And sure, did I cross the line? Of course, but to be fair, this was the goal, right? To push him as far as he can go? And, well, I did that last night.
I’m just glad I didn’t drag my sheets down like I wanted to. With him staring at me last night, I was seconds away from inviting him into my bed. And from the way his sweatpants clung to his bulge, I know he would have taken me up on the opportunity.
But once again, maybe it was too far. Talking about Patty Ford’s nipples while his hand was on his cock, yeah, that was crossing the line.
Coming in front of him, very much crossing the line.
The good thing is, the mission is accomplished, right? Teaching him a lesson and all. Now, where the hell do I go from here?
I’m supposed to talk to him this morning about his trip and what I should be doing for him while he’s gone. Do I go in all casual, as if nothing happened last night?
Do I ride in with a handful of apologies?
Do I drop down to my knees and ask for forgiveness . . . and maybe something else?
Or do I bend over and tell him to punish me for my bad behavior?
I smile to myself as I pull my sweater over my head. I can only imagine what he’d do if I bent over in front of him.
Chuckling, I slip on my slippers just as my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Thinking it might be Levi, I reach for it quickly.
I sigh heavily and answer.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Wylie, what was that yesterday?”
“I’m great, Dad. Thanks for asking. How are you?” I ask with a roll of my eyes.
“I don’t have time for pleasantries. I repeat, what was that yesterday?”
“You should always have time for me,” I reply.
I can hear his growl through the phone. “Wylie, I have a busy day of packing and getting ready for tomorrow’s game. I don’t have much time for anything, so answer my question.”
“Well, I don’t understand your question, so how can I answer it?” I say as I sit on my bed.
“Yesterday, with Posey, you seemed . . . intimate. What was that?”
“It was me asking him a question,” I say. “There was nothing intimate about it besides how close he was standing, but that’s because it was loud out on the ice.”
“You were touching him.”
“Because he had something on his jersey. As his assistant, I need to make sure he looks the best that he can look.”
“So nothing is going on between the two of you? Because if there is, I can guarantee you right now, everything that we agreed upon will be revoked. This job will be taken away, you will owe me tuition payments, and you are on your own. I’ll not be fucked with. My players are off limits. You know that.”
Grinding my teeth together, I say, “Is that your true opinion about me, Dad? That I would just throw everything away, my chance at proving you wrong about me and my career path, over some guy?”
“I don’t know, Wylie. It seems to me like you’re throwing a lot away recently.”
I twist my lips to the side, trying not to lash out at him—because it won’t do anything. I’ve done it before, where I’ve yelled, trying to get my point across, but that only resulted in an angry father who doesn’t understand me. Someone who tells me that I’m disrespecting him by raising my voice.
So I hold back my temper and calmly say, “Nothing is going on between me and Levi. Absolutely nothing. I’m just doing my job and doing my job well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Without saying goodbye, I hang up on him and toss my phone on my bed.
I press my hands into my face and let out a disgruntled growl of frustration. And for the millionth time in my life, I ask the same questions that I’m sure I’ll never get answers to.
Why?
Why did my mom have to leave him?
Why did she have to leave me with him?
It’s not fair.
My entire life I’ve felt like I’ve had to walk on eggshells around him, judge his mood, and try to fall in line to avoid making his mood worse. He says he loves me, but this isn’t love. This isn’t how a parent should treat their child. I’ve watched Sandie with her parents, how they treat her. Parents are supposed to be loving and supportive.
And sure, yes, I’ve been messing around with Levi because I’m irritated with him for being a part of this master plan my dad constructed, but would I have crossed that line with him . . .
Maybe.
Now, will I?
No.
Fuck, no.
That’s a big fucking no and all because my dad thinks I have no willpower. That he believes instead of doing a job, I’m over here just fucking one of his players.
Well, my dad can fuck right off.
I stand and wipe at my watery eyes.
It’s fine, you’re fine, everything is fine.
I take a few deep breaths, straighten my shoulders, and then head down the hallway toward the kitchen to meet up with Levi.
This phone call was a good wake-up call. Last night was as well. He told me not to cross the line, so I won’t. I’m done messing with him. Now it’s time to focus on what really matters, and that’s making something of myself.
Not for my dad . . . but for me.
When I enter the kitchen, Levi is at the island with one of the many bagels I’ve purchased for him. He paired it with eggs to make a sandwich, and I’m grateful he’s eating it. So grateful that it nearly makes me cry. I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer of emotions this past week, so to see him eat that bagel, one that I’ve lost sleep over, well, it does something to me.
“Morning.” He studies me for a second before asking, “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I wipe at my eyes and move toward the fridge, where I grab a strawberry banana Naked Juice. I purchased some the other day, thinking that Levi might like them, but instead, I’ve been the single consumer.
“It doesn’t look like you’re fine,” he says.
I shut the fridge door and turn toward him. “How about we just talk about what you need from me and answer those questions from last night?”
He pushes away from the counter, looking confused as he sets his bagel sandwich down. “Whoa, why are you mad at me? I’m the one you disrupted last night.”
“I don’t care about what happened last night, Levi. I just want to get started on my day, okay?”
His brow creases as he wipes his fingers on his napkin. “Consider me confused because it seems like you’re mad at me, and I have no idea why. Is it because I didn’t knock on your door? Well, you didn’t fucking knock either.”
“Not everything has to do with you,” I say. “This isn’t about last night. Last night was stupid and a mistake, and yes, I crossed the line. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Now, can we talk about your suit?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but he does study me. I can see he wants to press and get to the bottom of my mood change, but thankfully, he moves past it. “Sure, what about my suit?”
Perfect. Revert to work. That’s what you’re here for anyway.
“Because you have such specific measurements, I wasn’t able to pick you up the blue velvet you wanted, but I did order it. Instead, I packed you a navy-blue suit for your trip, along with a maroon one and a black one. I paired them all with shirts, but no tie because I know you don’t enjoy wearing a tie. They also have matching shoes to go with them. You can wear the same shoes for the maroon and black. I packed navy-blue loafers for the blue suit. The macaroons you wanted are in the fridge, don’t forget them. I waited in a thirty-minute line just to order them. Your high-maintenance pretzels have been sorted, social media is ready to go for the rest of the week, and Blakely is sending me your game day shots so I can use them as well. I packed your backpack, but it’s up to you to put any snacks you might want, including the pretzels. While you’re gone, I’ll work on the list you gave me, but is there anything else you need before I leave?”
He stares at me, blankly. Almost shocked from the laundry list I just read out to him. If I’m honest, I’m impressed with myself. Proud of how I’ve adapted from college student to working as an assistant. Dad may never be proud of me—I’m still learning to accept that—but I can be proud of myself.
“Well?” I ask, crossing my arms now.
“Uh, no, I think that’s it.”
“Great, well I’m going to head out. Email or text. Good luck this week.”
And with that, I turn away from him and head down the hallway where I shut my door, flop on my bed . . . and cry.
LEVI
“What do you have there?”Halsey asks as he sits down next to me. “I didn’t think you read.”
“I don’t,” I say as I stare down at the book of Vermont that Wylie typed up for me. When I was packing my bag—after getting the rundown from her—I decided to include the book of Vermont out of guilt. She did work hard on it, so I might as well try to read it.
“Are you planning a trip to Vermont?” Halsey asks.
“Nope,” I say, looking down at the book and the bridge image she chose for the cover.
“Okay, then what’s with the book?”
I look up at Halsey and say, “Can’t a fucking guy just want to read a book without getting the tenth degree from another man?”
Halsey blinks a few times. “Uh, a guy can read a book, but you looked tense so that’s why I came over here. The others volunteered me because there was a book in front of you, and they were worried.”
I glance toward the back of the airplane, where Pacey, Hornsby, Taters, and OC are all craning their necks to see what’s happening.
“Tell them I’m fine, and I don’t need them worrying about me.” I reach into my backpack and pull out my Tupperware of unbroken pretzels.
“Well, it seems like—”
“I said I’m fine,” I say tersely, startling Halsey.
He holds up his hands. “Okay, if you think you’re fine, then you’re fine. But you know, if you want to talk about anything, we’re here for you.”
“Thank you, Danny Tanner, now please be gone. I need to read my book.” I shoo him with my hand and then open to the first page.
Halsey scoots away and I’m left in peace with some fine literature.
The first thing I’d like to note about this book is that the Arial font is quite pleasing to the eye, so I’m not mad about that.
I kind of wish there were more pictures, but I made her rewrite the whole thing so how can I be mad about that?
I flip through the first few pages, taking it in. How did she type all this in a few days? She must have magic Mavis Beacon fingers that fly across the keyboard at 100 words per minute. I mean look at this, all lined up and . . .