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  “What are you doing in here?” My voice comes out hoarse. I don’t like that she’s in here. Sitting in my chair. Her hands fondle a pearl necklace hanging low along her collarbone, her silk shirt unbuttoned lower than it should be for a work setting or my wandering mind.

  “I was waiting for you, Levi. I can’t deny us. I need you inside me again.” Her words stroke me, as if her soft hands are wrapped around my hardening cock. I wipe the beaded sweat off my brow and pull away from the door. I walk closer to her, needing to get her out of here.

  “There is no us. You need to leave.” My statement holds no truth. I don’t want her to leave. I want her to stay and allow me to unbutton each button on her blouse until her perfect breasts are in view and my mouth is around her hard nipples. I walk over to her, ready to lift her and drag her out if need be. She stands to meet me, and I go to grab for her hands when she reaches out and her blouse falls open. Her white lace bra peeks through, her breasts on full display.

  “Touch me, Levi. I need to feel you on me again.”

  God, she tempts me. But I can’t. I need to deny her. Stay away from her. “No.” My voice is barely a whisper. And though I say the word, my hands push her blouse off her shoulders, and my feet move without permission. I’m so close to her, the heat from her small, taunt body warms me. “We can’t do this,” I say one last time before dipping down and putting my mouth to hers. I want to be gentle, but I can’t. I need her. Bad. I lift her up, placing her on the top of my desk. My lips haven’t left hers as I finesse her mouth, parting her full lips with my tongue. Her hands work my belt and zipper, finding their way inside my pants. I groan as her fingers wrap around my hard cock and stroke me. God, her touch is amazing. I moan into her mouth, lifting my hands up her ribs toward her perky breasts. She squeezes my cock as she works me faster. I can’t help it, but I buck forward, thrusting my hips, fucking her hand. As I lift my hands to her breasts, she stops. “Hands to yourself, Levi.” Her words confuse me, but I stop and she brings her attention back to my dick. This is complete heaven. Her other hand dips in, grabs my balls, and softly squeezes.

  “Fuck,” I moan, bringing my hands down and grabbing her sultry smooth thighs. I need to see how wet she is. But when I slide my hands up her thighs, she stops. “Hands to yourself, Levi,” she says again. Shit. I need to touch her. Suck on her. Fuck her. She strokes me again, harder and faster. I’m so close. I need…need…

  “Let me touch you, baby. Let me show you how much I want you,” I plead, taking her mouth and roughly kissing her. Small pants leave her lips, and I come undone. I release her lips, my eyes moving to her breasts and the way they bounce as her hand works me. Fuck, I don’t care what she says, I need my hands on her. Inside her. As I’m about to blow, I shove my fingers up her skirt without invitation, reaching for her wet sex. Before I make it to her cunt, her words echo in my ear, “Hands to yourself, Levi…”

  I shoot up in bed, the tightness in my stomach almost painful. Trying to catch my breath, I survey my surroundings. I’m in my room. My bed. Alone. I wipe the sweat off my face and notice I have a boner harder than a cement fucking brick.

  “Fuck,” I groan, raking my hands down my face. What the fuck was that? I take in the time. It’s almost four in the morning. I throw myself back onto my mattress and stare at the ceiling. I have to be broken. I can’t keep doing this. Fucking fantasizing about Hannah. I throw the covers off my waist and get up in search of my running gear, aware sleep is a thing of the past.

  Three miles later, and the dream of her still hasn’t waned. Maybe agreeing to be her mentor was a bad idea. I wanted answers, maybe a bit of revenge, but all it seems to be doing is blowing up in my face. Having her so close, for so long, it’s torment. Even when she’s not around, she’s still affecting me.

  My mind goes back to yesterday. Lunch at Savino’s panned out to be a great time. A family staple for the Matthews’ and the best damn pizza around. Jim and Hannah went back and forth sharing stories, and I sat back, enjoying their father/daughter banter. There’s no doubt how much Jim loves his daughter, how much she idolizes him. I found myself more relaxed than I’ve been in a while, listening to their stories, watching Hannah devour a slice of pizza, taking bites way bigger than her slender month could chew. Even after some time, I found myself chiming in with old memories of when we were all kids and went camping together.

  One in particular came to mind. Kip and I were sixteen, and Hannah was going on eight. The Matthews’ went on camping trips all the time to the same small town of Kettersville. The summer had been hotter than normal, and we were lucky to find a camping spot that had a lake.

  We’re all in our suits, ready to jump into the lake, when Hannah walks out in a bright yellow swimsuit. It barely fits her since she’s so tiny. Chase being Chase, his eyes light up, seeing the opportunity to pick on her.

  “Geez, what is that, a walking banana? Can we peel you too, Hannah?” Chase laughs, smacking Ben in the stomach to play along.

  “I didn’t know bananas liked to swim,” Ben jokes, adding to Chase’s banter.

  Hannah simply walks past us all, ignoring everyone’s jokes. She drops her yellow towel on the dock and begins spreading it out.

  “Hey, Hannah Banana, be careful, you might be mistaken and eaten by a wild animal.”

  That gets her. Her eyes widen, and she turns to face us, dread swimming in her eyes. “You lie. Your nose is growing, Chase Stinkberg.” Ben and I burst out laughing at her rebuke, but it only frustrates Chase more.

  “Not lying, Hannah Banana. Don’t you know there are tons of bears in the wild? Don’t get me started on the fish and hungry water creatures living in the lake. Once they set their eyes on you, you’re a goner.” Chase laughs harder as her eyes fill with fear. It’s not as funny as it was when it was simple banter. I actually feel bad for her.

  “Liar!” she yells at Chase, bending down to pick up her towel. She whips around, sticking her chin up in defiance to stop her tears from falling. She walks past us all, and Chase reaches out, trying to snatch her towel.

  “Hands to yourself, Chase. You might find your fingers missing from a hungry banana biting them off.” Chase lets go of her towel, shocked at her bold statement. We watch Hannah pick up the pace before she begins a full sprint back to the camp, passing Kip along the way.

  I take a cold shower and dress for work. It’s not a bad thing to get in early since I have a lot of briefs to read through for the Miller lawsuit, one of the biggest cases I’ve landed since starting at the law firm. If I nail this one, it can mean a big promotion in the company, therefore, I’ve invested all my time and energy into it. Not that the case doesn’t deserve it. Some asshole construction company scammed their way into building on land unsuitable for construction, resulting in the deaths of too many innocent people without taking any responsibility. It’s messed up what kind of people are out there, and it’s all just another reason why I chose to become a lawyer—to help stop every one of them.

  Since lunch had gone longer than planned, a shit ton of work piled up. Even though it had been with the boss, it didn’t eliminate everything that still needed to be done.

  Aside from my own workload, I never got to finish all the tasks I had planned for Hannah. By the time we got back to the office, it was past work hours and we were both wiped. Not to mention, I needed to get away from her. She wasn’t hiding the fact that she wanted nothing more to do with me, so when the time came, we went our separate ways, and that was that. I came home, drank more than I should have for a Monday night, and concentrated on watching football until I passed out.

  Now, Tuesday, I step off the elevator onto the quiet office, thankful no one’s here. These are the best times to get shit done and really focus. Some days I work, others I spend wondering how I got here. Deciding to become a lawyer had never been my plan. Football had always been my first choice. But the deeper I got into my football career, the more I questioned the sport. Would my future truly be about the love of th
e game or the perks and highlife? As I prepared for the career move of my life, I watched so many of my fellow teammates get hurt, the injuries completely taking their career right out from under them. Not that that should have swayed me; that was the risk of the game. A high intensity contact sport, you’re bound to get injured at some point. As friends got drafted into the NFL, I sat back with envy, waiting patiently for my turn. There was no doubt it was coming. I didn’t need to toot my own horn to know I was the best.

  My skepticism grew with every player who lost himself to the lifestyle. It was easy to let the spotlight get to you. The money, the fame. For so many, they lost sight of the game, and I hated that for them—and myself. The fear I would end up like that—drugs, women, reckless decisions leading to ruining my season and career—overwhelmed me. Then, one night, I got a call that a close friend and old teammate who’d recently been drafted was found dead from an overdose in a Miami hotel room, and I finally made up my mind.

  I wanted to play football. It’s what got me up every day. But I also wanted to stay true to myself. I was afraid to put all my eggs in one basket, scared I would get hurt and that would be that. So, when my agent approached me with a contract inviting me to play for a major NFL team, I turned it down. I stayed at college and finished out my football career there while majoring in political science. I wanted to make something of myself. And if it wasn’t going to be in football, it was going to be something greater. So, during my senior year, I applied for law school—something I’ll always be indebted to Jim Matthews for.

  Hannah wasn’t the only one who looked up to her father. Growing up, I loved listening while he spoke about his cases. It was like being in the theater, watching him put on a show with so much passion for each story he told. No case was too mediocre. They ranged anywhere from copyright infringement to spousal abuse, but he put so much emotion into each one. When his firm was first getting started, he did it all. But the more prominent his business became, the less he took on general cases and focused more on corporate law, while creating departments that handled other specific cases, like human rights, juridical, tax—you name it.

  Jim Matthews was the one person I chose to confide in when I’d been stuck at that fork in the road of my life and needed advice on how to handle my career. He dealt with small sports law cases and was able to break down all possible scenarios for me—if I got hurt, if I went pro, if I got traded. I would’ve still been able to go back and finish college, but at that rate, would I have wanted to? Getting a taste of the big league is hard to come back from. That’s when he asked me if I ever thought about becoming a lawyer. And in that moment, I said yes.

  I turn the corner and head toward my office when I hear soft mumbling. My steps slow as I make one more turn, finding Hannah, wrapped up in her jacket, already at her desk, flipping through notecards, muttering names and titles. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Tell me you haven’t been here all night playing memory with the company org chart.” Hannah lifts her head and barely registers my presence before sticking her nose back into her cards.

  “I’m prepping.”

  “For what, the name game?” I make it to her desk and look over her shoulder. Indeed, she has notecards with names, titles, contact info, and purpose for contact. I chuckle at how ridiculous that is, worrying she actually has been here all night with the amount of coffee cups already lined up on her desk.

  “It’s important to gauge the people you’re working with. Knowledge is power.” I laugh out loud. She’s seriously one of a kind. “See? Look. Braydon Connor.” She smiles, waving his personal notecard. “He already left me a message asking me if I need any advice on any new cases. Offered to sit with me and show me some of his litigation cases.”

  The mention of Braydon blackens my mood. That little shit has no business reaching out to Hannah. His litigation cases have nothing to do with what she’ll be handling. I snatch the card out of her hands and toss it in her trash. “Enough playtime. I need you in my office to help me prepare the Miller case for this morning’s meeting.” I walk past her, not bothering to acknowledge the anger building in her eyes. Entering my office, I throw my bag onto my couch, place my coffee on my desk, and settle into my chair. A small memory of this chair from my dream filters through my mind, and I quickly shake it off.

  “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” she says as she walks in dressed in a gray suit dress. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and I wonder why she doesn’t let it down like she used to in high school. She places her pad of paper down on my desk and takes a seat in the lounge chair opposite me. As I pull out my laptop and get set up, she looks around my office, taking in some photo frames, certificates, and my law degree.

  She stalls on my football trophy.

  “You ready to go over the Miller litigation files for today’s meeting?” I try pulling her attention away. She takes a few more seconds to stare at a college trophy before drawing her eyes back to mine. “Yeah, of course.” She opens her notebook, clicking her pen. “Can I ask you a question?” And here it goes. It was only a matter of time before she asked. “What happened with football? I swore you would have gone pro. The way you were with that ball, it was like no other. I mean, no one else stood a chance against you. You owned the field, the game, the whole school…”

  I lean to the side of my open laptop with a raised brow, smiling at her rambling.

  “Oh…well, um…I meant to just say you were really good. I guess I didn’t need to…uh, go all—”

  “It’s fine, Hannah.” I grin, and her cheeks flush. “So, you thought I was good, huh?” I poke, watching her cheeks redden even more.

  “No. I mean…yes. I mean...”

  I burst out laughing. “I’m messing with you. I was good. But thank you for feeding my ego. It’s been a long time since someone gave me any football praise. To answer your question, I was drafted, but I turned it down.”

  Her shocked gasp makes me laugh again. “Why in heavens would you do that? You were the best!”

  I shut my laptop to offer her my full attention. “Because I wanted to have a future. A future in football isn’t always guaranteed. I chose to secure mine by getting a degree. I still got to play in college. Broke some records. But it ended when I graduated.” Her eyes become sad. “What’s wrong?” I worry I’ve upset her. I didn’t mean to make fun of her response. I push my laptop aside and lean forward, grabbing for her hand resting on the desk. “Hey, what did I say? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No. It’s just…you loved football. It was your dream. The way you used to talk about it. It makes me sad you had to choose to let it go.” My lips twitch at her confession. My worry dissipates, and a smirk creeps along my features. “What? What’s so funny?” she asks.

  I squeeze her hand. “So, you used to listen to me, huh?”

  Busted.

  I laugh harder while she tries to hide the fact that she just gave her own secret away. I continue to stare at her, enjoying the way she squirms in her chair. Her hand fidgets under my palm, her eyes bright.

  “I’m flattered. Good to know I had at least one fan out there.” She pulls her hand out and slaps mine. “Levi Dent, you had the entire school as your fan club, and you know it.” My chest rumbles, and I sigh in satisfaction. “What can I say, small towns and their love for football.” Her lips curl into the most tantalizing grin, and her smile becomes my new favorite thing. There’s serenity behind her laughing eyes.

  A few seconds pass, a fleeting moment being shared between us. It stirs something inside me. A need for this connection. She has this way of drawing me in, and I refuse to drop her gaze. Everything about her becomes more prominent. Her dimples that pop out. Her tempting mouth as she gracefully extends her tongue to wet her lower lip.

  I never paid much attention to Hannah when we were kids. Sadly, no one did. She was timid, scrawny, and annoying. Mouth full of braces. Squeaky, high-pitched voice. I stab at my memory for the last time I saw her before K
ip’s wedding. It had to have been right before she left for college and I left for my internship, prepping myself for my future at Matthews and Associates.

  When did Hannah Matthews grow up?

  Hannah

  “Steve Waters, technician for computer occupations. Christine Beeker, litigation assistant. Bridget Simms, first year lawyer, handles all general practice. Justin West, senior associate.” I grin as Levi makes it to the end of my notecard pile and I take a bite of my sandwich, doing a little booty dance in my chair.

  “Congratulations, you’ve memorized the entire Matthews and Associates staff.” Levi smiles, dropping the cards and taking a hefty bite of his own sandwich. It’s been a full week since we shared that bizarre moment in his office. Levi switched gears quickly, going into work mode, but not before exposing something in his eyes—something I refuse or want to acknowledge. It all led to the same result: this couldn’t happen. And I had to accept it. Not that I thought about the what ifs if it did.

  Pfft.

  Liar.

  I swiftly jumped into working with my team on litigation proceedings, helping with small stuff. And by small, I mean small. Copying reports, getting coffee, taking notes. I was everyone’s runner. I knew I had to start from the bottom, but I didn’t realize the bottom meant the bottom. It’s like I was fair game for anyone. Even when I thought someone was way out of line with their request, I chose to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want any favors or leniency because the boss was my daddy.

  Braydon has been awesome, though. Levi hasn’t always been able to assist me, so when he’s gone for full days or in meetings, I head down to Braydon’s desk, and he gives me insight on notes I took while sitting in on the Miller lawsuit meetings. We seem to have some things in common, and the more time I spend with him, the more I come to terms with the fact that Levi Dent is definitely out of my league. I just needed to get over it.