2. Levi
CHAPTER 2
LEVI
This chick.
She is the bane of my existence and has been ever since we were teenagers. Only back then, the thing I hated about her was that I couldn’t have her. First she friend-zoned me, then I had to watch her briefly date my friend in college, all leading up to me dating and getting engaged to her sister. Yeah, it's safe to say she's entirely off-limits to me and has been for a long fucking time.
Not that it ever really mattered—well, except for the whole her not wanting me part. I respected that even if it hurt. But at the end of the day, if Quinn had given me any indication she wanted me, I would have tossed my hat in the ring for a chance to make her mine. But she didn't, and it was obvious that I wasn't the one she wanted. It's fucked up that Ally ended up being my rebound and even worse that I let it go as far as the two of us getting engaged. I would almost feel bad, but neither of us was happy, which she proved when she cheated on me.
I guess we probably could've called it even.
Quinn is something else entirely though; she gets me going in a way no one else can. She doesn't frustrate me like Ally always has, or anyone else I’ve tried talking to or even dating. Quinn gets under my skin in a way only she's capable of doing. It's both intriguing and irritating, and it fucking drives me crazy.
This is only proven by the fact that, since I talked to her, I’ve spent every spare second I have working out or sitting on my couch playing Call of Duty for hours, trying to keep my mind off her. But my eyes keep drifting down to my phone, practically willing it to ring. Knowing her, she’s probably trying to drag this out as much as possible just to make me miserable.
Such a tease, and I don’t think she realizes it because she’s usually too busy being a brat to me. She's been mean to me ever since she started dating my friend Kyle in college, and it only escalated from there when I dated her sister, which made no fucking sense.
I wanted to ask her why she even cared—why it seemed to bother her when Ally and I got together, especially after Ally made it clear that Quinn didn’t want me. The day I worked up the nerve to ask Quinn out, it was Ally who shut me down for her, breaking my heart in the process, and still, somehow, Quinn acted like I was the bad guy.
The rest of it was a bit of a blur with her sister, a whirlwind of trying to move on, and the next thing I knew, Ally had a ring on her finger, and we were putting a down payment on a venue. It was great—at least, I thought it was then, but I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Everything ended up imploding on us after Ally admitted she had been cheating on me with a rival player in Knoxville—Wilson Mudgett. He isn’t the worst dude ever, although I still love dropping my gloves and punching him in the face anytime I get a chance, especially after I called off the wedding. It used to piss Ally off, but I didn’t really give a damn.
I don't think she expected me to care about the cheating, but it wasn’t like I was going to sit around and keep playing house with someone who could so easily betray my trust. When it was all said and done, though, I was relieved. I was just hurt that she took advantage of me when I'd done everything I could to make her happy.
So, no. I wasn't fine when we broke up. I was broken, which was clear when I got on the ice that night and spent more time in the sin bin than I did playing a game I love.
That's the first time I pissed Coach Sullivan off, which was easy to do considering he was Ally’s uncle. I'm not sure what story she told him, but he was never willing to hear my side. From the day we broke up until he left for L.A., he hated me and made sure I knew it.
He was subtle. No one else really picked up on it, but I knew, and it sucked. I did everything I could not to piss him off because my entire life is in Nashville. If I got traded, I would be devastated. My family is small, just my nana, but she's everything to me.
I had to stay in Nashville. Thankfully, he ended up leaving before he could trade me. The day they announced he was leaving was the first day I took a deep breath in the months since Ally and I broke up.
Although I was upset to see Quinn leave, I realized there was no longer a chance of getting my best friend back. And truthfully, that’s what pissed me off the most. At that point, that’s all we had ever been because I was shot down before I ever really had a chance. I was mourning the loss of my best friend.
Even now, missing her pisses me off because I may know that woman top to bottom, but that also means I know her well enough to know she’ll never be mine…fully.
Now that she’s practically on the other side of the country, we only talk for one thing. See, Quinn and I have this little game that started when we ran into each other by chance a few years ago when I was out with the team at our favorite bar, The Penalty Box.
When I saw her, my heart started racing like I was in high school walking toward my crush for the first time. Her long blonde hair was down and wavy, which was secretly my favorite way she wore it. She looked cute as hell staring down at the menu, her pretty, pink lips pursed in feigned interest in what she was looking at, while chatting it up with the bartender.
I watched for a moment, letting her have her fun as I took her in. Somehow my memory always does a disservice to just how gorgeous Quinn really is, her tiniest of movements so captivating. But they shouldn’t be…because even though I know how wonderful she is, I hate the way she gives everyone else the time of day except me…which I guess makes sense with me dating her sister in the past.
But then she looked up, finally noticing me. Only she acted like she didn’t recognize me and glancing back to the bartender to continue her conversation. At first, I was pissed, just staring at her, slack jawed. But the longer I stared, the more her cute little smirk started creeping out, and that's when I knew.
She was toying with me.
Quinn Sullivan is wild—always has been. It’s one of the first things I noticed about her, and it’s what attracted me to her from the start. Don’t get me wrong, she’s hot; anyone who meets her can see that she’s not hard on the eyes, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.
She’s edgier than the other girls I’ve met, yet somehow still so sweet. That, mixed with her confidence and boldness, really stood out to me. It only sucked that she had my attention, and I was standing there watching her joke with the bartender, flirting in an obvious way.
One that, based on the smirk she kept shooting back at me, proved that she was doing it just for me. See the thing about Quinn, she loves the chase. She likes to play with her food a little before she eats it—something I still find incredibly hot. And based on the way she kept looking back at me, I had a feeling that I was on the menu that night.
Don’t get your hopes up…I knew it was a terrible idea.
So instead of walking over to her right away, I decided to talk to the ladies at the table next to where I was standing, and they immediately chatted me up—which only pissed Quinn off, surprising the fuck outta me. The second I leaned into it a bit, she started flirting with everyone else around me at the bar. I wanted to stand on the table between us and piss on her, claim her like a fucking feral animal for the entire bar to witness.
Instead, I refrained from acting like a complete savage, and the second I had an opening, I just carried her out of the bar and fucked her against the side of the building.
Like any gentleman would do.
After that night, the rest was history. Once we had lit the match, we realized just how in tune we were in the bedroom and decided to take advantage of it. Now, anytime we’re in the same city, we link up, and I spend the night hate-fucking her in an attempt to get her out of my system. At least, until I see her next because I’ll inevitably miss her again.
It’s an endless cycle I’m not sure I’m ever going to be fully free from—which is evident by me standing here despite my better judgement. I've just always had this innate desire to make her mine, even if it’s only temporary.
But that arrangement is not what those text messages were. Hell, usually our texts only consist of an address and a time; the rest of the night is all nonverbal communication with our bodies.
I get the feeling that’s not how this night is going to end, and my dick is already disappointed. This seemed like it was going to be an actual conversation, and now I’m not sure what the fuck to think. Especially after she mentioned my career—that’s the one thing in this world I don’t fuck around with. I don’t piss my coaches off, and I don’t risk an injury, because my career is my livelihood.
It's the same reason why I refuse any offers from outside of Nashville, even if they come with a substantially higher salary. I was born and raised here, drafted here, and if I have anything to say about it, I want to finish my career here. Of course, part of the reason is my loyalty to the team and the city, which obviously plays a significant role in my decision. But overall, it’s because of my nana, my only family.
She's in a retirement community because she’s slowly been showing signs of Alzheimer’s, and thankfully, she was willing to make the move to a safer living arrangement. I wish I could’ve moved her in with me—hell, I even offered. In the end, she kept telling me that there was no way an eighty-year-old woman should be living with her hotshot grandson. Said I had a life to live and she wouldn’t intrude.
I told her she was wrong and that all my friends would love to get to spend more time with her when they came to hang out, but she refused.
So, I put her in the highest rated retirement community I could find to make sure she was taken care of, and I go see her every week. If that was taken from me, I’d give up hockey. The only problem is that I play to pay for her care—if I quit, then eventually the money would run out. But if I had to move, then I wouldn’t get to see her because I know she won’t move from Nashville.
So now, damn near two weeks later, I’m still thinking about the conversation with Quinn, waiting on fucking pins and needles for her to text me to meet up. I’ve almost called her nearly a hundred fucking times, but I refused. I need to play it cool. If it was something dire, I’m sure she would have told me by now. It’s probably something stupid.
After forty-three rounds Call of Duty Zombies , Cooper and I finally call it quits and finish the game. It doesn’t matter that I just eliminated two thousand zombies before they could infect people, practically saving lives, I’m still thinking about my phone.
Only this time when I look down, I have a text. Motherfucker, I must’ve turned it on silent and forgotten. Grabbing my phone, I quickly open it, shocked to hell when I see it’s actually her. My heart starts racing as my thumb hovers over the text to read it, almost afraid to do it and get bad news. Finally giving in, I open it.
Quinn: Mayfield Hotel. Now.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. This is such a normal conversation between us, no actual sentences, just pure facts, because it’s what works for us. But this feels off, and I don’t like it. I’m confused because I’m not sure what to expect.
Standing up, I plug in my headset and controller before turning the TV off. Heading into my kitchen, I grab my keys and wallet and throw on a navy-blue Firebirds hoodie. It may not be fancy, but a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt are my go-to.
* * *
Walking into the bar at the Mayfield Hotel, I immediately second-guess my outfit. I knew this place was fancy, but I think I forgot just how fancy it was. The waitresses are all walking around looking elegant while every guest is dressed to the nines like they’re going to a damn gala. I feel extremely underdressed. Thankfully, I notice Quinn at the bar right away, and she’s in a pair of jeans as well.
Thank fuck.
Standing there for a moment, I take a second to admire her. She looks fucking sexy right now—her jeans molded to her body, hugging her curves like a glove—and all I can think about is getting my hands on her. She’s small but not breakable, and I fucking love it. She’s strong, her body powerful because she works hard at it, and I’m just appreciating her dedication. Hell, I remember her working out with me in college, and that girl could always keep up—if not do better.
All that hard work gave her the most incredible ass that I want to get on my knees and worship. It’s the kind of ass you want to squeeze, bite, or fuck. Personally, I want to do all three.
Once she grabs a drink, she makes her way to a table and takes a seat. I force myself to walk over to her before my inner thoughts spill out and I make a fool out of myself. Taking the seat next to her, I’m surprised to find a drink already waiting at the spot I’m in.
“Is someone sitting here?” I ask, worried she brought someone with her to this meeting.
“Nope. It’s for you. Eagle Rare, neat. Or did you finally change your drink order after all these years?”
Damn, she’s got a good memory.
“Nope, you’re spot on. I just wasn’t expecting it. Thanks.”
“No problem,” she says, and I can tell she’s nervous.
Grabbing the glass, I take a swig, a mouthful to be exact, in an attempt to calm my nerves.
Why does my body not get the memo that we don't like Quinn? Why does my heart still start racing when she's nearby?
“So, what's the problem?” I grumble, not wanting to give away how much I've been dying to know what's going on.
She stares at me, one hand grazing the rim of her glass of red wine. I'd guess Pinot noir, but after this long, I could be wrong.
“We need to date,” she says point blank, her eyes watching me cautiously as she drops that bomb.
I can’t help it; I just laugh at the absurdity of that statement.
What the hell?
“I must not have heard you right. To me it sounded like you said you thought we should date,” I repeat, taking another drink of my bourbon.
“No, actually I said we need to date,” she says quickly.
“You do remember I was engaged to your sister, right?”
“That hasn’t stopped you from fucking me on and off for the last three years,” she says with a straight face, her eyes fierce, and I’m impressed with her boldness.
“I…uh…fair point. But this…this feels different. I mean, what? Why is this even a discussion?”
“Have you heard anything about a new coach?”
“What? No. Coach Dawson is our coach. Has been since your uncle left four years ago.”
“Correct. But I heard my uncle talking, and he said he was going to be your new coach. That’s when I texted you. After that, he told Ally and me that we were moving back to Nashville in just a few more days.”
“Nah, sorry. I feel like if this was happening, we would've been told by now.”
“You'd think, but my uncle is a dick,” Quinn says seriously, making me laugh. “I haven't even told you the worst part yet. He also sort of made it clear that when he gets to Nashville, his first move will be to trade you to L.A.”
I sit and stare at her, finishing my bourbon and gesturing to the waitress for another. “I'm not sure what us dating has to do with any of this. Besides, we don't even like each other.”
“First off, if we can fuck while hating each other, we can date—or fake date—while hating each other. Second off, it's basically a win-win for both of us.”
“Go on.”
“Well, my uncle won't trade you if he knows we are together. He's an asshole, but he's not cruel. Somehow Ally just has him wrapped around her finger, and I'm sure you know what that's like.”
Not from her—from you.
“Nah, that's not really my style. But okay. And how does this help you?”
"My uncle’s always said I don’t take anything seriously—including relationships. But if we tell him we’ve been seeing each other for a while and chose to keep it quiet until we knew it was real, it might show him that I am capable of commitment. Even if he hates you, it’s something that could change how he sees me."
“He does. But it's not my fault he believes the lies your sister spouts.”
“Most people do. It’s part of the reason I’m convinced ninety percent of the population is stupid,” she says with a shrug.
“You two really don’t get along,” I say, but I freeze when her eyes snap to me, a look fierce enough to stop me in my tracks. Lifting my hands in surrender, I chuckle. “My bad, just trying to lighten the mood a bit.”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” Quinn says, crossing her arms in obvious annoyance.
She’s not wrong. I’m not really worried. Coach Dawson is a good man, and I don’t think he’d just up and leave a team he’s obviously passionate about. My guess is Quinn overheard something and is making assumptions. While I can tell she’s just trying to help, it’s definitely not necessary because it’s not going to happen. Besides, dating is against our rules, and the rules were put in place for a reason.
I may have told her it was so she didn’t catch feelings for me, but the truth is, it was to keep my own feelings locked down. Any false hope that we might actually be something—more than just fuck buddies—would devastate me, because I know it’s not what she wants.
If it was what she wanted, she wouldn’t have sent Ally to break my heart all those years ago. She wouldn’t have made me watch her constantly making out with her new boyfriend.
Which is when I started putting distance between us. That and the fact that Ally was always around. At first, I hung out with Ally because, well, she was cute, and she was being nice. But I was also hoping to make Quinn jealous. Thinking back to it now, I have no fucking idea how things got so far with Ally. It was always her idea to take the next step, but she always talked about it in a way that was so fucking convincing that you ended up confused and thinking it was your idea in the first place.
“Are you listening to me?” Quinn snaps, and I shake my head, bringing myself back to reality.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not taking it seriously because I’m not concerned. I’ll talk to Coach Dawson on Monday, and I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”
“You’re really not going to help me, help you?”
“Nah, that’s too messy,” I tell her with a shrug, trying to ignore the disappointment that flashes across her face, though it’s only for a brief moment, before being replaced by the stiff smile most of the world gets.
“Alright then,” she says, standing up and grabbing her jacket. She finishes her drink before setting the glass down and walking away with a nod. “Have a good night, Levi.”
“We aren’t going to fuck?”
She stills, slowly turning around.
“Nah, that’s too messy,” she says, giving me a quick glance before leaving. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
I watch her, my heart racing as her ass sways while she moves across the room, her words bouncing around in my mind as she leaves. Only she doesn’t go toward the exit. No, she walks straight over to the bar, between a group of men, and orders a shot. She holds it up toward me in a silent cheers, winks, then slams it back before turning to talk to the guys who are already eyeing her.
Fucking hell.