So This Is War

The smell of fresh soap floats through the air as the tiniest sliver of light shines down on my face. Slowly, I open my eyes as there’s a clunk sound followed by a “fuck” coming from the other room.

Where the hell am I?

A scratchy, uncomfortable blanket rubs against my bare back as I shift up, and that’s when I realize I’m topless.

I quickly lie back down on the bed and take in my surroundings.

Hotel room.

Bed.

Topless.

Oh God. The massage last night.

Did I fall asleep?

I look around and see that the bed I’m lying on has been untouched. I glance behind me and notice the cot has been slept in.

No.

No. No. No.

He slept on the cot last night? This is humiliating.

I quickly sit up and find my tank top that’s on the bed as well. I slip it over my head and then push my hair out of my face as I stand. Unsure of what to do, I move around in circles for a second just as the bathroom door opens, flooding the room in light.

Levi steps out in a low-slung towel, droplets of water dripping down his impressive chest, all the way to the deep V in his hips and the smallest patch of hair just above his pubic bone. His pecs flex and bounce when he stops, noticing me just standing in the middle of the room, and when our eyes meet, the slightest of smirks crosses his lips.

“Morning,” he says while moving around me, his fresh soap scent making me feel delirious.

“G-good morning,” I offer while I push my hair behind my ear. “Um, I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you sorry about?” he asks as he dips into his suitcase and pulls out a pair of briefs.

“Falling asleep while you massaged me.”

He turns his back toward me, and then, to my utter shock, he releases his towel, baring his tight, sculpted rear end to me.

Mother of God.

Two things happen simultaneously.

My legs clench together from the sight of such a perfect rear end and my eyes squeeze shut in horror.

Oh my God, that’s his bare ass.

His bare ass that I want to touch.

Rub.

Bite.

And he just so freely offered it up to me.

Why? Why would he do such a thing?

He turns around and picks up his towel, his playful eyes landing on me. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve fallen asleep while getting massaged before.” He walks by me, and in passing, he tips my chin up, only for his forearm to graze against my breast, causing my nipples to go hard.

Trying to gain control of the way my body’s buzzing, I say, “But you slept on the cot.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t ideal,” he says from the bathroom. “But I survived. Probably a good thing. I needed the punishment after such a shit game.” He pops out of the bathroom, grasping the lotion we used last night. He holds it out to me and says, “Think you can lotion my shoulder blades for me? They’ve been feeling dry, and it’s hard to reach them.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” I say as I walk up to his towering body. I take the lotion from him, squirt it in my hand, and then place my hand on his warm back. His muscles jolt under my touch, and I have to take a few calming breaths to avoid getting excited over the fact I’m touching him.

No, not just touching him, but rubbing him.

Would he be mad if I rubbed him all over? Down his chest, to his stomach . . . under his briefs?

Maybe he wants me to lotion his legs too.

Possibly a full-body experience?

I’m not opposed.

“Thanks. Sometimes in the winter with wearing all the protective gear, my shoulders and back can get super dry. I usually ask one of the boys to help me, but they hate it.”

“Well, I’ll rub lotion on you anytime, anywhere you want,” I say, the words sounding far too desperate. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I have honestly never been this close to a man so well built. I’ve seen pictures of men like this, but right now, I’m touching one.

“And that’s why you’re a good assistant,” he says when I finish up, sad that I don’t get to touch him anymore. When he turns around, he smiles down at me, and for a moment, I feel like he’s going to reach out and touch me, cup my face, and bring me in close to his chest. Maybe tell me how much he wants a repeat of our first night. “Think you can grab me some coffee?”

Poof. Just like that, I’m knocked right out of the fantasy and back to reality.

“Umm, yes,” I say, blinking a few times. “What kind of coffee do you want?”

“The boys were talking about a place about twenty minutes away. Do you mind? I can’t go out, or else I’ll be taunted, and after last night, I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Just let me take a quick shower⁠—”

“Yeah, you don’t have time for that,” he says. “We leave in an hour and a half and still have to pack. Grabbing the coffee will take you at least fifty minutes, so you should probably get going now.”

“Right, okay,” I say. “Let me just grab a sweatshirt to put over my shirt and go to the bathroom.”

“Tick-tock, Wylie.”

My easygoing attitude quickly flashes to annoyance, but he doesn’t seem to care as he takes a seat on the bed, kicks his feet up, wearing nothing but his briefs, and picks up the book I got him about Washington. “Pictures are great in this.”

Right. You’re his assistant.

Don’t get caught up in him.

Or the tasks.

Or the irritation.

Get the job done and work on yourself.

TO SAY my morning was chaotic is an understatement.

After I sprinted across town to get some coffee that was average at best, I flew into his room with him still in his briefs, but this time on his phone watching highlights. He thanked me for the coffee and then told me that I had to pack for him and we were leaving in fifteen minutes.

So I took the quickest shower of my life, packed myself, and then packed him while he slowly dressed into one of the sweatsuits I got him.

And do you know what’s really annoying about that?

He looked fucking good in it.

Like, really good. The sweatshirt didn’t cover his butt, so his high and tight rear end was shapely represented by the sweatpants. And since the sweatpants were a jogger fit, his ankles showed against the white of his shoes, which hit me hard for some reason.

It was hot.

Very hot.

So hot that I grew incredibly irritated with him and stopped talking while I finished packing.

In silence, we walked to the player bus, and I climbed on, sitting in the front with the staff, where I stared out the window. I thought about texting Sandie, but I didn’t want to get into what happened last night.

Why did he even want to massage me? Because he felt bad? Well, he didn’t have to take matters into his own hands. And why did I say yes? Because I’m desperate for the man? Because I wanted to feel his strong hands on my skin? Because I was possibly hoping that it would have turned into so much more?

That’s probably the reason.

And I know better than that. It can’t turn into anything. I can’t get distracted, and that’s exactly what’s going on.

I’ve put the logo design for Patty Ford on hold despite the entry form closing soon. I can’t seem to find the right font for what I need, and instead, I’ve been sketching on my iPad in Procreate, just having fun and playing with the techniques I’ve learned in my classes. I really enjoy just . . . drawing.

It kept me busy while on the plane ride to Chicago as well.

Dad is in the front with all the coaches and staff, probably discussing tomorrow’s game. Levi and his friends are toward the middle, a lot of them playing games on their Nintendo Switches—something that will always be funny to me—and a few people are toward the back like Halsey Holmes, who is quietly reading to himself.

I am in the row that’s right in front of the bathroom, which is always pleasant, especially when the backup goalie, Torres, decided to spend a solid twenty minutes in there. When he left, he offered me a wink as he walked back to his seat, a stench trailing him.

Disgusting.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the flight attendant asks after she’s served everyone else.

“I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Well, if you need anything, just ask.”

“Thank you,” I say, but she doesn’t move away, so I look back up at her. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“Are you the coach’s daughter?”

“Yes,” I say, straightening up.

She nods and looks toward the front of the airplane.

“Is everything okay with him?” I ask, confused.

“Oh yes, sorry, don’t mean to worry you. I was just wondering, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

My expression falls flat as I look up the aisle at my father’s bald and shiny head. It’s no secret that he’s claimed as one of the hotties in the hockey coaching world. He stays in great shape, has that grumpy façade that women tend to like, and he dresses very well, thanks to the stylist he hired a few years back after a magazine shoot he did.

But this, this feels a bit much for me.

“Uh, not that I know of,” I say. “Then again, he doesn’t talk to me about that stuff.”

She nods. “Okay, well, thanks for letting me know, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just felt like, I don’t know, there was some flirting, and I thought about giving him my number.”

“Flirting?” I scoff, my eyes feeling like they’re about to fall out of my face. There is no way Will Wood was flirting. Unless she considers a snarl to his lip flirting, which, in that case, he’s flirting twenty-four seven. “My dad was flirting with you?”

“Well, it felt like it. He was touching my hand.”

“What?” I nearly shout, drawing the attention of a few people around me, so I lower my voice. “He touched your hand?”

“Is that uncommon?”

I set my iPad down and say, “To be fair . . . uh, what’s your name?”

“Giselle.”

“Giselle, nice to meet you, but to be fair, I’m not even sure my dad has a sex drive at this point. Unless I don’t know anything, I think he’s been celibate for nearly my entire life. The man doesn’t know what touching is.”

She smiles softly. “Hmm, okay. Well, it seems like maybe he does because this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

I sit taller in my seat. “Excuse me? He’s touched you before?”

“Several times and they were always subtle, but this last time just felt like something was there so I was going to slip my number on a napkin. Think that’s too much?”

“I mean . . .” I blink a few times. “If you think there’s something there, might as well go for it, but don’t be alarmed if he doesn’t call you.”

“I won’t take offense.” She smiles. “Thank you. I know this was probably awkward, but I just wanted to make sure he was free game before I slipped my number to him. A few flight attendants don’t care about that and will hand out their numbers to players, but I never want to be that person.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah.”

Feeling curious, I ask, “Anyone in particular?”

She looks up the aisle and says, “Uh, a few here and there, but they mainly go to Levi Posey.”

Figured that’s what her answer would be.

“Ah, my boss,” I say.

“Levi is your boss?”

I nod. “I’m his assistant.”

“Wow, well, Jessica handed him her number today, so be prepared for that.”

“Jessica, the blonde up front?” I ask.

Giselle nods. “Yes, she’s had her eye on him for a while and finally got the nerve to hand over her number.”

“Did he take it?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. Thanked her with a wink. She’s more than excited about the possibility of what might happen.”

“I’m sure,” I say as a sour feeling fills my gut. “I’ll be sure to help her any way that I can.” I smile.

“Ooo, I’ll be sure to tell her that. Thanks again for the chat. You’re really cool . . . uh, what’s your name?”

“Wylie,” I reply.

“Such a cute name. Well, it was nice meeting you, Wylie.”

“You too, Giselle, and who knows, maybe you’ll be my new stepmom one day.”

She pauses for a moment, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“I like presents on my birthday and Christmas, plus cards on holidays with cash. Don’t disappoint me.”

She chuckles again and stands taller. “We’ll see, Wylie.” And with that, she takes off down the aisle, the sway in her ass drawing the attention of some of the men on the plane.

Well, that was . . . not what I expected.

I stare out the window, the puffy clouds passing by as I think about a lady handing my dad her number. Do I care if my dad dates someone? Absolutely not. I honestly think he should. Maybe he wouldn’t be so irritable all the time. And maybe he does have fun outside of being home. Then again, he takes hockey so seriously that he doesn’t even like it when his players hook up on away trips, so why would he do it himself?

The thought of my dad being a flirt makes me almost dry-heave. I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine him being any other way than stern with a pinch in his brow. But who knows, maybe he just saves that demeanor for little old, lucky me.

And then there’s Jessica making a move on Levi.

I get it. He has a reputation. Besides some of the newer guys with less playing time, he’s one of the only single guys on the team. Easy target. Makes amazing money, has the accolades, has all the charm and good looks—I should know because I fell for it.

But it irks me.

It irks me that he’d take her number. Nothing can happen between us. Ever. And just look at her. Ugh.

Tall and skinny with gorgeous blond hair. She’s nothing like me. She’s the kind of girl with poise and confidence, someone you take home to your parents who then charms them with her smooth handshake and adorable, hoity laugh that gathers the attention of all around. She’s the kind of girl who listens in bed, who will do anything to pleasure her man, even if it means giving up her right to an orgasm. She’s polished and probably has a twelve-step skincare routine at night and in the morning. She’s the girl with the put-together apartment made for grown-ups . . . she’s . . . well, she’s who my dad would be proud of.

She’s the kind of woman I could see with Levi. She’d hold her head high while they walked down some red carpet together. She’d smile for the camera when they visited the local children’s hospital. She’d wave to fans while in the stands, watching her man play, and she’d do it with a princess wave. Everyone would fawn over her.

There would be T-shirts made.

Team Jessica.

Go Jessica’s Man.

I’m here for the Jessica content.

“Whatcha doin’?”

I nearly leap out of my seat at Levi’s voice, startling me away from the clouds and back into reality.

“My God,” I say, clutching my chest and looking up at him. “Why didn’t you announce yourself?”

“I did,” he says with a smirk that I know Jessica will fall head over heels for. “That’s why I asked, whatcha doin’?”

“That’s not announcing yourself.”

“It’s not?” he asks as he takes a seat on the armrest of the chair across from me. His large body takes up all the space in the aisle, so it feels like he’s practically sitting on my lap. “Should I have made a trumpet sound and then said, ‘presenting, the hottest d-man in the league, Sir Levi Posey’?”

I tilt my head against the headrest. “Yes, that would have been preferred.”

“Noted for next time.” He nods at me. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, drawing, why? What are you doing? Looking for more bagels? Unfortunately, I’m willing to do a lot for you, but parachuting out of an airplane for bagels is not one of them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, just came back to see how you were doing.”

“Fine,” I say, feeling suspicious. I study him for a second. “It seems like you want something.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t a boss just check on his employee?”

“Yes, but you have this look about you like you’re up to something.”

“Stop being so skeptical. I’m up to nothing.” He crosses his legs at his ankles and taps my iPad. “Working on those logos?”

I shake my head. “No, I was getting frustrated, so I was just drawing.”

“What were you drawing?”

I jut my chin out. “Nothing of your concern.”

His brows rise. “Nothing of my concern? Well, now you have me intrigued. What could possibly not be of my concern? What are you hiding in there?” Leaning in close, he asks, “Fantasy pics possibly?”

“What do you mean fantasy pics?” I ask.

“You know, maybe some naked drawings of your go-to girl, Patty. Maybe some of your favorite boss . . .” He wiggles his brow.

“I did not draw you.” Although I did do a rough sketch the other day, and the guy turned out to look like Levi, but that’s not anything he needs to know.

“Shame, I think I’d be a pretty good drawing subject.”

I cross my arms at my chest. “Oh yeah, what makes you think that?” I ask.

“Well, for one”—he holds up one finger—“I’m built like a god. I’m handsome and firm, tight in all the right places, which is great experience in drawing for you.”

“Very fond of ourselves, aren’t we?” I ask.

He winks. “Very. Second, I know how to sit still. I’m pretty good at it. I’ve been sitting still almost this entire flight until I came back here to see what you were doing.”

“Wow, that is very impressive.”

“Tell me about it. And last, I’m easy to please. Set me up with a pose that shows off my junk in a beautiful way, hand me a bologna sandwich, and I’m good to go for at least an hour.”

Trying not to show just how idiotically charming he is, I say, “And what exactly would that pose be?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I shake my head, the movement causing my hair to fall in my face. I reach up to push it behind my ear, but Levi beats me to it.

He lightly moves my hair across my cheeks, his fingers skimming the sensitive flesh, and then behind my ear. Stunned, I look up at him as a wave of goosebumps erupts on my body.

Leaning in slightly, he says, “We’d acquire a stool. I’d strip down to nothing, and then I’d prop one leg up on the stool as if it was a rock and I was claiming what’s mine. My balls and dick would proudly be on display. If I were erect or not would be up to you. Either way, my package would be handsome to draw.”

I clear my throat. “Wow, that’s quite the image. What, uh, what would I do with this drawing?”

“Give it to me of course so I can hang it above my fireplace. Is there really any other way to honor the masterpiece?”

“How do you know it would be a masterpiece?” I ask. “What if I make your dick too small and your balls too large?”

“Nothing is too large.”

“Two soccer balls dangling between your legs isn’t too large?” I ask.

“Never.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “What a load of crap.”

“Art is interpretation, Wylie. If you choose to draw two soccer balls or two dingleberries, that’s up to you. It’s up to me to decipher that choice and analyze it.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on drawing you, so we don’t have to leave you to decipher anything.”

He sighs. “Shame, I was looking forward to soccer ball testicles.”

I shrug. “I guess you can’t have it all.”

He smiles at me. “I guess not.”

“Mr. Posey?” We both turn to see Jessica standing in the aisleway. “Is there anything I can offer you? We land in about thirty minutes, and I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Does he look uncomfortable, Jessica?

Does he look like he needs you to offer anything?

Does he seem to be pained in any way?

The answer is no, no . . . and no. So begone.

“I’m good, but thanks, Jessica. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, anytime.” And with that, she walks down the aisle and tends to some of the other players.

Levi brings his attention back to me, and I can’t help myself when I say, “Are you going to call her?”

He lifts one brow in a quizzical way. “How do you know I have her number?”

“The other flight attendant, Giselle, told me when she asked if my dad was single.”

“She wants to go out with Coach Wood?” he whispers and looks toward the front of the plane. “In all the years he’s been my coach, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him even look at a woman.”

“I haven’t seen him glance at a woman either since my mom left either. I think he’s dead inside when it comes to romance.”

“What did you say to Giselle?” he asks, more invested in this than I thought he’d be.

“She could go for it, but I wasn’t giving her a lot of hope.”

Glancing toward the front of the plane again, he asks, “Does he even understand what a date is?”

“At this point, I think he considers the term date more of something he eats to help with constipation rather than an opportunity for conversation and a meal.”

Levi lets out a roar of a laugh, and the sound travels through me, all the way down to my toes, warming me up.

“Please tell me he eats dates for constipation.”

“Are you really interested in my dad’s bowel movements?”

“Oddly, yes. Anything to give me that edge when he’s yelling at me, spittle flying off his lips and right onto my eyeball.”

“Has that happened?” I ask.

“Several times. So give me the goods. Does he have a secret stash of dates when he has a sicky belly of poop?”

I flinch in disgust. “Please, don’t refer to it as that.”

He chuckles. “Well . . .”

I twist my lips to the side, pretending to give it some thought, then I lean closer to him and say, “He has a date every morning and night to stay regular.”

“Is this before or after he blesses his underwear?”

I grin. “Before.”

“Good to know.” He nods.

“What about Jessica?” I ask, bringing it back to the conversation he clearly avoided.

“What about her?”

“You going to call her?”

He rubs his hand along his jaw and shakes his head. “Not my type.”

“Jessica’s not your type?” I ask, flabbergasted. “I feel like she’s everyone’s type.”

“Not mine,” he says.

“Is that so? Then what is your type?” I ask.

He stands and sticks his hands in his pockets. He looks down at me and says, “I’m staring at it.” With that, he heads back toward the middle of the plane, leaving me in utter disarray.

Because who says that and walks away?

Levi Posey, that’s who.

“SO, couldn’t splurge for the extra room again?” I ask as I stare at the cot in his hotel room.

“Told you I need you close in case I need anything.”

When we arrived in Chicago, we went straight to the arena. Dad wanted to carve some time out for them to warm up their legs, get some motion into them, and visit with the trainers for any treatment needed. Levi was there longer than I expected, which gave me time to catch up on his social media. Once I began posting, I realized just how much work it is to keep up with all the comments and responses. I don’t comment on them, but I like to see what people are saying so I can continue giving them the Levi content they want.

He also had me run a few errands, like grabbing him some bologna for the game tomorrow and for a snack today.

I watched him stuff a sandwich in his mouth with three bites. It was equally impressive and disgusting.

He sets his suitcase to the side and takes a look at his watch. “Fuck, I’m hungry. Want to grab something to eat?”

“Uh, I mean, yes, but do you want to eat with your assistant? Not with your guys?”

“They’re all doing other things.” He takes a step forward and tugs on my hand. “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”

My mouth goes dry.

“When you say it like that, it looks like we’re going to dinner.”

“Good decision.” Once again, he pushes some hair behind my ear. “Let’s go.”

I swallow down the nerves scattering through me and grab my wallet and phone from my bag, and together, we head down the elevator to the hotel restaurant.

While we wait for a table, he says, “Feels full circle, doesn’t it?”

I look up at him. “Are you referring to the first night we met?”

“Yup.” He reaches up and twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “Although, I doubt you’ll be palming my dick tonight.”

I nearly choke on my own saliva as the hostess comes back. With two menus in hand, she directs us toward a two-person table right next to a fireplace.

Very romantic.

Very intimate.

Very not what I was hoping for.

I’m trying to keep this professional.

I’m trying to make sure I keep my hands to myself.

But it’s as if something has switched in his head.

The touches.

The comments.

The dripping-wet body in a barely-there towel.

It’s almost as if the roles have reversed, and he’s taunting me.

Levi pulls my chair out before he takes his seat. We’re facing each other with the fire on the right, brimming with flames and casting a glow on us as the hostess sets down our menus.

“Jared will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Levi says, scanning the menu. “Hmm, I’m in the mood for a burger. What about you?” He glances up at me, and I find myself staring, confused that he can be so casual about this.

Glancing down at the menu, I try to rid my thoughts and not be awkward about this. “Umm, I’m kind of feeling a pasta dish.”

“Interesting. I thought you’d get a burger as well.”

“Why’s that?” I ask. “Think I like copying you, and I don’t have a mind of my own?” I use a teasing tone so he doesn’t think I’m serious.

“No, just seems like you like a lot of meat in your mouth.”

My jaw falls open as I stare at him blankly.

He chuckles. “Burger meat, Wylie.”

“That is so not what you meant, and you know it.”

He smirks. “Take it as you will.”

“Well, for your information, I like carbs, so therefore, it will be a pasta dish for me. This primavera looks good.”

He scratches the side of his head. “Or do I want tacos? I love a taco in my mouth.”

“There aren’t tacos . . .” I pause and look up at his grinning face. “Why are you the way that you are?” I ask.

“Why do I like tacos? Well⁠—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “I meant . . . never mind.” I shake my head.

“Do you not like tacos?”

“No, I like tacos,” I say, “but I know tacos aren’t really what you’re talking about.”

He leans back in his chair. “And what exactly am I talking about?”

“You’re talking about the vagina⁠—”

“Uh, I can come back.”

I’m startled as our server steps up to our table, ready to take our order. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as Levi says, “Oh no, I think we’re ready. The lady will have the pasta primavera, and I’ll take the tacos.”

“Great. And to drink?”

Levi looks at me, but I’m still embarrassed about the vagina comment, so he says, “Water for both. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I’ll put that right in.”

When the server leaves, Levi says, “Not sure where your mind is at, but I was really talking about the tacos.”

“I didn’t see tacos on the menu, and you knew he was coming up behind me, didn’t you? You made me say vagina to him.”

“Technically, it wasn’t to him. And it could have been worse. You could have said pussy. At least you used the scientific term. The classy version.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t think there’s any classy way to refer to the female genitalia.”

“Not true, you just said it. Female genitalia. Wow, nothing makes me harder than calling a delicious pussy the female genitalia. Talk about a turn-on.”

“Delicious?” I ask, brows raised.

“Oh yeah, love eating a good pussy.”

Dear God in heaven.

I squeeze my legs together as I clear my throat. “Well, that’s new information.”

“One of my favorite things to eat,” he continues. “If it was on the menu, I would have ordered it.” Then he looks at me with those devilish eyes and says, “Maybe for dessert.” He winks, and I quickly rise from the table. His eyes track my jerky movements.

“I, uh, I need to make a phone call.” Before he can respond, I move toward the back corner of the restaurant, where I hide away from Levi and pull out my phone. Quickly, I dial up Sandie and hope she answers.

On the third ring, she does.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asks.

“Not good,” I hiss into the phone.

“Uh, okay, what’s going on?”

“He’s different,” I say.

“I assume we’re talking about Levi. How is he different?”

I look past the corner, over at our table where he’s sitting casually, staring right at me.

I squeak out a sound before I move out of sight again. “He’s . . . he’s sexually charged,” I answer.

“Describe how he’s sexually charged.”

“Well, besides the fact that his entire demeanor went from she’s off limits to I’m pushing her hair behind her ear now, he’s walking around in a towel, all wet from the shower, telling me that I’m his type when there’s a woman more suited to him serving him drinks on the airplane, and now he just offered up my vagina for dessert.”

“He really said that? That he was going to eat you for dessert?” she asks, shocked.

“Well, not blatantly, but in a roundabout way, yes. And then there’s just little things, like, oh, he gave me a massage! And he touches me and twirls my hair. I feel like he’s flipped the switch, and he’s the one doing erotic torture, not me.”

She’s silent for a second and then says, “Maybe he is.”

“Huh?”

She gasps. “Maybe . . . maybe he knows you know.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask as I look past the corner again. This time, Levi twiddles his fingers at me in a wave.

I quickly hide again, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Maybe he knows that you know about the agreement he has with your dad.”

I pause and think about it. Consider his transformation. He was skittish, adamant about keeping things platonic and then, all of a sudden, he switched his behavior. A complete one-eighty.

I mean, hell, we’re sharing a hotel room in case he needs me in the middle of the night to do God knows what.

It wouldn’t be too hard to get me a hotel room. I could easily tend to his every need from another room. And since I’ve been here, I really haven’t done anything.

So maybe . . .

Maybe Sandie is right.

“You really think he knows?” I ask.

“No idea. It’s a hunch, though. Did you give him any indication that you know?”

“No, but I did stop the erotic torture, and shortly after that, he picked it up.” I press my hand to my forehead. “Do you think he knows about the erotic torture somehow and just decided to play me at my own game?”

“Possibly. Does it feel like he’s playing the erotic torture game?”

“I mean . . .” I think about it, tugging on the corner of my lip. “Not as blatant as I was at times, but yeah, it feels like he’s trying to turn me on or at least get me to slip somehow.”

“Then I bet he knows. How could he not? He was so adamant about not crossing the line with you and keeping all zippers zipped up and all nipples stuffed away. I bet he knows and is playing you at your own game.”

I grumble under my breath. “Of course.” I rest my head against the wall. “Of course he freaking knows. Why else would he be pulling this stunt?”

“Well, also maybe because he finds you attractive.”

“He’s said that, I know, but to risk that attraction?” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No, he’s playing the game.”

“And what game is that? Because I know I’ve been a part of this from the beginning, but I’m still confused. What the hell is going on?”

“The who is going to break first game,” I say.

“And when you say break, you mean . . .”

“Give in to the eroticism. Come on, Sandie, keep up.”

“Right, right. We’re always coming back to the eroticism.”

“Exactly.” I shake my head. “God, he thought he was so good. He thought he could just skate on by, drive me nuts with his pectorals on display and his bulge ready to be unwrapped. Ohhhh no, I see right through him. When I said this is war, I meant it, Sandie. Time to strap on the war paint.”

“You know, you sound a bit, um, unhinged at the moment, and I just want to make sure we’re maintaining our goals.”

“Oh, we’re maintaining them all right. We’re controlling our goals. We’re taking the men by the dick, and we’re making them all suffer.”

“Okay, so when you say things like that, do you mean you’re taking your dad by the dick as well? Because although I enjoy the play on words, I’m just afraid we’re not thinking entirely straight here.”

“I would never grab my dad by the dick.”

“Good, okay, now I feel like we’re⁠—”

“But I would grab him by the man nipples.”

“Ehh, okay, now we’re back to me being concerned.”

“No need to be concerned,” I say, feeling slightly crazed. “Everything is on the up and up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The warrior inside me takes over as I say, “I mean, we’re no longer going to sit back and be the good girl worker. Ohhhh no, if he wants to play with me, then I’ll play with him. First one to cave loses.”

“Ah, I see. So we’re not going to tell him that you know he knows that you know? We’re just going to continue this battle?”

“Battle? Ohhhh no, Sandie. This is war now. All of this is war. I was sidetracked for a second there, trying to please my dad, but not anymore. I’m doing this for me and me alone.”

“I like that attitude, but what are you going to do?”

I squeeze the phone in my hand and say, “Erotic torture is back on.”

“Oh dear God in heaven . . .”