3. Kennedy
3
KENNEDY
“ Y ou look like you were hit by a bus!”
“I was hit by a bus,” I groan, reaching for my wine glass. “The bus of life.”
“Well, cheers to that!”
“Harper! We’re not cheering to that!” I say to my roommate, Harper Foster, while I’m sort of draped upside down on the edge of the purple couch, waving my wine glass around in the air. Thankfully, it’s white wine, so it doesn’t matter if it sloshes out onto everything around me. “I need the job. Oh, you should have seen the way he looked at me. It was worse than him not remembering me. I might as well have been invisible. It was like I was nothing to him.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” she says, defending him for my sake, not his. “He was probably just as thrown as you were.”
“No, that isn’t it, Harper. Trust me,” I argue, attempting to take another gulp of wine. I fail, and manage to sit back up—kind of. “I used to know this guy like the back of my hand. I could see all the subtle changes in his eyes that showed how he was really feeling, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. But there was nothing there today. Not even a hint of recognition. Okay, it’s been ten years, but I haven’t changed physically… at least not that much.”
“That’s the thing, though. You used to know him. Ten years is a long time ago, K. Maybe he’s changed. Or just gotten better at being the lying scumbag he is.”
My heart soars with her insults.
Harper and I hit it off over yoga, back when we were still in college. Our bond strengthened when our conversation veered towards lingerie in the changing room, leading to the unexpected decision to move in together. But now that we’re both trying to save up, we’ve traded our studio sessions for living room yoga and spend our shopping time hunting down bargain bin beauties. And when it comes to food, we can’t resist pizza and anything sweet that has chocolate in it. Or strawberries. As for everything else, we’re all about low maintenance, which includes anything that doesn’t require too much attention from a broom or falls under the “set it and forget it” category.
Harper is an accountant, currently between jobs, mostly waitressing at our favorite bar and picking up small accounting gigs here and there.
Yet her true talent lies in lifting my spirits by talking major smack about him , which, of course, has earned her the highly coveted and well-deserved, totally unofficial title of world’s best therapist. A title which, by the way, she awarded herself. I giggle when she makes “am I right or am I right” eyes, even snorts a little.
The thrill is short-lived.
“But… what if,” I gasp, “what if he really doesn’t remember me?”
She makes a meh sort of gesture, tipping her wineglass to her lips. “It’s possible.”
My shoulders drop. “Oh.”
“But doubtful,” she quickly adds, lowering her glass. “Couldn’t you just ask him? ‘Hey, douchebag, don’t you fucking remember me?’”
Part of me wants to burst out laughing with her, but this is hitting too close to home, and I can’t bring myself to see the humor in it. My insides cringe. It hurts like a knife twisting in my heart all over again.
Because we loved each other so much at some point. Because those days are long gone.
“If he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t remember,” I say. “No point in me reminding him.”
He probably crumpled up my application and threw it in the trash the second I was out of his sight.
That’s why he was playing it so cool and pretending like I was just another random applicant. He couldn’t wait to get the damn thing over with. I’d be a fool to think he’ll seriously consider me for the position, even for a moment.
Once again, I was just a nuisance he couldn’t wait to have out of his way.
“You think she ”—referring to Harper’s and my last boss at the bar, Cat Malone—“will hire me back?” I ask, almost entirely joking.
My days of waitressing at Cool Cat’s Café (“Where every cup is a gentleman’s delight”), full of men who were mostly anything but gentlemanly, were far behind me, or so I’d hoped. But if my options are either serving drinks in a push-up-bra to entitled jerks or assisting in law cases while a leechy lawyer bosses me around—I’ll take the job with better tips.
“No, ma’am. You’re not coming back to the bar.” She shakes her head. “You never fitted in there, anyway.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Harper thinks about it for a moment, and a mischievous grin spreads across her face. When her eyes light up this way, it terrifies me. It always means she’s brewing up something hilarious that usually ends up getting both of us in trouble.
“What is it?” I dare to ask, against my better judgment.
“I’ve got an idea.” She gives me the smile that typically promises nothing but shenanigans. “You know how the universe works. The only way you’ll get this job is if you don’t want it. Like really, really do not want it. Like you don’t want it so much that you’d rather die. So, all we gotta do is throw in a bet and add something to the mix that makes you not want it.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Like what?”
She perks up, crawling across the floor to sit at my feet with excitement. “Okay, here’s the deal: I bet you’ll get the job, and if you do, I’m challenging you to do something scandalously horrid.”
My eyes narrow. It’s gonna be bad, I just know it. “Just spit it out already.”
“You have to agree to it first,” she insists, holding up her pinky to make me swear.
“I’d be insane to agree to something you cooked up before I even know what it is.”
“You’re insane for wanting to work for your mean ex-boyfriend,” she shoots back. “We have to put something equally absurd into motion to balance things out.”
My brow furrows, trying to wrap my head around her wine-buzzed logic, which my own tipsy brain is not exactly struggling with in any competent manner, either. “You’ve got a point.”
I guzzle what’s left in my glass and interlock my pinky finger with hers.
How much crazier can the day really get, anyway? Not that it matters, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt: I will never get the job.
“Okay, I’m in,” I say.
“You won’t regret this!”
“All right, what did I sign up for?”
“All right. If you get the job, you have to leave your panties on Mr. Lawyer’s desk with a note that says”—she pauses for a moment to switch to her most seductive voice—“‘Hi Lawyer, here’s a little something to brighten your day. A secret admirer.’ And then you have to kiss it with your red lipstick.”
See? I told you. Shenanigans!
We literally roll on the floor laughing.
Me especially. Because I know one hundred percent that I would never do anything like that. Sure, I pinky swore, but it’s of no concern. Lawzilla will never hire me.
After she stops cackling like a hyena, we grab hands to help each other off the soft, plush purple rug beneath us (definitely the perfect match for the couch). After two failed attempts, we finally scramble to our feet, and I swear we come dangerously close to toppling that poor plastic fern in the corner. Sorry, buddy!
Harper gives me a cheeky eyebrow wiggle. “You’re on then? No backing out. And I get details.”
“Sure! Whatever you say,” I tell her, once I catch my breath after laughing so hard.
It’s particularly frustrating later when I retire to my own bed and lie there in the dark, not laughing at all, and instead, my mind becomes a battlefield. I oscillate between actively avoiding thoughts of Cade Gladwell and reassuring myself that his memory holds no sway over me anymore.
I reach for the blanket and close my eyes, hoping for some peace.
The night’s darkness wraps around me like a shroud, and I’m tugged back to the dimly lit street where I strolled with Hansi. It was quite late on that particular night, far later than I intended to be out after my waitressing shift, but Hansi needed his evening walk, and I couldn’t refuse those pleading puppy eyes.
Hansi was the newest member of our clan, a gentle and affectionate Cavalier spaniel with a silky white-brown coat and the most soulful eyes you’ve ever seen. He was originally a gift from Mom to Aunt Bertha, but with poor Auntie in the hospital for a longer stay, I had agreed to care for him. I loved the fluffball like my own, and not just because he was the only being who could light up Aunt Bertha’s face. Hansi captured her heart, and now it was my turn to ensure he had all the love and care he deserved.
Somewhere nearby, I noticed movement. Then, a vicious growl cut through the quiet night, and a bone-deep chill tingled down my spine.
Just as Hansi and I were trying to figure out where it was coming from—holy shit!—a massive beast of a dog leapt from the bushes. Instinct screamed at me to run, but I was frozen in place. The pit bull bared its teeth and lunged straight at poor Hansi.
I screamed for help, for someone, anyone, to help.
Out of nowhere, a rusty blue car screeched to a halt, and a familiar figure jumped out. It was him . The tall guy with piercing eyes. I’d seen him a few times studying at the Fifth Avenue branch of the New York Public Library, the largest of the almost 100 branches, and, as I found out later, for research beyond the scope of the Columbia law library’s collection. This good-looking guy appeared to be a few years my senior, with an adorable man bun, and a permanent spot in one corner of the library. Not that I was keeping tabs.
Initially, I noticed him because two girls could not stop staring at him from a distance, giggling and swooning over him. He never spared them a second glance, just as he couldn’t be bothered to spare me a passing thought. If anything, it felt like he inhabited a completely different universe from mine.
But there he stood, in the flesh, eyeing me, eyeing the dogs, barreling forward without a shred of hesitation.
“ Hey ! Back off!”
With a shout that could wake the dead and courageousness I didn’t know a human could have, he hurled himself between the pit bull and Hansi, yanking the aggressive beast away. “Get lost!”
A rough yelp sounded, and the monster dog bolted off to disappear back into the darkness it came from. The tall guy scooped Hansi up, cradling him protectively.
“Hansi!” I rushed forward and reached out to touch my little dog.
Then I noticed the blood.
Before I could fully comprehend what’s happening, he was urging me to hop in his car. And I didn’t hesitate. I trusted him without a second thought. We tore through the streets, barreling through two red lights. His expression remained focused, hands steady on the wheel despite the blood dripping from them.
“It’s just Hansi’s blood,” he said, glancing at me. “Maybe a little scratch, but you don’t need to worry about it. Hansi’s the one who’s really in trouble.”
It took Hansi two months to fully recover. During that time, Cade found many moments to swing by and check on the pup and me. When I’d be swamped with a shift or otherwise unable to look after Hansi, Cade stepped up without hesitation. He’d whisk the little guy off to his place for the night and return him the next morning. He even made sure Hansi was well fed by bringing bags of the good stuff. None of that generic supermarket-brand kibble. When it was time to take Hansi back to my aunt (who was feeling better, thank goodness), Cade held me close.
Beneath his cockiness, there was a genuine sincerity in his gestures that both delighted and irked me.
These visits to check on Hansi, which I jokingly called our “dates,” became a regular thing. One late evening, after grabbing a quick bite (and as always, he insisted on picking up the tab—without even looking at the bill, swoon ), we were standing together waiting for my elevator. I caught sight of Cade’s hand as he went to press the button.
“That looks like it has quite the story behind it,” I observed, gesturing to the scar that likely wasn’t going to fade away anytime soon.
“You know, Kennedy, you never did tell me what I get in return for rescuing our little buddy.”
The elevator arrived, and we stepped inside.
“Well then,” I said, playing along, “what kind of reward were you hoping for? A pizza made from scratch? Maybe tickets to that bike show you’ve been wanting to go to? A yoga class? A box of chocolate-covered strawberries? What do you want?”
He leaned close, his arm casually resting beside my head. His posture was relaxed yet utterly commanding. He was so tall, so strong, so overwhelming. My gaze was drawn to his intense eyes, framed by long, dark lashes that drew me all the way in.
He lowered his head so we were eye to eye. I felt that stupid flutter in my chest. “You,” he whispered.
And my heart stopped.
The elevator doors slid shut behind us with a soft ding , sealing us in. Neither one of us pressed the button for my floor. We were too caught up in each other to care.
I searched his eyes for any hint of teasing. But all I could find was honesty. And longing.
He leaned in, so close I could feel his warm breath on my face. The world shrank to just the golden sparkle in his eyes and those impossibly long lashes.
The edges of his knuckles grazed my cheek, tracing a slow and deliberate path.
Then, he shut his eyes.
A heartbeat later, his lips brushed against mine, and I instinctively closed my eyes too.
The kiss… all-consuming.
All fire.
All passion.
All… everything .
“You’re going nowhere,” he rumbled against my lips, after what felt like a shameless eternity of heated kissing.
He reached over to press the elevator button, and the doors slid back open.
Before I could object, Cade grabbed my hand and pulled me outside into the cool night air. We hopped on his silver motorbike and sped through the quiet streets. Hugging him with all I had in me, we reached his place.
The area was sketchy (like, text-your-bestie-your-location sketchy), the kind of neighborhood where you’re always looking over your shoulder. But honestly? I couldn’t care less.
He swooped me up effortlessly, slinging me over his shoulder with surprising ease.
“Hey!” I protested, clinging to him.
After we ascended what seem like endless flights of creaking stairs, up and up and up, we were in his small, cramped, but impeccably tidy room. He lowered me gently onto his old, squeaky bed and planted a soft kiss on my lips while peeling off the leather jacket he lent me. Rising back up, he gestured around the room, still a bit out of breath.
“Welcome to my domain.”
His chin nodded toward a door at the back, and I caught a glimpse of warmth in his eyes. “My brother’s crib. Joey. He’s probably out, but he tends to stumble in around three or four, usually half-drunk. I might need to lay down the law the next time.”
“Do you guys fight a lot?”
“Nah, we’re solid. Always got each other’s backs.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but right then, I knew I was going to lose my heart to him. As casual as his last words sounded, I could tell that family meant everything to him. How often does a person meet a guy who really feels that way and actually owns up to it?
I had no clue what the future had in store for us back then. How could I? There was no way to see where it was all heading.
Hindsight is a funny thing.
Now I know it would be the first and last time he’d invite me there. If only I’d known then, I might have taken more time to absorb every detail.
In that moment, though, I was too caught up to see the bigger picture.
What I remember is that the walls were a muted gray and lined with framed posters of vintage motorcycles. Cade’s worn leather jacket (the one he’d just peeled off me) hung from a hook near the door. In the corner, a green banker’s lamp cast a warm glow over a battered desk, piled high with neatly arranged textbooks and legal documents. Across from the desk stood an old armoire that was missing its door, filled with white shirts, sweaters, and jeans, and a selection of grooming products. What struck me the most, though, was the red puppy bowl and small water dispenser just for Hansi, along with a few toys, a blanket, and dog food.
It was clear that Cade didn’t have cash to throw around, and it wasn’t until later that I discovered he’d actually traded in his car for the motorcycle, all to keep things afloat. But still, he’d gone out and gotten everything he needed for Auntie’s dog to be comfortable, even covering Hansi’s hospital bill.
Whenever I tried to repay him he waved it off, telling me he’d been planning on ditching his rust bucket of a car for that motorcycle anyway, and urging me to stash the cash for my “journey to extraordinary lawyerdom.”
The whole time I was in his apartment, I could feel his eyes on me, watching.
When I finally swiveled to meet his gaze, there was something in Cade’s eyes—vulnerability yet… fierce determination. Like he was letting me see a piece of his world and giving me an out if I wanted it. But backing out wasn’t even an option. I wouldn’t have been able to tear my eyes away from him even if I’d tried.
He understood. Or maybe he didn’t. I simply couldn’t decipher his thoughts.
Without another word, he casually removed his shirt and placed it over a nearby chair. Just in ripped jeans and bare feet, Cade crawled onto the bed, like a lion closing in on its prey. Along the way, he nudged my legs apart with his knees and crept closer until he had me caged in, and my heart raced wilder than it ever had. His minty breath tickled my cheek, then my nose, before finally settling on my lips. With casual ease, he reached down and began unbuckling his belt.
Butterflies wreaked havoc in my stomach… and in other parts of me.
The memory is so vivid, it might as well be happening right now.
I can still see his sculpted, inked body moving above me with effortless strength and undeniable solidity.
It’s like he’s right there.
My legs spread wider, and before I can stop myself, my fingers are slipping down between them.
His thrusts are merciless and reckless, pushing me closer to my breaking point. No matter how much I pretend otherwise, I can’t think of anything—or anyone—else.
My body is desperate for relief.
Sure, Cade might be the reason I’m a hot mess right now, but I can totally keep things separate… for now.
The longer I indulge myself, the more insistent his image becomes in my mind.
Cade and his oh-so-beautiful, steel-hard dick infiltrates, penetrates, and takes over my precious solo time relentlessly. And while all of that does provide one hell of an orgasm, once I’m done, I’m left feeling even lonelier than before.
Because he isn’t here.
In a tipsy haze, I decide to overcompensate for my loneliness by safeguarding myself against the humiliation of Cade’s rejection. Once was plenty, thank you very much.
In the darkness of my room, I pull my purse onto my lap and dig out the business card he handed me. Just holding it again brings back the same current I felt from the brush of his skin earlier.
But I shake that off, grab my phone, and open my email app.
Dear Hiring Manager,
After careful consideration, I’ve decided to withdraw my application for the open position at your esteemed firm. I believe it’s in the best interests of both parties to pursue different paths.
I wish you continued success in finding the perfect candidate.
Thank you sincerely,
Kennedy Hayes
Polished. Concise. A bit risqué—not that he’d recognize or ever appreciate it. Without a second thought, I press the send button and watch the envelope on the screen fly off into space, aiming straight for Mr. Big Shot’s inbox.
After tossing my phone on the nightstand, I roll over and drift off into a deep sleep.