.”

“Please, Posey,” Penny groans.

“It was magical.” I sum it up. “But then, out of nowhere, she bolted. And when I say we were about to go up to my hotel room, we were. We were seconds away from banging out our lust for each other, and she was a willing participant. But she bolted. I never got her name or where she was from. She was a mystery. I spent a year looking for her—and came up short—until Coach Wood pulled me into his office and told me he needed me to hire his daughter as my assistant. Long story short, I said sure because I owe him big time, and lo and behold, his daughter walks in, and it’s the redhead from the bar.”

“Ooo, this is good,” Penny says while taking a bite of her coffee cake.

“What a twist,” Winnie says.

“Kind of funny you were looking for her for so long, and she was in the arena all along,” Blakely says.

“I can’t even think about that,” I say with a shake of my head. “Anyway, she’s now my assistant, and Coach Wood told me if I even look at her, he’s going to kill me, meaning she’s completely off limits.”

“Ahh.” Ollie nods, understanding. “Hence the forever boner.”

“Exactly.” I point at Ollie.

“But can I ask something?” Winnie says. “We understand the boner now, but care to explain the bucket hat, sunglasses, and scarf? You look like the leading lady of a movie from the 1920s.”

Ha, I almost forgot I was wearing all of this.

“I didn’t want anyone noticing me as I walked around with a boner in my jeans.”

“Do you really still have one?” Blakely asks with a cringe to her nose.

“It’s a semi,” I reply.

Blakely makes a gagging expression.

“Hey,” I say. “That’s offensive. I’ll have you know, I have a nice penis. It might not be pierced like Silas’s or a girthy cannon like Halsey’s, or a baby maker like Eli’s or . . . whatever Pacey has, but it’s nice.”

“Pacey has a wonderful penis.” Winnie smiles to the group as if she just offered up a great show-and-tell item.

“Not something his sister needs to hear,” Penny says, causing Winnie to laugh.

Cutting in, I say, “For the record, my penis is amazing. There’s something secret about it that people don’t know, and I also have perfectly shaped balls. Bare balls. Hairless.”

They all study me, looks of confusion in their eyes.

Finally, Penny speaks up. “Going to skip over the hairless situation and ask. What do you mean there’s something secret about your penis?”

“Yeah, that’s confusing because now my mind is racing,” Ollie says. “Like . . . what kind of things are happening down there? Does a little man pop out of your penis when the lady comes, offering a congratulations to everyone involved?”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course not,” I say, but then think about what that little man might look like. Maybe he’s holding a pot of gold.

“Oh my God, he’s thinking about the little man,” Penny says.

“Am not,” I say petulantly even though I think he would have a pot of gold, but we’ll keep that between us.

“Then what is it?” Blakely asks.

“I’d prefer not to share.”

“You open our conversation with you have a boner, but you aren’t going to share what’s special about your penis?” Penny asks. “Make that make sense.”

“Some things are private, and I prefer to keep that private.”

Winnie leans forward to address all the women. “I bet he comes glitter.”

“Ooo, now that’s a trick,” Ollie says. “Is that what it is? Do you have glitter cum?”

“You know, under certain light, it does sparkle.” I tap my chin.

“Mother of God, I’m going to leave and tell Eli what’s going on if you don’t clue us in,” Penny says with the patience of a saint . . .

Please note the sarcasm.

“Fine, but this is in the circle of trust. We say nothing to the men in your lives. I’m serious, they can’t replace out about anything we’re talking about because they won’t be helpful and will probably make the situation worse. The last thing I need is for one of them to say something around Coach Wood. Can I trust you all?”

They nod their heads, seeming genuine.

“Thank you.” I take a sip of my coffee and adjust my sunglasses. “My penis is tattooed.”

“What?” they all say together.

“How do the boys not know?” Blakely asks.

“You obviously see each other’s things in the shower, right?” Winnie cutely asks.

“We do, but my tattoo is on the underside.”

“Seriously?” Ollie asks. I nod, and she leans back in her chair, her eyes giving me a once-over. “Well, Levi Posey, you just got increasingly hotter in my eyes.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a smirk.

“Did you have to get hard for that?” Blakely asks.

“Yup.”

“And one prick of the needle didn’t deflate it?” Penny asks.

I shake my head. “Kind of thrive on pain.”

“Makes sense,” Winnie says. “Since you’re the bruiser of the team.” It’s true. Sometimes, I just want to be punched in the face. I like the adrenaline.

Is that healthy?

No, but it’s who I am.

“Wow, a tattooed penis. Never would have guessed the guy who eats bologna likes a tattooed dick.” Penny shakes her head.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I say. “But we can learn more about each other later. Right now, I’m dealing with a crisis. Remember, the coach’s daughter?”

“Right,” Penny says. “So what has you hard all the time?”

“To sum it up, Coach Wood is forcing me to give her ridiculous tasks. I hate making her do things, but I have to report back to him, so I don’t have a choice. And of course he kicked her out of his house, and she was looking for a place to stay, so I offered her the nanny bedroom in my apartment, which is a hole, and I hate that she lives there when I have a perfectly good guest room, but Coach Wood said she couldn’t stay with me, so I’m breaking the rules, but I couldn’t let her not have a place to live, but now that she lives with me, well . . . she’s walking around the apartment in tight T-shirts with no bras, and wearing my shirts, and wet towels, and nipples on my bicep, and touching, and her smile, and she smells so good, and holy fuck my brain is about to explode.”

Blakely presses her hand to my shoulder. “Deep breaths, Posey.”

“Deep breaths don’t work!” I practically shout. “Meadows don’t work. Or cotton-candy skies. All I see are her breasts day in and day out, bouncing toward me. I want them in my mouth. I want to play with them. Fuck them. Watch them unravel from her present bra!”

“Okay, okay,” Penny says in a calming voice. “I can see that you’re getting yourself worked up. Let’s not draw attention to the lady in the bucket hat and scarf.” She glances around the café. Yep, people are looking toward us.

Right, trying to keep it incognito.

On a sad and heavy sigh, I say, “I just . . . I want her.”

“We can tell,” Winnie says.

I look up at all of them and say, “And I swear on my left nut that she’s fucking with my head on purpose. She knows how much I want her but can’t have her.”

“Why do you say that?” Blakely asks.

“Because she’s always in my apartment now. She’s walking around wearing practically nothing. She’s touching me. She’s getting close but not intimate, and it’s driving me nuts. And worst of all . . .” I take a deep breath, lower my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, and say, “She loves bologna.”

A collective gasp falls over the group, all the women with slack jaws and blinking eyes.

“Oh dear God,” Winnie whispers, leaning back.

“Fuck,” Ollie says.

“Well, that’s . . . wow.” Penny shakes her head.

“Did not see that coming,” Blakely adds. “Now I understand the boner.”

“It all makes sense,” Ollie says.

“See? Do you see what I’m dealing with? And I don’t know how to handle it. I refuse to take care of the boner because I know I’ll picture her, and the minute I picture her, it will make my need for her ten times worse.”

“Wait, you’re not jacking off?” Penny asks.

I shake my head. “My perfectly shaped balls are a midnight blue at this point.”

“Posey.” Ollie leans in and places her hand on the table. “Dude, you have to take care of the boner, even if you picture her. You can’t be this backed up and function intelligently.”

“She’s right,” Penny says. “After I gave birth to Holden, Eli said he wouldn’t do anything sexual because I couldn’t do anything for at least six weeks. After two weeks, he was dazed, confused, and didn’t know how to put shoes on anymore. I decided to take care of it for him. I hate to admit it, but you have to jerk off to get through this.”

“But . . . I’m going to envision her.”

“Then live through your fantasies,” Ollie says. “But for the love of God, take care of it.”

“And if you need to, maybe watch some porn. That might distract you,” Winnie says.

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “Okay, but what do I do in the meantime? This feeling I have for her, it’s not going to go away.”

“Have you told her that she’s making you hard?” Blakely asks. “A little communication might help.”

“I don’t want to sound like an asshole who can’t keep it together if she goes braless.”

“But you are the asshole who can’t keep it together when she goes braless,” Penny says.

“I know, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

“Maybe set ground rules again,” Winnie says. “And honestly, you can just say, hey, I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I have to say, you’re really hot and making me hard when you walk around without a bra. I don’t want to be a creep, but I thought you should know.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” Ollie says. “I’d put on a bra even though I hate them.”

“Yeah, I’d strap up too,” Blakely says. “I think that’s a great way to approach it.”

I look at Penny, the mother of the group. She sips her coffee and then says, “I approve.”

“Okay.” I nod and let out a deep breath. “Then I shall tell her she’s making me hard.”

“Great.” Penny looks around. “Are we done here?”