Chapter 2 #4
“Perfect time,” Coach Wood says, his voice a touch lighter than the screaming banshee he is when we’re out on the ice.
And even though there is a distinct difference in the softness of Coach Wood when his daughter steps into the room, that is not what makes my heart beat faster.
Or my skin break out in sweat.
Nope, it’s Coach Wood’s daughter, and it’s not just because she’s insanely hot with her dark red hair and light gray eyes or her killer curves.
Nope, it’s the fact that I know that face. I know that voice. I’ve touched those legs. I’ve kissed those lips.
It’s the redhead from the bar.
The girl I’ve been searching high and low for over the better part of a year. The girl who haunts me in my sleep. The girl I think about whenever I consider hooking up with another woman. The one I compare everyone to, who no one ever comes close to matching.
The girl I hired a fucking private investigator to find. That’s how goddamn desperate I was.
Wasted money, since all I had to do was ask Coach Wood to meet his daughter.
Because holy shit, she’s here.
“Posey,” Coach Wood snaps, and I’m quickly tossed out of my reverie.
“Yes, hi.” I clear my throat and hold out my hand awkwardly. “I’m Levi Posey, your new boss.”
With a devilish smirk on her lips, Wylie—now I know her goddamn name—sits down in the chair next to me and takes my hand in hers. Just like last time, a bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and straight to my cock.
Mother of fuck . . .
“Great to meet you, Levi. I look forward to tending to your every need.”
She lets go of my hand and turns to her father, who doesn’t seem too pleased.
Maybe it was my staring.
Maybe it was her sexual innuendo.
Maybe because this office now feels like a pressure cooker.
Either way, he looks back and forth between us and says, “Wylie, you understand your job responsibilities, correct?”
“Oh yes, to be at Mr. Posey’s beck and call.”
“Levi,” I croak out. “Levi is fine.”
“To keep things professional, I prefer Mr. Posey,” Wylie says with a glint in her stormy eye.
Jesus, is it hot in here? Because it feels really hot. Is it just me?
“Posey, you recall what we spoke about with boundaries?” Coach Wood asks, still eyeing me.
“Yes,” I squeak. “Yup, all good there.” I clear my throat. “Is there a, uh, start time?—”
“Tomorrow would be great,” Wylie says. “Actually, I’d love to go over what you need from me and your expectations if you’re free.”
Unsure if that’s a smart idea, I glance over at Coach Wood, who gives a slight nod. Since I have the go-ahead, I say, “I’m free. Do we want to grab a?—”
“One of the media rooms will be fine for your use,” Coach Wood says.
“Yup, I was going to suggest that,” I say even though I wasn’t. I was going to say grab a drink, but he doesn’t need to know that. “We can grab a media room.”
“Perfect. Let me snag us a couple of drinks from the cafeteria, and I’ll meet you in media room B. Does that work?” Wylie asks.
“Sure,” I reply.
She stands from her chair and taps on her dad’s desk. “Thanks for the opportunity, Dad. I really appreciate it.” And then she’s off, skipping right out of his office.
When the door shuts and I start to stand, Coach dangerously points his finger at me while his brow contorts into a valley of crevices.
“Listen to me, you fuck,” he starts, apparently forgetting his bedside manners for people doing him a favor.
“I saw the way you just looked at her, and if you even think about her in any way other than your coach’s extremely off-limits daughter, I will personally slice your dick off with a rusty pair of skates. Got it?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and attempt an even smile, but it feels more deranged than welcoming and reassuring.
“You won’t need to worry about me when it comes to your daughter,” I say as fear pulses up my spine.
Because holy fuck, he’s right. Wylie isn’t the redhead I’ve been thinking about for a year. Wylie is my coach’s daughter.
But not just that.
She is my scary coach’s daughter.
Meaning, despite the kiss we shared or the way she made me feel that night, she is completely and utterly off limits.
“I’m counting on you,” Coach Wood says. “I’ll email you tasks for her to complete. Don’t fuck this up.”
“You can count on me,” I say with a fist pump, feeling like a complete asshat.
Coach Wood ignores my enthusiasm and goes back to his tablet, silently excusing me.
Probably best.
I leave his office and make my way down to the media room, where I part the door only to find an empty room. I step inside and take a seat on one of the leather couches. I rub my sweaty palms across my pant legs and try to work this out.
I’ve been a decent human. I donate time and money to charitable causes.
I’m a good teammate and an even better friend.
Sure, I’ve slept around a bit, but every woman has been a more than willing participant.
I wouldn’t say that’s a black mark on my name that would put me in such a position where I need to repay my coach by hiring his daughter—who I’ve secretly been trying to find for a year—the one and only woman who has actually made me think I want more.
I drag my hand over my face.
What are the fucking chances?
Pretty good apparently.
The door to the media room opens, and Wylie comes in, holding two coffees, each with a cookie resting on top.
The door shuts behind her, and she saunters over to me in a pair of jogger pants and a crop top.
I try to avoid looking at her exposed stomach, but I’m a guilty fucker as she moves closer.
I can’t help it. I’ve never found a woman as attractive to me as she is.
She checks all my fucking boxes. Every single one of them.
“Thought you might want a little treat after such a great win.” She hands me the coffee with the cookie on top, then empties her pocket of sugars and creamers.
“Not sure how you take your coffee, but I’ll learn.
” Taking a seat, she turns toward me, propping one leg up on the couch just like the night we spent together.
“How’s your head? Looks like a nasty gash. ”
Is she really not going to address the giant elephant in the room? I know she knows who I am. There’s no way she didn’t know who I was that night. And she sure as hell can’t fake it now. So I decide to break the silence on the past.
“So we’re not going to talk about the first time we met?”
She presses her hand to her chest. “You remember that night?”
I nearly crumple my coffee cup in my hand as I say in a low voice, “Of course I remember that night. I sought you out. I wanted you. We kissed. It was phenomenal. You took off before I could even find out your name. You’ve left me wondering about you for a goddamn year.”
“Technically,” she says, holding up her finger, “it wasn’t a full year, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“And the reason you didn’t tell me your name, was that because of who your dad is?”
“That and protection. How did I know you weren’t going to be some creep who took me back to your hotel room to do freaky things to me like tie me down and smell my feet?”
“Does it look like I’m that kind of man?”
She casually shrugs. “Never can be too sure.”
“And then you took off, out of nowhere.” I lean in even closer and say, “You were palming my dick.”
“Was I?” she asks, sipping her coffee. “I can barely remember.”
“Well, I fucking remember,” I say. “I’ve remembered almost every goddamn night.”
“That’s sweet,” she says. “And I love this reminiscing, but I truly think we should keep this professional, so if you could not talk about me palming your dick, I would appreciate it.”
“Excuse me for trying to wrap my head around all of this. You knew who I was that night. I had no fucking clue who you were.”
“And now you do, so everyone is in the know. Should we talk living arrangements?”
“Uh, what?” I ask.
“As your assistant, I’m assuming you’ll need me at all hours, so I’m guessing you’ll need me to live with you.”
Live with me? Is she fucking insane? I couldn’t think of a worse situation. Shacking up with Wylie Wood? Nope. Not when she’s off limits. The last thing I need is for her to be walking around my place in nothing but a towel, all wet from her shower.
Nope. Not going to happen.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll need you that much,” I say. “Feel free to stay wherever you are.”
“I really don’t mind,” she says. “I want to be the best assistant I can be.”
“And I’m sure you’ll be the best assistant ever . . . from your place of residence.”
Her eyes bore into me, the same fucking eyes as her father, but whereas his are scary . . . hers are mesmerizing.
Oh, fuck me . . .