Page 29 of So This Is War
Subject: Your List
Don’t fuck this up, Posey.
Aside from regular tasks like social media, retrieving your food, arranging your calendar, and being at your beck and call, here are a few tasks you need to give her this week:
Hand her a copy of a book. I don’t care what book, but give her a copy of it. Tell her you don’t like the font it’s written in, and have her type it out in a different font. Yes, have her type up the entire book, word for word. Tell her you want it in a week for your away trip to the Northeast.
Spill something on your floor. Don’t care what it is. But make it disgusting. Tell her she needs to clean it up and make it seem like it was never there.
Ask her to get you ten pounds of Skittles. The Skittles must be divided into colors and placed in separate jars. But you want more reds than any other color. At least half a jar more.
Have her purchase you fifty number two pencils. Have her sharpen them just enough so they’re pointed but not too much where they’re splintering. Use them as a decoration for a day and then have her donate them to a local school, but she must receive a receipt for the donation.
Text her in the middle of the night that you need something, anything. Make her get it for you.
After each task, I expect you to take a picture and inform me that it’s been completed. Do not let her off the hook. Don’t let her skate by. I want you to make her life a living hell, got it?
And don’t forget the rules. Don’t forget why you’re doing this. And mainly, don’t forget that she’s completely off limits.
Your worst nightmare if you mess this up,
Coach Wood
I siton the edge of my couch, fully showered, dressed, and ready for the day as I count down the minutes until Wylie arrives.
Sleep was nonexistent last night, and not because the gash above my eye was throbbing, but because I couldn’t fucking believe that Coach Wood’s daughter is the woman I’ve been searching for. She fucking knew who I was and didn’t say anything. She played it off like she didn’t even know the sport of hockey existed.
And then just ditched me. Why?
I have so many questions and annoyed emotions over the situation that I’m trying to calm myself before she shows up so I don’t explode on her. I feel like I’ll pace the room angrily at anymoment, demanding why she didn’t come looking for me when she knew who I was. I know she enjoyed that kiss.
So why did she bolt?
I push my hand through my hair and stand from the couch.
Get it together, man.
Forget about that night. It’s in the past.
Because now my coach has me by the balls, and one slip-up could cost me. I wouldn’t put it past Coach Wood to fuck with me if I screw this up.
I head toward the kitchen to grab a drink when my phone beeps in my pocket. Maybe it’s Wylie, and she’s changed her mind. Maybe she decided to go back to school rather than be my assistant. All would be right in the world.
Wouldn’t that be fucking great?
I take my phone out of my pocket and see that it’s a text from OC.
OC:So . . . are you going to share with the group how your meeting with the new assistant went?
And this is exactly why you don’t get involved in your friends’ lives because then they think they can treat you the same way. My buddies, they’re what I like to call incompetent nitwits when it comes to women. Granted, I’m still learning about OC, but from what I can tell about what’s going on between him and Grace, he’ll fall in the line of incompetency along with the rest.
My phone beeps with more texts.
Here we go . . .
Pacey:Wait, what assistant?
Eli:Coach Wood assigned his daughter to be Posey’s assistant.
