Page 23 of So This Is War
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 myscarycoach’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 emptiesher 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. Iwantedyou. 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.”
