So This Is War
Chapter 11

“Wow, look who it is,” Silas says as I show up for breakfast in the team conference room. A buffet of protein, carbs, snacks and drinks the team nutritionist has approved is lined up for us to eat. “I’m surprised you’re gracing us with your presence.”

I pick up a plate and ignore him.

Last night, they all wanted to grab a quick drink at the bar, but I skipped out and opted to call Wylie instead. They were not pleased. Claimed they haven’t hung out with me in a while. Well, whose fucking fault is that? Theirs. I’ve been available, but they’re the ones who always sprint up to their rooms after games—I think we all know why—so I gave them a taste of their own medicine, and it looks like it’s bitter.

“Are you going to ignore us?” Pacey asks as he picks up a plate as well and follows me down the line of food.

“What makes you think I’m ignoring you?” I ask as I plop some eggs and a pile of bacon on my plate. One time, our nutritionist, Tony, had some cooked bologna as a treat for me . . . God, that was my best day. I haven’t seen it since, which makes me want to ask him about it and see if he’ll make me some more.

“Uh, you ditched us last night.”

“So,” I say as I grab a protein smoothie at the end of the buffet and sit at the table where Silas, Eli, and Halsey are already sitting. “You guys ditch me every night.”

“I don’t,” OC says as he picks up a plate and follows Pacey. “I’m there for you, man.”

“You ditched me the other night.”

“For a friend I haven’t seen in a while,” he defends. “Normally, I’m there for you, stroking your ego, telling you what a beautifully strong man you are.”

“Jesus Christ, this guy,” Silas says. “Sucking up to Posey because you think he’s going to help you with your love problems?”

“No,” OC says and then winces at me. “Maybe a little.”

“I told you,” I say. “All in good time.”

“Is that because you’re trying to figure out your own love life?” Eli asks as he takes a bite of a floppy piece of bacon.

There are two types of people in the world. People who let a piece of bacon slap their chin after biting into it, and people who like their bacon to turn into dust in their mouth after one bite.

The floppy-bacon chin-slappers, those are the people you need to look out for. They’re the freaks. The wild ones. The type of person who thinks it’s funny to say things like . . . “Oh, long time no see” even though they saw you five minutes ago. I’d suggest detaching yourself from that type of person. They’re unsavory, untrustworthy, and loose cannons.

Unfortunately for me, it’s too late to detach from Hornsby.

But save yourselves!

“I don’t have a love life,” I say while I pick up my piece of crispy and erect bacon. No flaccid meat on my plate, that’s for damn sure.

“I don’t believe it,” Pacey says as he takes a seat next to me. “You’re hiding something. It’s obvious.”

“Maybe it has something to do with his new assistant,” Silas says with a conspiratory glance in my direction. A glance slightly incriminating. Like he knows something. I’m going to have to check in with the Quibbling Queens—name not finalized—to see if they’ve been speaking to their men.

“Nothing is going on there, and also, keep your fucking voice down because everyone knows who my new assistant is, and the last fucking thing I need is gossip to be spread about Coach Wood’s daughter. He’d have my dick in a vise so fast, I wouldn’t even know he tore my pants down.”

“The imagery on that,” Eli says while shaking his head. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, not sure Coach Wood is the one to pull pants down,” Pacey says. “I think it would be more of a stare that would scare your pants right off your body. Like a Darth Vader, Kylo Ren-type move. One lift of his hands and blamo, pants are off.”

Silas nods. “Yeah, that feels right. Can’t see him taking the time to unbutton your pants only to yank them to your ankles.”

“I’ve seen him fumble with his pen before,” OC says. “Not sure the dexterity is there to make a smooth transition on the pants.”

“You saw him fumble his pen?” Eli asks, horror on his face. “Did he know you saw that?”

“No.” OC shakes his head. “Fuck, imagine if he did? I wouldn’t have eyes. He would have popped them out with an old one-two jab-jab to the eye sockets. I’d be eyeless.”

“It would be unfortunate,” Pacey says. “But it would serve you right for catching him in such a vulnerable state.”

“You’re all idiots,” Halsey says while shaking his head. “You’ve let Posey fuck with your heads.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, offended because frankly, this conversation is right up my alley.

Dexterous fingers.

Pulling pants down.

Fumbling of pens.

Eye sockets.

The only thing this is missing is maybe a little live-action reenactment.

“It means you’re all talking fucking nonsense.” Halsey takes a sip of his coffee while leaning back in his chair.

“Well, excuse us,” I say. “Apologies for not being able to have hoity-toity conversations about whatever nonsensical fiction you’re currently consuming.”

“We don’t have to talk about books,” Halsey says. “But we certainly don’t have to talk about Coach Wood pulling our pants down. For fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know, seems charming,” Eli says just as Coach Wood walks into the conference room. And just like that, we all straighten up and start focusing on our food.

We might talk a big talk, but there’s no way in hell any of us would ever say what we said in front of Coach Wood. No fucking chance.

I can feel his eyes on me the moment he starts looking around, but instead of looking up, I take great interest in the fluffiness of my eggs. What do they do to make them so fluffy? Is it more milk? Cottage cheese perhaps? Maybe they⁠—

“Posey!”

Yup, saw that coming.

I look up at Coach Wood who has his arms crossed, staring daggers at me.

“Hey, Coach,” I say. “Good morning. What a great shave job this morning. Very smooth.”

“Shut up and come here.”

Not accepting compliments. Okay.

Although, if another man told me I did a nice shave job, I’d offer a thank you, but it just seems we were raised differently. Someone never taught him to express gratitude for compliments.

I approach him, but he turns on his heel and walks out of the conference room. Seems like he wants me to follow him, so I do.

When we are out in the hall, he brings me to the corner and says, “What’s the update on my daughter?”

I place my hands in my jogger pockets and ask, “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Are you making her life hell? Because it seems as though she’s having no problem working for you and advancing in her artwork.”

“Oh, uh . . . are we mad about the artwork thing?”

“Yes,” he rages.

I wince. “Okay, just wanted to make sure. So, uh, to be honest, I’m having a hard time coming up with tasks to give her. And the ones you give me, she seems to be able to do quickly. I don’t know what to tell you. She’s efficient.”

“I don’t want her being efficient. I want her to realize that her life would be better with a solid education and a stable job. You are not doing that.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, can I just put it out there that maybe I wasn’t the right guy for this? You know, Silas is more of an asshole than I am. He might be the one you’re looking for.”

“I don’t want Silas in on this. I need someone who is unattached to a woman who softens him. I thought you were tough. Hard.”

Well, I’m hard, that’s for damn sure, but I don’t think that’s the version of hard he’s talking about. And I sure as hell know he wouldn’t want me to tell him that either.

“What do you want me to do? Make her fly here just so she can tie my shoes?”

That sparks a thought in his head, and I see the evil look in his eye.

Uh-oh, that was the wrong thing to say. “Yes. I do.”

“Wait, what?” I ask. “You want me to fly her here?”

“Yes. I want her attached to your hip. Everywhere you go, she goes. I want her running around constantly. If we’re on the ice practicing, she’s watching you. If we’re out to eat, she’s there dabbing your face with a napkin. If we’re flying, she’s in the back, writing handwritten notes to your fans. She needs to be glued to you.”

Well, isn’t that fun?

“Um, okay. And where do you want her to stay? In my hotel room?”

His eyes darken, and he takes a step forward, invading my space. “Do you think I want her to stay in your hotel room?”

“Well, you said like glue. I assumed that’s what you’d want.”

He pauses for a moment and looks off to the side. He scratches the side of his cheek and then says, “Can you keep your dick to yourself?”

“I mean, he is a wild man, but he knows his limits.”

“A simple yes would suffice.”

“Then yes,” I say.

He studies me for a short second before he curtly nods. “Yes. I want her to stay in your room.”

The minute he says it, I instantly regret the suggestion because . . . how the fuck am I supposed to find relief if she’s in my fucking room? Probably don’t want to hear about it, but still suffering from some hard dick scenarios over here.

I clear my throat and say, “Well, that might be a great idea and all, but there’s usually only one bed in my room so . . .”

“Make her sleep on the floor.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Coach Wood, with all due respect, I’m all for asking her to do just about anything, but sleeping on the floor is out of the question. I can be an asshole, but I’m not comfortable with that.”

“But you’re comfortable sharing a room with her?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Honestly? No. I said that just to, I don’t know, be a dick. But I’d prefer, for you know . . . manly release’s sake, for her not to be there.”

He cringes. “You’re disgusting.”

“Oh come on, everyone fucking does it. Even you,” I say, gesturing to him.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even flinch.

Huh, maybe he doesn’t.

Nervously, I shift. “From the look in your eyes, I’m going to guess you haven’t touched your penis in over a decade.”

His nostrils flare. “Do you really want to be talking about my penis?”

“Not really, but I tend to ramble when presented with uncomfortable situations like this one.” He’s silent, so I continue, “Do you watch porn?”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he growls.

“My pleasure.” I clamp my mouth shut.

Coach Wood pinches his brow, clearly feeling the effects of dealing with me. Don’t blame him. Sometimes I can hardly stand myself, and this is one of those moments. “She needs to be in your room. She needs to be turned off by the constant need for her assistance from you.”

I scratch my forehead. “I see what you’re trying to do here, but I’m not making her sleep on the floor, and I sure as hell don’t want to sleep on the floor. I know you want to prove something to your daughter, but not at the expense of your best d-man’s back.”

“Then get her a cot.”

“Won’t that be tight?” His eyes rage, and I shrink just a centimeter. “On better thought, yes, what a great idea. A cot. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Much better.” He rubs his hands together, looking like a maniacal mastermind rather than a loving father. “Now, get her out here, and I’ll come up with a list of things for you to tell her to do.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. I hate every bit of this.

She’s going to see right through all of it.

She already knows her dad is behind this, so what the hell is going to happen now? How is she going to act? Do I still fight fire with fire?

“Call her.”

“Huh?” I ask, looking up at Coach Wood.

“Call her right now, tell her you need her here on the next flight. And to bring some of those bagels.”

My nostrils flare. I never should have told him about the goddamn bagels. After all of this is said and done, I’ll never be able to look at another bagel the same.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and press on her name to call. I hold the phone up to my ear and hope and pray he doesn’t ask me to put the conversation on speaker.

It rings twice, and then she answers, “Hey, there,” she says casually.

“Uh, hey, Wylie.” Coach Wood studies me carefully. “So, change of plans. It looks like I will need you to come out to New York.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, confused.

“Yup, seems as though I need you here to help me. Guess I’ve become dependent on your help.”

“Okay, uh, do you want me there today? Don’t you come home in a few days?”

“We do, but since this is a longer away trip, I’m just finding that I need you here.” Coach Wood mouths bagels, so I add, “And, uh, I could really use some more of those bagels.”

“Levi,” she says in a teasing tone, and I really hope he can’t hear her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, so if you can book your flight and bring the bagels, that would be great.” And just to add something for Coach Wood’s approval, I say, “And when you’re at the airport, if you can find a book on Maine, I’d appreciate it, but remember the font.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup, thanks. See you soon.” And then I hang up. I pocket my phone and smile at Coach Wood. “All done.”

He nods in approval. “Maine?” he asks.

“Oh, the first book I made her rewrite was about Vermont, so, you know, stuck with the New England theme.”

“Are you going to make her rewrite this one?”

“Do you want me to?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, yes, I do.”

“Great,” I say, knowing damn well I won’t get the full book. “If that’s all, I’m very interested in eating the cold eggs on my plate now.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he says before turning away and moving past the conference room and down the hall.

I let out a large breath and know there’s only one group of people I want to talk to about this . . .

PENNY: Let me get this straight, he doesn’t want you fucking his daughter, but he’s now requiring her to sleep in your hotel room with you?

Levi: That would be correct.

Ollie: Why are men so confusing?

Blakely: Halsey isn’t confusing. He’s perfect.

Winnie: Pacey is pretty perfect too.

Penny: Eli can be an idiot a lot of the time.

Ollie: Silas is stubborn and only wants things done his way, which doesn’t settle well with me sometimes. That’s why I give him a lot of hell, and he ends up spanking me. It’s a win-win for everyone.

Levi: That’s great and all, but can we get back to me? She knows this will all be a ploy from her dad, so how do I handle this? Do I still fight fire with fire? An epic battle between penis and vagina, who will weep first?

Blakely: Ew, can we not have genitals weeping please?

Winnie: Why can I picture a weeping penis so well?

Ollie: You know, I see it too. All droopy and sad, the balls dangling in depression.

Penny: The wrinkles wrinkling even more from the sadness.

Blakely: So many wrinkles.

Levi: I can see now why Halsey gets so frustrated in group texts. You queens aren’t focusing. What the hell do I do?

Penny: How did last night go when you called her? Were you naked?

Blakely: I was wondering the same thing. Did you strip for her?

Winnie: Did she like the massage?

Levi: The massage was supposed to be today, but she’ll miss it now that she has to fly here.

Penny: Ooo, what a wonderful opportunity for erotic torture.

Blakely: I think I know where you’re going with this, and I couldn’t agree more.

Ollie: Oily massage performed by Posey? Yup, this is erotic torture all right.

Levi: You want me to massage her? You do realize how hard that’s going to make me, right? And since she’s staying in my room, I can’t really take care of the hardness.

Penny: Sure you can. Are you scared to come in front of her?

Levi: Penny, you know I love you and your ideas, but that is inappropriate. No way am I going to jack off in my bed while she’s sleeping on a cot next to me.

Ollie: Although it would be really hot.

Winnie: Weird, but hot.

Blakely: What if she started feeling herself up at the same time. A mutual masturbation. Maybe that’s what you guys could call it. Instead of a work meeting, it’s mutual masturbation time.

Levi: Jesus Christ. If I wanted such ridiculous advice, I would have asked my teammates. I expect better from you.

Penny: Please note that it’s been a few days away from our men. We’re not thinking clearly.

Ollie: She’s right. Silas and I tried to have phone sex last night, and for some reason, it was more frustrating than satisfying. His phone kept falling, and the video kept pausing. It was a nightmare.

Blakely: Halsey and I seemed to manage. I just think a mutual masturbation party seems like fun.

Winnie: I think we need to remember what we’re doing here. She knows about her father’s plan to make life difficult. In return, she has tried to make your life difficult, which we have learned she was successful at. To counteract her play, we chose to battle with the same fire. Which means . . .

Levi: I massage her?

Winnie: Correct.

Penny: Winnie is right. You walk around the hotel room practically naked. You massage her. You ask her to massage you. When you’re moving around the room, you touch her back, her hip, anywhere you can.

Ollie: Have a half-hardy and motion toward your bulge.

Blakely: You walk around in a towel, water dripping down your chest.

Penny: You make sexual innuendos that would get her hot.

Winnie: Compliment her. Tell her how pretty she is.

Levi: This feels a lot like I’m trying to woo her, not erotic torture her.

Penny: There’s a fine line. You must walk carefully because going too far would be like placing your penis on her pillow. But not going far enough would be like, hey, let’s play Go Fish.

Levi: Those are very different ends of the spectrum.

Winnie: Find the happy medium. You came to us for help. So this is the chance to do so.

Levi: And if I get hard?

Blakely: Show her first . . .

Penny: Then take a shower.

I GLANCE at the text from Wylie that I received when I was in the middle of our game.

Wylie: Arrived at the hotel. Watching the game at the bar.

We’re riding in the bus after a tough loss. That’s not sitting well with Pacey since he let three goals go by, meaning he’s in a shit mood. I’m in a shit mood because they never should have even had a shot at scoring through me and Eli. And now I have to try to put on a performance for my assistant who can see right through me.

Not to mention, the fucking list that Coach Wood sent me right before the game that put me in the worst of moods. Idiotic tasks that are a pointless waste of time. This is stupid. Really fucking stupid and I almost went up to him after the game to tell him that, but he wasn’t in a position to speak to anyone. I think he hates a loss more than we do, and I’m sure if I approached him about his daughter, he’d really have something to say about it.

But this one item on the list, it’s fucking terrible.

He wants me to ask Wylie to help me pick someone up at the hotel bar.

That’s . . . that’s not cool with me.

For one, I don’t need help.

Also, I don’t want to pick someone else up.

And last, what the hell am I supposed to do if I pick someone up? Do I bring her back to the hotel and tell her not to mind my assistant in the cot next to my bed?

Jesus Christ.

I drag my hand over my face just as we arrive at the hotel. Solemnly, we all start climbing off the bus in silence. No one heads toward the lobby as we make our way through the back entrance because we all know the last thing we should be doing is hanging out at the bar.

I text Wylie to meet me at my room.

A bunch of us pile into a service elevator, and we ride up together to our floor.

When we arrive, I just nod at my teammates and walk over to my room, where I open it with my key card. A cot has been placed next to the window, off to the side, and I let out a heavy sigh.

This is so fucking stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

I toss my key card on the dresser and kick my shoes off just as there’s a knock on my door.

Here we go.

I open the door and find a smiling Wylie on the other side. “Sorry about the loss,” she says as I step aside, letting her in.

“Yeah, it was a shitty night,” I reply as she stops in the hallway of the hotel room, her rollie bag right behind her.

“Um, what is that?” she asks, pointing at the cot.

“Your bed,” I say while shutting the door behind her. I take off my suit jacket and hang it in the closet.

“What do you mean, my bed?” When I turn toward her, I see the concern in her brow. “We’re sharing a hotel room? I’m sorry for assuming, but . . . I don’t get my own room?”

“No,” I answer. “I want you close in case I need anything.” Then I start unbuttoning my dress shirt and catch her eyes following my fingers from button to button. Her eyes grow intense as I pull out the tucked-in ends.

When I turn away from her, she says, “What kind of things are you talking about?”

“Just anything,” I say as I shed out of my shirt and then move farther into the room where I hear her draw closer.

“You . . . you have a bruise on your side.”

“Yeah, I tripped and fell in the training room, ran into the corner of a table.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sore, but it’s fine,” I say as I turn toward her. Her eyes once again scan my chest and it takes everything in me not to pull her into my body and then toss her on the bed to make use of those greedy, hungry eyes of hers.

Then she just stands there and watches me move around the room. Finally after a few seconds, I turn toward her and say, “Get comfortable, Wylie.”

She bites on the corner of her lip and says, “I didn’t pack with the idea that I’d be sharing a room with you.”

I take her bag from her and prop it up on the luggage rack I’m not using. Then I move by her and like Penny said . . . I drag my hand across her stomach as I go by and ask, “Oh yeah, what did you pack for?”

I feel her sharp intake of breath before I walk into the bathroom and line my toothbrush with toothpaste.

“Umm, I packed for being alone, meaning, I don’t have work-appropriate pajamas and after everything that happened.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I won’t be looking.”

Lies, but whatever to placate her.

“Okay, well, if it’s easier, I can just get my own room.”

“Nope,” I answer with a mouthful of toothpaste. “This is easiest.”

I can see her contemplate that, probably thinking, yeah, easy for me, not for her.

When I spit out my toothpaste, I say, “Just going to go to the bathroom quick and then you can take over.” I shut the door and take care of business, the entire time wondering how the hell I’m going to get through whatever outfit she wears tonight.

Just fight fire with fire. That’s all.

After washing my hands, I move out of the bathroom, and she moves in with toiletries and clothes held close to her chest.

When she shuts the door, I slip out of my pants and socks and then move toward the bed, where I get under the covers. I send a quick text to the queens.

Levi: She’s in my hotel room. Do I massage?

Luckily and surprisingly, they text right back.

Penny: Yes. For sure.

Winnie: It will be a nice gesture, and it will be sexual.

Blakely: Use lotion and straddle her thighs so she can feel your dick when it goes hard because we know it will.

Ollie: Don’t forget an accidental side boob graze.

Penny: For sure, the side boob.

Winnie: Love a good side boob.

Blakely: Side boob for the win.

Ollie: I go feral for side boob.

Levi: Will she think it’s accidental?

Penny: Who cares. Get that tit, Posey!

Winnie: Either way, everyone wins.

Ollie: If she is offended by the side boob graze, then she’s not the girl for us.

Blakely: If she turns over from the side boob graze and shows her tits, you better end the night with one of her nipples in your mouth.

Penny: NO! We are not going all the way, remember?

Levi: What if I can’t help it?

Ollie: She’s right, we can’t go all the way. This is torture, not satisfaction. If she turns over, tell her great tits and then get off her.

Winnie: The great tits comment will make her feel nice while you ghost her for the rest of the night. She’ll be thinking, at least he said I have great tits.

Penny: Something for her to hold on to while she questions everything she ever did.

Levi: This sounds . . . mean.

Blakely: Did she or did she not walk in on you while you were coming on your stomach?

Levi: She didn’t! There was no active cum.

The door to the bathroom unlocks, and I quickly set my phone down and stare at the ceiling. I know I told her I wouldn’t look, but as she enters the room, I glance over at her and the rolled-up flannel shorts she’s wearing, along with the white tank top that does nothing to hide the shape of her breasts.

“What’s wrong with those pajamas?” I ask.

She glances over at me as she sets her dirty but folded clothes by her bag.

“Just . . . the no bra thing.”

“I’ll survive,” I say and then sit up. “Now lie down on the edge of the bed.”

She pauses and stares at me quizzically. “Huh? I thought I was sleeping on the cot.”

“You are,” I say as I get out of bed, and her eyes take me all in. I walk over to the bathroom and snag the free lotion. “But you missed your massage today, and I’m going to make sure you get one.”

Her unconvinced eyes meet mine as she asks, “You’re going to give me a massage?”

“Yeah. Problem with that?” I hold up my hand and say, “Look at how big my palm is, how long my fingers are. I can’t imagine you’d get a better massage from someone with smaller hands.”

“Probably not,” she says. “But isn’t that crossing the line?”

“I’m not going to do anything inappropriate. Just ease the tension in your shoulders.” I shrug. “It’s fine if you don’t want one, but the offer is there.” I set the lotion down on the dresser and move toward the bed again while she stands in the middle of the room contemplating.

After a few seconds, she says, “This is so weird.”

“What is?” I ask as I pick up my phone and see a text from the queens. I ignore it and go on TikTok, looking for highlights of the game.

“This whole thing. I didn’t think I’d see you for a few days, and now I’m here, sharing a room with you, and you’re offering to give me a massage. It just seems so odd.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re a bologna lover. You shoot for the unexpected. By the way, did you grab a book about Maine?”

“All they had was Washington state. But I grabbed it anyway.”

“Eh, I’ll give it a try.” When she stands there still, I glance over my phone and ask, “Are you going to get on your cot, or do you plan on running away in the middle of the night?”

Her teeth pull on her bottom lip as she says, “Well, I was looking forward to the massage.”

Ha, she can’t resist. I fucking love it.

“Then lie down,” I say. “Promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Still slightly hesitant, she takes a seat on the bed but doesn’t lie down. “You know, actually, I think I should just go to bed.”

“Up to you,” I say as I set down the lotion one more time.

“Yeah, I mean, it might be weird, you’re paying me and all . . . unless . . .” Her eyes meet mine. “Are you asking because it will help release some of your adrenaline?”

Look at her looking for a way for this to be okay in her head. Here I am, ready to go, and she’s trying to justify it.

“I’m asking because I feel bad that you didn’t get your massage today, and I want to make it up to you, but if I make you uncomfortable, I get it.”

“You don’t,” she says. “But I’m just trying to, you know, not cross that line.”

“I get it. You can keep your shirt on if you want.”

Her eyes widen. “You were going to have me take my shirt off?”

“That’s usually what happens with massages.”

“But I’m not wearing a bra.”

I smirk at her. “I wasn’t planning on giving your tits a rubdown, Wylie. That would cost you extra.” I nod at the mattress. “Just lie down.”

She chews on it for a second but then gives in and lies down on the bed.

I grab one of the flatter pillows to rest her head on, and then I ask, “Can I move your shirt up?”

“Um, I can just take it off, but can you turn around?”

“Sure,” I answer as I turn away and hear her take her shirt off.

Deep breaths, man. Don’t be the fucking creep with a boner over a girl taking her shirt off.

“Ready,” she says.

When I face her, I’m greeted by the sight of her silky skin, ready to be touched.

Keep it together, Posey.

I squeeze some lotion on my hands, rub it together, and then place my hands on her shoulders.

She flinches with a squeak. “Oh my God, your hands are cold.”

I chuckle softly. “Sorry.” I bring them up to my mouth and warm them up for a second before I move them back down to her back. “That better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I lightly run my thumbs along her spine and across her shoulder blades, making little circles to tie up any of the knots she might have accumulated.

“I’m trying not to moan here, but God, that feels good.”

And there’s the first stir of arousal.

I knew this would happen.

She didn’t even moan. She just talked about it.

And the girls thought this would be a good idea. Christ.

This is why I should help myself out and only myself out. Going to anyone else for advice is like asking a damp cloth for its opinion on how to handle a frisky, sexy assistant. It has no idea, it’s a fucking damp cloth!

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Huh?” I glance down at her as my hands continue to work over her back.

“You went silent on me.”

“Oh, uh, just giving you the full experience.”

She laughs. “You can talk, Levi. You don’t have to be quiet.”

“Are you sure? Oh shit, I didn’t even turn on music.”

“Do not turn on music. Seriously, you don’t even need to do this. Bosses usually don’t go full-service massage for their assistants.”

“Clearly, they aren’t winning boss of the year, then.” I move my hands down to her lower back, where I press into the spot right above her ass.

“Oh fuck,” she says, her hands crawling up to the pillow where she grips it. “Sorry, really sore there.”

“Your lower back?” I ask.

“Yeah, I twist when I sleep and tend to lay on my stomach, which strains my lower back. I try not to, but it’s how I feel the most comfortable.”

“I get it,” I say. “I like lying on my stomach too. Never on my back, I feel so exposed.”

“Me too,” she says as I work my hands back up her spine to her shoulders and neck. “I also feel like if I’m on my back, my eyes don’t fully close. If I wake up on my back, my eyes feel dry. When my dad sleeps on his back, his eyes remain partially open.”

I pause and lean to the side to look her in the face. “You’re fucking with me.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Guaranteed, if you went to his hotel room right now, he’d be passed out on his back with his eyes partially open. It’s some serial killer-type sleeping.”

“Jesus.” I shiver. “I don’t know if that makes him less scary or scarier.”

“Maybe a little of both.”

I trail my hands down to her lower back again, where I knead her spine and the dimples just above her ass. Wylie Wood is perfect in just about every way. Her legs aren’t super skinny, giving her a great plump ass that looks amazing in her shorts.

Her waist is a touch narrower than her hips, showing off an hourglass figure, and then there’s her top half that I think I’ve talked about a whole fucking lot.

Her hair is my undoing, her eyes are soul-searing, and the freckles on her freshly washed face make me fucking weak in the knees. The only negative about this woman is the fact that her father is Coach Wood, the underwear blesser, who sleeps with his eyes partially open and is a scary-as-shit ogre.

“How is the pressure?” I ask.

“Amazing,” she says. “I’d love to know if any other bosses do this for their assistants.”

“The answer would probably be no,” I say as I make circles with my thumbs over the base of her spine, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Is your mattress in the nanny hole okay?”

“Yeah, it’s comfortable,” she answers. “Why?”

“Because your muscles are just tense is all.”

“Like I said, I think it’s because I sleep on my stomach.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I spend the next few minutes working my hands over her back, over her shoulders, against her neck. She groans and shifts and melts farther and farther into the mattress, her relaxation taking over, and I can’t help but feel a slight hint of pride that she’s that comfortable with me. That I can relax her to the point of . . . hold on . . .

Leaning forward just a little to look at her face, I notice that, yup . . . she’s sleeping.

Well, there goes the side boob graze. Can’t do it now. If I did it when she was sleeping, that would make me the ultimate pervert, and I already feel pretty low about myself. I don’t need to add pervert into the mix.

I move off the bed and assess the situation. I don’t want to wake her up. That seems cruel since she must be exhausted from all the shit I’ve made her do. And I can’t move her myself because, well, she’s not wearing a shirt, and therefore, I’d be moving around a topless girl, which would give me that pervert mark I’m trying to avoid.

Fuck.

I look over at the cot and then back at the king-sized bed where she’s sleeping diagonally. There’s no way I’d fit on that. And I know climbing into bed with her, with her shirt off, will be a big red flag as a boss.

It looks like I’m going to sleep on the goddamn cot.

Grumbling in annoyance, I find one of the spare blankets kept in the closet, and I drape it over her before I take my phone and charger to the cot. The entire thing creaks under my large body when I sit on it.

I swear to God if I end up folded in half in the morning because this thing has buckled under me, I’m going to have some choice words for the Queens.

Which makes me think . . .

I lie down on the cot, immediately noticing that my calf muscle to my foot is hanging off the end. I’m far too big for this fucking thing.

Could I wake her up? Yeah.

Do I want to wake her up and say, “Excuse me, ma’am, but you seem to have fallen asleep topless on my bed, and I’m going to need you to move it on over to the cot.”

Not going to happen.

I type out a disgruntled text.

Levi: I say this with respect, but you ladies have failed me, and I’m not so sure I can continue this journey with you. I fear your advice is not even a step above what I’d get from the men.

I send it knowing the minute they see the text, they’re going to respond. At least I would. When I was helping desperate Halsey with his love for Blakely, the number of times he told me to fuck off with advice, it cut deep.

And look at him now. He’s lucky I hung around.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and the first text is from Penny—who I consider the leader, although, I’d never say that in fear that she’d assume too much power.

Penny: Excuse me? Did you really just come into this thread to insult us?

Levi: I’m just speaking the truth.

Ollie: Well, the truth hurts.

Levi: Maybe give better advice.

Blakely: Whoa, where did all this hostility come from? A few days ago, we were queens, and now we’re a step above the boys? I need an explanation.

Winnie: Sometimes I think my advice isn’t that much better than Pacey’s.

Penny: Winnie, pull yourself together. Of course your advice is better than Pacey’s.

Ollie: I think before we start doubting ourselves, we need to have the man in this group explain himself.

Levi: “Massage her, touch her boob, it will be great.” < – – that’s what you said. Well guess what? I did massage her, but she fell asleep topless on my bed, and I can’t move her because that would mean I touched her breasts, and if I touch her breasts, I’ll get hard, not to mention, advance to pervert levels. So now I have to sleep on her cot, and because this cot was made for no bigger than a tween girl, my legs are hanging off the end. All because of you.

Penny: Hold on a second. She fell asleep?

Levi: Yeah. To my fucking luck, she fell asleep diagonally, so I can’t even slip into the bed if I want to.

Ollie: Why did she fall asleep?

Levi: Because I have magical hands that not just handle a hockey stick, but will massage all your worries away. Should have known the kind of powers I possess.

Winnie: Pacey has great hands. And a great penis. God, I love his penis.

Penny: Winnie, babe, I know you’re missing him, but remember, the sister is in this text thread.

Winnie: Sorry. I just miss his dick.

Ollie: I miss Silas and his piercings. God, I love it when he tells me to ride them.

Blakely: I miss Halsey’s tongue. And his chest. I love playing with his nipples.

Levi: Really not interested in hearing about the above. Also, side note, Halsey does have great nipples.

Blakely: Have you touched them? Very responsive.

Levi: Can’t say that I have but will be sure to accidentally graze them in the showers and see what happens.

Winnie: Ooo, graze Pacey’s nipples too! I bet they harden like little pebbles.

Ollie: While you’re at it, poke Silas’s stomach. His nipples will shrivel up quickly. I do it all the time. I laugh about it, but he hates that I do it.

Levi: Any place on the stomach, or is there a certain spot?

Penny: Uh, hello! We’re being blamed for someone else’s faults. Focus, ladies.

Blakely: She’s right. We gave you the goods, and you messed it up.

Levi: Hold on a goddamn second. I did not mess it up. I laid her down, even got her topless, and started massaging. I did it in my boxer briefs.

Penny: Wait, she shouldn’t have fallen asleep. She should be buzzing with erotic torture at the moment. Did you not touch the side boob?

Levi: She fell asleep before I could even make a move to the side boob.

Ollie: Was she really tired?

Winnie: How long were you massaging her before she fell asleep?

Levi: I don’t know, maybe like twenty minutes?

Penny: Twenty minutes and you still didn’t touch the side boob? Oh my God, Posey, you weren’t supposed to be a massage therapist, rubbing her worries away. You were supposed to diddle her orgasm button.

Ollie: Yeah . . . this is on you.

Blakely: Twenty minutes of just . . . massage. Woof, Posey.

Levi: What the hell was I supposed to do? The minute she lay down, start groping her? I wanted to warm her up a bit.

Penny: Warm her up for a minute and then start caressing all the places you shouldn’t be caressing.

Winnie: I’m upset about this. Truly.

Blakely: Me too. This jackass comes in here thinking he can blame us when he’s setting up to earn his massage license.

Ollie: It’s insulting. I think we should just drop him out of the group. Clearly, he can’t take instruction well and then to turn it around and blame us. Typical man.

Penny: All in favor of voting Posey out. Say aye.

Winnie: Aye!

Blakely: Aye.

Ollie: Aye.

Levi: WAIT! Don’t vote me out. I’m sorry! I never should have blamed you. I see where I went wrong and take full responsibility for my mistakes. Please, please don’t leave me out here alone with no direction. I’m in over my head, and I need you.

Penny: *stares down at your pitiful self* I don’t know, queens, what do you think?

Ollie: I appreciate the ability he has to quickly admit when he’s wrong.

Winnie: It would have been nice if he called himself pathetic in the apology.

Blakely: I agree with that. An insult to himself would have been the icing on the cake.

Levi: I’m a pathetic little man. Please don’t leave me. < – – that better?

Winnie: Much.

Penny: We shall take the night to think about this apology. But this is your one and only warning. We’re the key to your success. Never forget that.

Ollie: Never!

Winnie: *points finger at you* Never.

Blakely: *Huffs*

Levi: Thank you, Queens. Thank you.

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