He lightly moves my hair across my cheeks, his fingers skimming the sensitive flesh, and then behind my ear. Stunned, I look up at him as a wave of goosebumps erupts on my body.
Leaning in slightly, he says, “We’d acquire a stool. I’d strip down to nothing, and then I’d prop one leg up on the stool as if it was a rock and I was claiming what’s mine. My balls and dick would proudly be on display. If I were erect or not would be up to you. Either way, my package would be handsome to draw.”
I clear my throat. “Wow, that’s quite the image. What, uh, what would I do with this drawing?”
“Give it to me of course so I can hang it above my fireplace. Is there really any other way to honor the masterpiece?”
“How do you know it would be a masterpiece?” I ask. “What if I make your dick too small and your balls too large?”
“Nothing is too large.”
“Two soccer balls dangling between your legs isn’t too large?” I ask.
“Never.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “What a load of crap.”
“Art is interpretation, Wylie. If you choose to draw two soccer balls or two dingleberries, that’s up to you. It’s up to me to decipher that choice and analyze it.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on drawing you, so we don’t have to leave you to decipher anything.”
He sighs. “Shame, I was looking forward to soccer ball testicles.”
I shrug. “I guess you can’t have it all.”
He smiles at me. “I guess not.”
“Mr. Posey?” We both turn to see Jessica standing in the aisleway. “Is there anything I can offer you? We land in about thirty minutes, and I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Does he look uncomfortable, Jessica?
Does he look like he needs you to offer anything?
Does he seem to be pained in any way?
The answer is no, no . . . and no. So begone.
“I’m good, but thanks, Jessica. I appreciate it.”
“Of course, anytime.” And with that, she walks down the aisle and tends to some of the other players.
Levi brings his attention back to me, and I can’t help myself when I say, “Are you going to call her?”
He lifts one brow in a quizzical way. “How do you know I have her number?”
“The other flight attendant, Giselle, told me when she asked if my dad was single.”
“She wants to go out with Coach Wood?” he whispers and looks toward the front of the plane. “In all the years he’s been my coach, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him even look at a woman.”
“I haven’t seen him glance at a woman either since my mom left either. I think he’s dead inside when it comes to romance.”
“What did you say to Giselle?” he asks, more invested in this than I thought he’d be.
“She could go for it, but I wasn’t giving her a lot of hope.”
Glancing toward the front of the plane again, he asks, “Does he even understand what a date is?”
“At this point, I think he considers the term date more of something he eats to help with constipation rather than an opportunity for conversation and a meal.”
Levi lets out a roar of a laugh, and the sound travels through me, all the way down to my toes, warming me up.
“Please tell me he eats dates for constipation.”
“Are you really interested in my dad’s bowel movements?”
“Oddly, yes. Anything to give me that edge when he’s yelling at me, spittle flying off his lips and right onto my eyeball.”
“Has that happened?” I ask.
“Several times. So give me the goods. Does he have a secret stash of dates when he has a sicky belly of poop?”
I flinch in disgust. “Please, don’t refer to it as that.”
He chuckles. “Well . . .”
I twist my lips to the side, pretending to give it some thought, then I lean closer to him and say, “He has a date every morning and night to stay regular.”
“Is this before or after he blesses his underwear?”
I grin. “Before.”
“Good to know.” He nods.
“What about Jessica?” I ask, bringing it back to the conversation he clearly avoided.
“What about her?”
“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.
“So,couldn’t splurge for the extra room again?” I ask as I stare at the cot in his hotel room.
“Told you I need you close in case I need anything.”
When we arrived in Chicago, we went straight to the arena. Dad wanted to carve some time out for them to warm up their legs, get some motion into them, and visit with the trainers for any treatment needed. Levi was there longer than I expected, which gave me time to catch up on his social media. Once I began posting, I realized just how much work it is to keep up with all the comments and responses. I don’t comment on them, but I like to see what people are saying so I can continue giving them the Levi content they want.
He also had me run a few errands, like grabbing him some bologna for the game tomorrow and for a snack today.
I watched him stuff a sandwich in his mouth with three bites. It was equally impressive and disgusting.
He sets his suitcase to the side and takes a look at his watch. “Fuck, I’m hungry. Want to grab something to eat?”
“Uh, I mean, yes, but do you want to eat with your assistant? Not with your guys?”
“They’re all doing other things.” He takes a step forward and tugs on my hand. “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”
My mouth goes dry.
“When you say it like that, it looks like we’re going to dinner.”
“Good decision.” Once again, he pushes some hair behind my ear. “Let’s go.”
I swallow down the nerves scattering through me and grab my wallet and phone from my bag, and together, we head down the elevator to the hotel restaurant.
While we wait for a table, he says, “Feels full circle, doesn’t it?”
I look up at him. “Are you referring to the first night we met?”
“Yup.” He reaches up and twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “Although, I doubt you’ll be palming my dick tonight.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva as the hostess comes back. With two menus in hand, she directs us toward a two-person table right next to a fireplace.
Very romantic.
Very intimate.
Very not what I was hoping for.
I’m trying to keep this professional.
I’m trying to make sure I keep my hands to myself.
But it’s as if something has switched in his head.
The touches.
The comments.
The dripping-wet body in a barely-there towel.
It’s almost as if the roles have reversed, and he’s taunting me.
Levi pulls my chair out before he takes his seat. We’re facing each other with the fire on the right, brimming with flames and casting a glow on us as the hostess sets down our menus.
“Jared will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Levi says, scanning the menu. “Hmm, I’m in the mood for a burger. What about you?” He glances up at me, and I find myself staring, confused that he can be so casual about this.
Glancing down at the menu, I try to rid my thoughts and not be awkward about this. “Umm, I’m kind of feeling a pasta dish.”
“Interesting. I thought you’d get a burger as well.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. “Think I like copying you, and I don’t have a mind of my own?” I use a teasing tone so he doesn’t think I’m serious.
“No, just seems like you like a lot of meat in your mouth.”
My jaw falls open as I stare at him blankly.
He chuckles. “Burger meat, Wylie.”
“That is so not what you meant, and you know it.”
He smirks. “Take it as you will.”
“Well, for your information, I like carbs, so therefore, it will be a pasta dish for me. This primavera looks good.”
He scratches the side of his head. “Or do I want tacos? I love a taco in my mouth.”
“There aren’t tacos . . .” I pause and look up at his grinning face. “Why are you the way that you are?” I ask.
“Why do I like tacos? Well—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I meant . . . never mind.” I shake my head.
“Do you not like tacos?”
“No, I like tacos,” I say, “but I know tacos aren’t really what you’re talking about.”
He leans back in his chair. “And what exactly am I talking about?”
“You’re talking about the vagina—”
“Uh, I can come back.”