So This Is War (Vancouver Agitators, #5)

by Meghan Quinn

“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.”

“No, not for fun,” he says. “I play hockey.” “Oh, that’s nice,” I reply. “In like a middle-aged men’s league?” “Middle-aged?”

Second, I’ve glanced at your delicious tits four times. Each time I’ve looked, you were looking away. To prove it, you’re not wearing a bra right now, and I know that not because of the obvious split down your shirt but because both your nipples are pebbling against the thin gold fabric barely being held together by a string.”

“Was I your first choice when you came down here?” “Yes,” he answers. “How do I know you’re not lying?” “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.”

He returns his hand to my leg. “What else?” “I prefer a large dick.” His brow lifts again because a naughty smile passes over his lips. “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.” I bend at the waist and glance at one of his feet . . . one of his extremely large feet. My mouth goes dry from the thought of how that could translate into so much more.

“And if I told you I wanted to come on your cock, would you try to get me to come on your tongue first?” “Yes,”

“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.”

he holds the record for most goals in Agitators history and has the girthiest dick on the team. We’re talking a thick motherfucker that scared me once in the shower.

Are you seeing a trend here? All these assholes are head over heels, living in their lover era, because of me.

“Good.” He clasps his hands together. “I need you to teach my daughter a lesson.” “You have a daughter? When did that happen?” “Twenty-two years ago.”

Although I do excel at meddling. Perhaps I can offer you some help in that regard.”

Be respectful, as this is my daughter, but make her life hell.”

“There will be no fucking her. No touching her. Don’t even look at her if you can avoid it.” I make a check mark in the air with my finger. “Got it. No plans to go anywhere near your daughter. There will be no touching, no sexual encounters, completely and utterly platonic.”

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.

“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’ve never found a woman as attractive to me as she is. She checks all my fucking boxes. Every single one of them.

“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 being said”—he clears his throat—“I’m insanely attracted to you, and I’m not saying that as a pickup line. I’m putting it out there because I’m massively uncomfortable with this setup.”

So, to conclude, call me Levi, I have nice balls, and I manscape.”

“Wouldn’t that just be fantastic,” she says. “Imagine the accolades we could win by not being awkward but rather rip-roaring professionals. People around us might be so impressed that they write to the Foreign Press. Tell them there needs to be an award made just for us.”

But I’m not the group bookworm. I’m the kinky one—not that any of them know that. The only books I have are stuffed in my nightstand on how to properly tie a woman, and I’m not about to have her type up one of those.

When it comes to Wylie Wood, I’m in a whole lot of trouble.

She got me the Charlie Brown version of a fiddle leaf fig tree, not the monstrous, girthy log of a tree I expected.

I figured one a night because I wasn’t sure how long you could go⁠—” “All night,” I say, that irritation clawing up me once again. “I can go all fucking night.” With a surprised expression, she says, “Oh, good for you. With your age, I wasn’t sure what your stamina was like.”

I shake my head. “No, they want to battle? Well, this is war now. My dad wants to teach me a lesson? Well, I’m going to teach him one. That lesson being don’t mess with me.”

“Do you need me to take off your sweats too, or can you handle that? I can get on my knees and remove them for you.” “No,” he says loudly. “I can, uh, I can do that.” But he doesn’t move.

If he’s not, then sleeping with him is going to be a no, thank you. If that’s flaccid Posey penis, then it’s not fitting in me, that’s for damn sure.

This is what modern-day hell would be. This right here. Sharing a living space—not sure how that happened when I specifically told her to stick to her room—with a girl who apparently doesn’t own any bras. Oh wait, no, that’s not correct. She does own bras, but they tie into a bow in the front and with one tug . . . breasts. Pretty sure that’s how she put it.

“Hold on . . .” I take a deep breath, trying to make sure my voice doesn’t come out shaky. “You . . . you like bologna sandwiches?” “Love them,” she answers with a smile. Mother. Of. Fuck.

“Are you sure? Because it seems like something’s bothering you.” You! You are bothering me, you beautiful, magnificent, bologna-eating wench.

“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.”

“Wow, a tattooed penis. Never would have guessed the guy who eats bologna likes a tattooed dick.”

Wylie Wood is perfect in just about every way.

“You going to call her?” He rubs his hand along his jaw and shakes his head. “Not my type.” “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.” With that, he heads back toward the middle of the plane, leaving me in utter disarray. Because who says that and walks away? Levi Posey, that’s who.

“Not true, you just said it. Female genitalia. Wow, nothing makes me harder than calling a delicious pussy the female genitalia. Talk about a turn-on.” “Delicious?” I ask, brows raised. “Oh yeah, love eating a good pussy.” Dear God in heaven. I squeeze my legs together as I clear my throat. “Well, that’s new information.” “One of my favorite things to eat,” he continues. “If it was on the menu, I would have ordered it.” Then he looks at me with those devilish eyes and says, “Maybe for dessert.” He winks, and I quickly rise from the table. His eyes track my jerky movements.

And I like her especially like this. No makeup, hair in a messy bun, casual. She looks cuddly and like I could wrap my entire body around her to keep her warm and protected.

This is my element. This is what I love. Debauchery. I love everything about it. I love watching others. I love hearing others. I love touching others. And from the way Levi glances around . . . he loves it too.

“Because I want you,” I say before I can stop myself. “I want you, Levi, for myself. So please, please don’t do anything with her. It will . . .” I choke out the last few words. “It will gut me.”

“Because I wanted you to crack. I wanted you to admit that you want this, that you want me.” My hand runs up his chest, and I say, “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you at the bar that one night. I’ve always wanted you, Levi.”

“Oh my God,”

He smirks.

“I need you in my...

“Levi, please. Can we just take a second before we start claiming what happened was a mistake?” Now it’s my turn for my brow to crease. “What do you mean a mistake?” I ask. “I don’t think any of that was a mistake.” “You don’t?”

“Levi, you’re risking a lot.” “Worth it,” I say.

“I love bologna sandwiches,” she whispers. “So do I,” I whisper back. “That’s how I know we’re meant to be together.”

She pauses me. “Are you serious about this?” “Never been more serious about anything,” I say. “I want you, Wylie. All of you. I want to spoil you and show you that I’m the man you deserve. Let me do that. Give me a chance.”

I pull away for a moment. “Play with your tits, Wylie. I want you coming in less than thirty seconds. Got it?”

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

“And I realize that you could have any girl you wanted and⁠—” “And I want you,” he says as he moves across the bed and tugs on my hand, helping me join him in bed. “I want you, Wylie.”

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Levi, you’re . . . you’re too big.” “No, baby, take me. Take all of me.”