Levi
Five
I got invited to a state dinner. Me. A soccer coach.
At the White House. Again. Officially, it’s to celebrate the World Cup being held on American soil.
There’s a whole list of high profiles attending: ambassadors, sports executives, politicians…
I don’t give a shit about any of that. All I care about it that Lina is going to be there.
I’m standing in front of the mirror in my hotel room, fussing with my bow tie like a nervous teenager before prom, and I’m not even embarrassed about it anymore.
Okay, that’s a lie. I’m a little embarrassed.
But mostly I’m just… excited. Fucking happy. Whatever you call it when you’re about to see your woman.
Fuck, she admitted out loud that she’s been watching me too.
For fucking years.
I’ve replayed our conversation in my head about nine thousand times.
Fuck, she likes me.
The President of the United States, the most beautiful, smartest, most accomplished, intelligent, warm, funny woman I’ve ever seen, has a fucking crush on me. A simple man, from fucking nowhere, who was just lucky he could kick a ball, worked hard and somehow ended up here.
What the hell is my life right now?
I adjust my tux jacket, check my hair one more time, and take a breath.
Okay, Hendricks. Don’t be weird. Don’t stare. Don’t propose marriage in the first five minutes. Just… fucking be cool.
Shit, I’ve never been cool a day in my life, but there’s a first time for everything, right?
* * *
The White House is lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas. I step out of the car and try to act like my heart isn’t trying to beat out of my chest because somewhere inside that building, Lina’s waiting.
She’s not waiting for you specifically, dumbass. She’s the damn host.
I make my way through security, the entrance hall, a sea of people in tuxedos and gowns. And then I see her.
Fuck.
Lina Kane is standing across the room in a gown that should be fucking illegal. It’s gold, subtle, warm, drapes over her body, clinging to every curve, and there are a lot of them.
Her shoulders and collarbones are bare; the neckline covers the swell of her breasts. There’s a slit up one side that shows a flash of thigh every time she moves, and I’m staring. I know I’m staring. I cannot physically stop staring.
Fuck me.
Her dark skin looks warm and smooth against the gold fabric, and I want to put my mouth on every inch of it. Her hair is down tonight; the loose curls falling past her shoulders. She looks so fucking beautiful, sexy, hot…
I want to touch her so bad my hands are shaking.
She’s talking to some old guy, smiling her polished, public smile, and she hasn’t seen me yet.
Good, because I need a damn minute.
I grab a glass from a passing waiter and try to remember how to breathe like a fucking normal person.
She’s just a woman. The beautiful, powerful, incredible woman you’ve been fantasizing about for fucking years, and she’s standing right there in a dress that’s getting you hard at a fucking White House event, but it’s FINE. You’re FINE!
I down the drink in one gulp.
Not fine. Definitely not fucking fine.
Dinner is torture. We’re seated on opposite ends of a table that’s approximately a mile long.
Protocol, I’m sure. Can’t have random soccer coaches sitting next to the president.
But at least I can see her from where I’m sitting.
And she can see me. We keep catching each other’s eyes across the table.
Quick glances at first, just a flicker, a moment of contact before we both look away. Then they start lasting longer.
She’s talking to the French ambassador or whoever the fuck is on her right, nodding along, the picture of grace and diplomacy. But her eyes keep drifting back to me.
I slightly raise my glass in a silent, private toast. Lina’s perfect lips twitch, then she looks away.
Yeah. This is fucking happening…
Someone asks me a question about the tournament, and I answer on autopilot. Something about tactics, team chemistry, and home-field advantage. I have no fucking idea what I’m saying.
When I turn my gaze back to the head of the table, Lina is looking my way.
And this time, she holds my gaze for three full seconds before turning back to her conversation.
Three seconds doesn’t sound like a lot. But when you’re eye-fucking the President of the United States across a state dinner, that’s an eternity.
Jesus, I need air.
I excuse myself after the last course and find my way to a balcony off one of the side rooms.
The night air is cool, which is a relief after the heat of the sprawling dining room. I lean against the railing and stare into the night, trying to get my shit together.
What are you doing, Hendricks? What’s the endgame here?
I don’t know. I really don’t. She’s the president.
I’m… just a regular guy. This shit doesn’t make sense.
There’s no world where we could work. But I can’t stop.
I’ve never wanted anything, anyone the way I want Lina Kane.
It’s not just physical. Although God, it’s definitely physical.
But it’s fucking everything with this woman.
The way she talks, how she thinks, her way of commanding a room.
And the softness underneath all her power.
How she looked up at me with humor, warmth, heat in her beautiful brown eyes…
I want to know everything about her. I want to make her laugh. I want to make her come so hard she forgets her own fucking name.
Okay, that escalated quickly.
But it’s true. All of it.
“I thought I might find you out here.”
I spin around.
Lina is standing in the doorway.
I feel my lips curl up on one side. “Are you following me, Madam President?”
She steps onto the balcony; the door clicking softly shut behind her.
“Maybe,” Lina returns my smile as she moves closer. “Or maybe I just needed some air.” She raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
I lick my lower lip. “Convenient timing.”
Fuck, that smile will be the end of me.
“Isn’t it?”
She stops a few feet away, leaning against the railing by my side. Close enough that I can smell her perfume, that warm, rich scent that goes straight to my dick.
We stand there for a moment, looking out at the grounds, not speaking. The space between us, buzzing.
“You look amazing,” I finally say.
She glances at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “So do you.”
I know my face is split into the same goofy grin I get whenever I’m anywhere near this woman.
“Please. I’m just a guy in a tux.”
She lets out a short laugh, eyes twinkling. “A guy in a tux who’s been staring at me all night.”
I chuckle. “Can you blame me?” I turn to face her fully. “This dress should be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.”
Lina laughs again, short and surprised, and the sound hits me straight in the balls.
“Oh, is that all?”
“Well, at least a threat to national security.” I step closer, my expression sobering, my voice going low. “I haven’t been able to think straight since you walked in, Lina. Every time I looked at you across that table, I forgot how to form sentences.”
Her smile fades, replaced by something… heated.
“Levi…”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, baby.” The words come out rough. “Since the first time we met. Since we talked in that tunnel. Every goddamn minute of every day.”
She breathes out, eyes lost in mine, “Levi, this is crazy.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, letting out a huff of laughter. “I’m the fucking president.”
“I know that, too.”
But she doesn’t step back. “We shouldn’t…”
“Probably not.”
“There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea.”
I do what I’ve been craving to do for years and run the back of my fingers over the side of her face.
“At least.”
Her breath catches.
“So why aren’t you walking away?”
I slowly reach out and brush a strand of hair away from her face, my fingertips grazing her cheek.
“Because you haven’t asked me to, love.”
Lina’s eyes flutter closed for a second. And when they reopen, they’re darker, fucking hot.
She whispers, “I should tell you to go back inside and forget any of this ever happened.”
I cup the side of her face, running my calloused thumb over her soft skin, close enough that our breaths mingle. “Is that what you want, sweetheart?”
She lightly shakes her head into my touch. “No.” The word comes out shaky. Honest. “It’s really, really not.”
Fuck it.
I close the distance between us. My hand slides into her hair, cupping the back of her head. The other one finds her waist, pulling her flush against me. And then my mouth is on hers.
Fucking finally.
Lina Kane tastes sweet. So fucking sweet… Her lips are full and soft, parting under mine, and when her tongue touches mine, I fucking groan, because I’ve been fucking starving for her.
All those years of watching her through screens, imagining this exact moment, and the reality is so much better than the fantasy. She’s warm and soft in my arms, her lush body pressed against mine, her fingers gripping the lapels of my jacket like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I kiss her deeper, harder. My hand tightens at her waist, pulling her closer, and she makes a sound against my mouth, a soft, desperate little moan that shoots straight to my dick.
Mine.
The thought crashes through me, primal and fierce.
Mine. She’s mine.
I back her up against the railing, caging her in with my body. She arches into me, her hands sliding up my chest, into my hair. Her nails scrape against my scalp and I fucking growl… What the hell is happening to me?!
“Madam President?”
We spring apart.
Fuck.
A secret service agent is standing in the doorway, face carefully blank.
“They’re about to serve coffee, ma’am.”
Lina is breathing hard, her chest heaving, her lips swollen from my mouth. She looks… fucking beautiful.
“Thank you, Agent Torres.” Her voice is back to steady. Presidential. How the fuck is her voice steady? “I’ll be right there.”
He nods once and disappears back inside.
We stare at each other.
“This is insane,” she finally says. Our eyes, unable to break contact. A small smile still on her delicious mouth.
“I don’t care.”
The smile turns bittersweet. “Levi…”
“I don’t care, Lina.” I close the distance between us again and cup her face in my large hands. “I don’t care how crazy this is. I don’t care how complicated it is. I want you. I’ve wanted you for longer than I should admit. And I know you want me too.”
Her eyes search mine. “And then what? Where does this go?”
I slowly shake my head. “I don’t know, baby.” I brush my thumb over her cheekbone. “But I’d like to find out.”
She closes her eyes, takes a breath. Then reopens them, nodding decisively.
“The quarterfinal,” she says. “If you win, I’ll be there.”
“And after?”
“After…” She reaches up and straightens my bow tie with a small smile and another headshake. “We’ll figure it out.”
Then she steps back out of my arms. And I let her go, even if everything in me is screaming to pull her back.
She pauses at the door, looking over her shoulder, giving me that glance. That fucking look-back I’ve been thinking about since the first time she did it.
“Good luck, Coach.”
Then she’s gone. And I stand on the White House balcony with my heart pounding, lips still tingling from the taste of my woman, hard as a motherfucker. And I start to laugh.