Chapter Twelve
WYLIE
The smell of fresh soap floats through the air as the tiniest sliver of light shines down on my face. Slowly, I open my eyes as there’s a clunk sound followed by a “fuck” coming from the other room.
Where the hell am I?
A scratchy, uncomfortable blanket rubs against my bare back as I shift up, and that’s when I realize I’m topless.
I quickly lie back down on the bed and take in my surroundings.
Hotel room.
Bed.
Topless.
Oh God. The massage last night.
Did I fall asleep?
I look around and see that the bed I’m lying on has been untouched. I glance behind me and notice the cot has been slept in.
No.
No. No. No.
He slept on the cot last night? This is humiliating.
I quickly sit up and find my tank top that’s on the bed as well. I slip it over my head and then push my hair out of my face as I stand. Unsure of what to do, I move around in circles for a second just as the bathroom door opens, flooding the room in light.
Levi steps out in a low-slung towel, droplets of water dripping down his impressive chest, all the way to the deep V in his hips and the smallest patch of hair just above his pubic bone. His pecs flex and bounce when he stops, noticing me just standing in the middle of the room, and when our eyes meet, the slightest of smirks crosses his lips.
“Morning,” he says while moving around me, his fresh soap scent making me feel delirious.
“G-good morning,” I offer while I push my hair behind my ear. “Um, I’m sorry about last night.”
“What are you sorry about?” he asks as he dips into his suitcase and pulls out a pair of briefs.
“Falling asleep while you massaged me.”
He turns his back toward me, and then, to my utter shock, he releases his towel, baring his tight, sculpted rear end to me.
Mother of God.
Two things happen simultaneously.
My legs clench together from the sight of such a perfect rear end and my eyes squeeze shut in horror.
Oh my God, that’s his bare ass.
His bare ass that I want to touch.
Rub.
Bite.
And he just so freely offered it up to me.
Why? Why would he do such a thing?
He turns around and picks up his towel, his playful eyes landing on me. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve fallen asleep while getting massaged before.” He walks by me, and in passing, he tips my chin up, only for his forearm to graze against my breast, causing my nipples to go hard.
Trying to gain control of the way my body’s buzzing, I say, “But you slept on the cot.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t ideal,” he says from the bathroom. “But I survived. Probably a good thing. I needed the punishment after such a shit game.” He pops out of the bathroom, grasping the lotion we used last night. He holds it out to me and says, “Think you can lotion my shoulder blades for me? They’ve been feeling dry, and it’s hard to reach them.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” I say as I walk up to his towering body. I take the lotion from him, squirt it in my hand, and then place my hand on his warm back. His muscles jolt under my touch, and I have to take a few calming breaths to avoid getting excited over the fact I’m touching him.
No, not just touching him, but rubbing him.
Would he be mad if I rubbed him all over? Down his chest, to his stomach . . . under his briefs?
Maybe he wants me to lotion his legs too.
Possibly a full-body experience?
I’m not opposed.
“Thanks. Sometimes in the winter with wearing all the protective gear, my shoulders and back can get super dry. I usually ask one of the boys to help me, but they hate it.”
“Well, I’ll rub lotion on you anytime, anywhere you want,” I say, the words sounding far too desperate. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I have honestly never been this close to a man so well built. I’ve seen pictures of men like this, but right now, I’m touching one.
“And that’s why you’re a good assistant,” he says when I finish up, sad that I don’t get to touch him anymore. When he turns around, he smiles down at me, and for a moment, I feel like he’s going to reach out and touch me, cup my face, and bring me in close to his chest. Maybe tell me how much he wants a repeat of our first night. “Think you can grab me some coffee?”
Poof. Just like that, I’m knocked right out of the fantasy and back to reality.
“Umm, yes,” I say, blinking a few times. “What kind of coffee do you want?”
“The boys were talking about a place about twenty minutes away. Do you mind? I can’t go out, or else I’ll be taunted, and after last night, I’m not in the mood.”
“Yeah, I can do that. Just let me take a quick shower—”
“Yeah, you don’t have time for that,” he says. “We leave in an hour and a half and still have to pack. Grabbing the coffee will take you at least fifty minutes, so you should probably get going now.”
“Right, okay,” I say. “Let me just grab a sweatshirt to put over my shirt and go to the bathroom.”
“Tick-tock, Wylie.”
My easygoing attitude quickly flashes to annoyance, but he doesn’t seem to care as he takes a seat on the bed, kicks his feet up, wearing nothing but his briefs, and picks up the book I got him about Washington. “Pictures are great in this.”
Right. You’re his assistant.
Don’t get caught up in him.
Or the tasks.
Or the irritation.
Get the job done and work on yourself.
To saymy morning was chaotic is an understatement.
After I sprinted across town to get some coffee that was average at best, I flew into his room with him still in his briefs, but this time on his phone watching highlights. He thanked me for the coffee and then told me that I had to pack for him and we were leaving in fifteen minutes.
So I took the quickest shower of my life, packed myself, and then packed him while he slowly dressed into one of the sweatsuits I got him.
And do you know what’s really annoying about that?
He looked fucking good in it.
Like, really good. The sweatshirt didn’t cover his butt, so his high and tight rear end was shapely represented by the sweatpants. And since the sweatpants were a jogger fit, his ankles showed against the white of his shoes, which hit me hard for some reason.
It was hot.
Very hot.
So hot that I grew incredibly irritated with him and stopped talking while I finished packing.
In silence, we walked to the player bus, and I climbed on, sitting in the front with the staff, where I stared out the window. I thought about texting Sandie, but I didn’t want to get into what happened last night.
Why did he even want to massage me? Because he felt bad? Well, he didn’t have to take matters into his own hands. And why did I say yes? Because I’m desperate for the man? Because I wanted to feel his strong hands on my skin? Because I was possibly hoping that it would have turned into so much more?
That’s probably the reason.
And I know better than that. It can’t turn into anything. I can’t get distracted, and that’s exactly what’s going on.
I’ve put the logo design for Patty Ford on hold despite the entry form closing soon. I can’t seem to find the right font for what I need, and instead, I’ve been sketching on my iPad in Procreate, just having fun and playing with the techniques I’ve learned in my classes. I really enjoy just . . . drawing.
It kept me busy while on the plane ride to Chicago as well.