So This Is War

“Levi, are you really going to be on your phone right now?”

“I’m sorry,” I say as I set my phone down, worry etching through my chest. I blow out a heavy breath. “OC sent an article. A damning one.”

“Is it about the expansion team?” Wylie asks.

I nod as I grab a box from under the Christmas tree. “Yeah, he’s freaking out. Rumors are swirling about what might happen and since we heard there’s a possibility Rivers might come back, he’s nervous he’s going to be traded at the end of the season.”

“Well, nothing is set in stone.”

I wince. “The article was written by a reputable source. Looks like the team could be collecting some serious bad blood.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, thankfully being amazing as I hand her my favorite Christmas present I got her. Last thing I want to do is talk about the team on our first Christmas, but OC is freaking out.

When we heard of the expansion team, the San Francisco Rogue, a few years ago, we never thought much of it, but with a heavy set of investors, willing and ready to throw down cash for the toughest position players, there was some worry that started to develop. But OC recently has ramped up that worry.

“The owners are a collective who want to win. And they will do it any means necessary, meaning, they’re looking for the best of the best. The ones who are willing to do anything to win and I mean anything. Cheap shots, hell on ice type shit.”

“But that’s not OC, so why is he worried?”

“Because Rivers might come back and if he does, that makes OC a free agent and given his talent, the Rogue would be dumb not to scoop him up.”

“Oh . . .” she stares down at her present. “That would be sad, I really like OC.”

“We all do.” I drag my hand over my face. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at that text in the middle of our Christmas.”

She smooths her hand over my bare chest and says, “It’s okay. It’s one of the reasons why I love you, because you care so much about your friends, even if it’s on a freaky close level.”

I chuckle and pull her onto my lap. “Okay, blocking that out, now open your gift.”

I kiss her neck and while she giggles, she unwraps the present I got her. She parts the jewelry box open and gasps.

“Levi, oh my God. I love it so much,” Wylie says as she stares down at the gold necklace I got her.

Bing Crosby croons in the background about a white Christmas that, unfortunately, we don’t have. Now, a rainy and cloudy Christmas, Vancouver went all in this year.

We’re spending the morning here, just her and me, in front of our Christmas tree that we decorated together, opening presents and eating the cookies we made last night while we ate bologna sandwiches with potato chips between the slices. It was Wylie’s personal touch, which I had never done before, but after the subtle combination of the soft and crunchy, I know I’ll never go back.

Later this afternoon, we’re heading over to her dad’s, where we plan on exchanging gifts and having dinner. We’ll also be mingling with Giselle, who’ll be stopping by as well.

Yeah, Giselle, the flight attendant.

Apparently, Coach Wood was flirting with her. Took him a bit, but he finally got up the nerve to ask her out, and according to Wylie, sparks flew after the first date. And I have to admit, the scary vein in Coach Wood’s head that usually has its own heartbeat . . . has significantly calmed down since Giselle entered into the mix. OC even told me that he saw her going into Coach Wood’s hotel room one night. When I told Wylie, she gave her dad a round of applause and said he needed to get some ass.

God, I love her so much.

“I love having your initials on me,” she says as she holds it out to me and turns around. “Put it on for me?”

I slip it around her neck and clasp the necklace together. She then turns toward me and asks, “How does it look?”

“Perfect,” I say.

Wylie has been hard at work, drawing every day and coming up with new and exciting sketches for Patty, who gobbles them up . . . as are her patrons. I can’t even remember the number they’ve sold, but Patty and Deena were blown away. And now they’re coming up with different packages and incentives that could be sold with the drawings. They thought the more exclusive they can be with certain packages, the higher the bidding.

Frankly, I’m all for this business model. Seeing women kill it as entrepreneurs is always great to see. She also got a call back from Rylee Ryan about her drawings for her book, but given the workload Wylie has taken on for Patty, she had to turn down the opportunity. Rylee told her to keep her in mind if her workload ever lightens up.

From the way things have been going, we don’t think it’s going to lighten up anytime soon.

“My turn,” Wylie says as she reaches under the tree and hands me a gift. “I worked very hard on this one.”

She takes a seat on my lap again, and I kiss her shoulder before I open the present. It’s a flat box. I pull off the top, push back some tissue paper, and reveal a black-bound book.

“Did you finally write up the Vermont book in Arial?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. Although, she did buy me a book on Maine that I’m frothing at the mouth to dive into. Can’t wait to see all that lobster. Plus, when I was flipping through it, there was a section about this little town called Port Snow and how they have tons of Lovemark movies being made there. Tell me more about that!

I lift the book out of the box and flip open the cover, only to have my breath escape my lungs. It’s Wylie . . . in nothing but an Agitators jersey, cut up the middle and showing off a dangerous amount of cleavage.

“What . . . the . . . fuck,” I say as my dick starts to go hard. “Baby, what is this?”

“Keep flipping through.”

I go to the next page, and it’s a picture of Wylie, lying on the ground, her fingers barely covering her nipples as she looks up at the camera.

“Holy shit, babe.”

I flip through, page after page, getting harder and harder as we go on until the last two pages, where she’s leaning against a bed, a vibrator in hand with a look of pure ecstasy across her face as she masturbates.

“Please, baby, please tell me a woman took these.”

She laughs as I look at the last picture. It’s of her, with her hands propped behind her, her chest up, and her tits pointed toward the ceiling.

Fuck . . . she’s so hot.

“Deena and Patty took them for me while I was down there a few weeks ago.”

“Jesus,” I murmur as I flip through them again. “Babe, this is . . . this is the best gift you could have given me.”

“Better than the bologna in the fridge?”

“Way better,” I say.

“Well, then, let me give you the accompanying present that goes with this.” She gets off my lap, turns around, and pushes me onto my back. She tugs on my Christmas pajama pants and releases my hard cock from its confines. She wets her lips and leans down, running her tongue along my tattoo.

I groan as she circles her tongue around the tip.

“I want you looking at the pictures while I suck your cock, so when you go on away trips and take this book with you, you have a memory of this moment.”

“Fuck, I love you,” I say as I rub my thumb over her cheek.

“I love you too,” she says right before she sucks me all the way to the back of her throat.

Christ.

And here I thought I’d be at war with this girl forever, a mad battle of erotic torture. Instead, I won the battle. I won the best prize of all time.

I get to call Wylie Wood mine and share the rest of my life with this precious gift.

Nothing beats that.