So This Is War (Vancouver Agitators, #5)

by Meghan Quinn

To bring you up to speed, yes, I was fucking his daughter. Yes, it was in the locker room. Yes, it was out in the open where anyone could walk in. Was it stupid? Absolutely. Have I lost my mind? One hundred percent. Do I have any defense? Not one. Nope, this was pure stupidity. This was a move by a desperate man brought to his knees. A weak man. A man with no morals.

A man infatuated with a woman he can’t control himself around.

“Then he’s benched,” Wood says as he looks me in the eyes, nostrils flaring. “Did you hear that, you bologna-loving motherfucker? You’re benched.”

Nope, this will take a monumental, epic proposal of apologies, especially if I want to stay on this team. Which I do. My boys are here. My life is here. She’s here . . . Which means I need a plan. But I swore I wouldn’t get them involved. I said over and over again that I wouldn’t use their idiotic advice or poorly constructed ideas, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s time to call on the Frozen Fellas.

“Severely dehydrated. If the clock strikes twelve without me replenishing my body’s fluids, I very well might turn into dust.” “Sounds like a Cinderella knockoff story to me,” I reply. “But instead of a glass slipper falling off, it’s a jockstrap that no one can fit in besides me.”

“Because you’re a redhead, and redheads make my blood boil in a good, heart-racing way. You also have amazing tits. And when I got closer, I saw how light your eyes were and was captivated. No one else in this room was worth my time compared to you.”

“Can’t whip out my cock for you in public, so you’re going to have to take my word for it, but you can look at my feet and make your own assessment.”

“But I said I wanted to come on your cock, not your tongue.” “You act as if you’ve only come once in a night.” “What if I have?” I ask. “Then you need to spend the night with me, baby, because you aren’t coming just once. Guaran-fucking-tee.”

I knock on my dad’s office door and take a bite of my bologna sandwich. Whoever’s bologna this is, it’s freaking good. It’s my third one this week.

All these assholes are head over heels, living in their lover era, because of me.

When I reach his door, I give it a knock only for him to yell, “Get your ass in here.” Yup, dick is completely shriveled. I’m in trouble. Is this a baby mama situation? Please no, please no baby mamas. I’m not ready for diapers and bottles. I’m still as immature as a twelve-year-old.

“And most importantly, rule number five. Under no circumstances will you have any sort of physical contact with my daughter.” “What do you mean⁠—” “Fucking her. You will not fuck her, Posey.” “Ahh . . .” I smile. “Well, no worries there. Pretty sure if she looks anything like you, there will be no need for rule number five.”

The girl I hired a fucking private investigator to find. That’s how goddamn desperate I was.

“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?”

“If you need to scream in private, I’m going to hear it, so you might as well just do it now.” “Right.” I take a deep breath right before a full-on shiver takes over my body from the tips of my toes to the roots of the hair on top of my head and I let out an ear-piercing squeal that echoes through the quaint space. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Well, maybe if I do a good job as your assistant, you’ll bake me something one day.” She shuts the cabinet door. Bake something for her? Hell, I would like to bake with her. Both of us wearing nothing but aprons.

I tried to get him into The Mighty Ducks franchise, but he wasn’t having any of it.” “What?” I ask, shocked. “Not a fan of Gordon Bombay?” “Not even a little. Nor was he a fan of the flying V.” “Oh bullshit,” I say. “We have a very similar play to the flying V. Maybe he’s a secret fan, and you don’t know it.

“Dear Jesus, Posey, just tell us what’s going on,” Penny shouts. “Right.” I take a deep breath and say, “I want to fuck my coach’s daughter.”

Finally, Blakely leans toward Penny and says, “See, I told you it would be good.”

“It’s a semi,” I reply. Blakely makes a gagging expression. “Hey,” I say. “That’s offensive. I’ll have you know, I have a nice penis. It might not be pierced like Silas’s or a girthy cannon like Halsey’s, or a baby maker like Eli’s or . . . whatever Pacey has, but it’s nice.”

Penny: The cake on that man. I nearly fainted into my own vagina from how turned on I was. Blakely: Fainting into the vagina, that’s on point with what they’d say. Levi: Can you really bend that far? Penny: Posey! Focus!

Levi: CAN WE FOCUS ON ME!

Blakely: Right, we’re here to support bologna boy.

Winnie: What about this, this is going to sound like a Friends episode, but she doesn’t know that you know she knows, which means . . .

Levi: Hold on a second . . . to quote Friends, the messer becomes the messee?

Penny: All in favor of voting Posey out. Say aye. Winnie: Aye! Blakely: Aye. Ollie: Aye. Levi: WAIT! Don’t vote me out. I’m sorry! I never should have blamed you. I see where I went wrong and take full responsibility for my mistakes. Please, please don’t leave me out here alone with no direction. I’m in over my head, and I need you.

Ollie: I appreciate the ability he has to quickly admit when he’s wrong. Winnie: It would have been nice if he called himself pathetic in the apology. Blakely: I agree with that. An insult to himself would have been the icing on the cake.

Levi: I’m a pathetic little man. Please don’t leave me. < - - that better?

“Jessica’s not your type?” I ask, flabbergasted. “I feel like she’s everyone’s type.” “Not mine,” he says. “Is that so? Then what is your type?” I ask. He stands and sticks his hands in his pockets. He looks down at me and says, “I’m staring at it.”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you at the bar that one night. I’ve always wanted you, Levi.”

I have never begged a woman for anything, so I seriously hope she doesn’t ignore my plea.

“Wylie?” “Yes?” she asks, pausing and turning toward me. “You’re mine.” She smirks again. “I know, Levi.”

I can’t please others for the benefit of their comfort and at the expense of my discomfort.

Penny: I don’t know how to respond to this. Ollie: I do. Take a video! Winnie: My God, Ollie! Blakely: And I’m deleting this thread now. Bye.

“You own me, Wylie.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “You fucking own me.”

And here I thought I’d be at war with this girl forever,

I won the battle. I won the best prize of all time.

I get to call Wylie Wood mine and share the rest of my life with...