4
Nash
Fuck.
It was a Tuesday night. Our first game back after four days on the road, and even though we’d managed to pull off a win against Tampa, it still felt like I’d missed my shot.
Watching Kennedy’s hips sway as she walked away from me—her tight jeans highlighting her perfectly round ass—burned more than I wanted to admit.
Josh had given his tickets to her and Sammy again. I’d planned to ask her to come to O’Reilly’s with me, to maybe finally get a minute alone with her. But somehow Josh beat me to it. Again. So instead, I just stood there like an idiot, watching her hurry toward where he was waiting for her.
It felt a little too much like the last time I’d seen her before her move to Manhattan.
The United Center in Chicago had been packed.
I’d spotted her the second I stepped onto the ice for warm-ups.
She was in the third row behind the glass, dark hair loose over her shoulders, laughing at something Jackson said.
And then I noticed the guy sitting on her other side.
He was tall, clean-cut with dark-rimmed glasses, looking like he had a five-year plan and actually followed it.
I told myself it didn’t matter, that she was allowed to bring whoever she wanted. But every time I circled past that section, my eyes went back to him, to the way they laughed together, the way he leaned toward her. It messed with my game more than I wanted to admit.
After the game, we all met up at a bar near the arena.
“Nice goal,” Jackson said, clapping me on the back. I appreciated that he mentioned the one I’d managed to get in instead of the three I’d missed.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling him into a quick hug.
“Hey, Nash.” Kennedy smiled, her cheeks lightly flushed as she introduced me to Andrew.
As much as I’d wanted to hate the guy, he turned out to be decent. Easy smiles. Firm handshake. Asked real questions about hockey instead of just saying, “Must be nice.”
That didn’t mean I liked seeing them together. Watching him wrap his arm around her had my pulse beating faster than when I chased a puck on a breakaway.
“Does anyone want another drink?” I asked, already stepping toward the bar.
“Sure, man. Thanks,” Andrew said.
“I’m good.” Kennedy lifted her half-empty glass.
“I’ll come with you,” Jackson offered.
Jackson and I had one drink. Then a second. And then another.
By the time some blond in a tight black dress slid onto the stool beside me and said she loved the way I handled my stick, I was buzzing with frustration. So I flirted back.
I laughed too loud. Let her touch my arm. My chest. I made a point not to look at Kennedy, but I knew where she was. Part of me hoped she noticed and felt the way I did having to see her with Andrew.
When she ended up leaving early, I felt bad. But I felt like a real ass when Andrew stayed behind with me and Jackson and I found out they were just co-workers.
When I went home for Thanksgiving that year, I looked forward to seeing Kennedy. I’d planned to apologize for acting like an idiot. But by then she had a new boyfriend and was celebrating at his house.
There’d been pictures on her social media. She stood in a kitchen with a red solo cup in hand, next to some grinning guy. I’d stared at it longer than I should have before closing the app.
That had been a hard pill to swallow, because my whole reason for staying away had always been that I didn’t want to risk losing her as my best friend . . . but somehow, along the way, I’d managed to screw that up anyway.
I’d been with my share of women since then (and before too, if I was being honest). Being in the NHL made it easy. There were always plenty willing—models, actresses, women who wanted to say they’d been with a hockey player.
My reputation wasn’t entirely undeserved, but it was definitely exaggerated.
The truth was, I spent most of my time alone or with my teammates. Hockey came first. It always had.
It was exhilarating—the ice, the speed, the roar of the crowd. Out there, everything made sense. Out there, I knew exactly who I was. It was the one place I felt completely in control, even when life outside the rink wasn’t.
Or . . . it used to be. Because lately it felt like a never-ending judgment.
All the things that used to fuel me had started to lose their appeal. And now, with the Armani ads everywhere, people were talking more crap about me than ever. Sometimes I wondered if was worth it.
All it did was make me feel more and more empty.
The constant travel, the hits that left me sore for longer each time, the meaningless hookups—it was all starting to take its toll. And yet somehow, I couldn’t seem to stop any of it.
I knew what the lifestyle could do to people.
I’d seen it firsthand. Guys trying to juggle long seasons, travel, and girlfriends back home.
Some couldn’t handle it. Temptation was everywhere—alcohol, drugs, women.
I’d watched teammates cheat on their wives more times than I cared to remember.
I didn’t judge them, but I sure as hell didn’t envy them either.
But then there were the ones who succeeded. The ones who somehow managed to have it all: happy families, stability, and someone waiting for them at home. That was something I’d thought about a lot lately.
And then there was Kennedy . . .
The one person in my life I could always be myself with. No judgment. No noise. She’d always had the ability to calm me just by being there. It didn’t matter that it had been years. She was back, and it felt like before, only magnified.
And now she was out with Josh.
I let out a low groan, muttered, “Fuck,” and stormed down the corridor. I really needed to stop assuming she’d choose to be with me just because we’d grown up together.
The guys were on their way to O’Reilly’s and expected me to be there, but I wasn’t feeling it.
And I’d be shit company anyway. I needed to clear my head, and alcohol was probably not the way to go.
But damn it, Kennedy had gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever had, and now she was out with another guy—again.
My teammate, Josh fucking Sampson. He was a smooth motherfucker when he wanted to be, and I believed he had every intention of bringing his A game.
I groaned again and tried to pick up my pace, as if walking faster would help.
I pushed the door open to step outside when I felt a hand land on my arm, stopping me.
I turned and found Amy staring up at me with a hopeful expression in her light-brown eyes.
She was confident, bold, and knew exactly how to work a guy over. And yeah, she could do some pretty impressive things with that mouth of hers.
But lately, I was getting the sense that she wanted more. She’d started lingering. Popping up at places she knew I’d be, hanging around like she was waiting for me to make a move. That’s when I’d pulled back.
I wasn’t interested in anything complicated.
I didn’t do serious.
“Great game, Nash,” she said, flipping her salon-styled blond hair over her shoulder like she was in a shampoo commercial.
“Thanks,” I replied, trying to keep it short.
I reached for the door again, but Amy tightened her grip on my arm, her hand sliding up to my chest. Her touch lingered as she looked up at me through her lashes, lips parted in that same teasing smile that used to work every time, but tonight it didn’t have the same effect.
Sure, I was wound up, thanks to the game and my thoughts about Kennedy. I’d been walking around with a semi for the past few days. And I knew Amy was a sure thing. If I said the word, she’d be in my bed before I got my shoes off.
“I’m heading home,” she said, all flirtation and promise. “Do you want to come along?”
I was about to tell her no way when my eyes caught sight of her other hand. She pulled at the zipper of her jacket, letting it fall open. The top she wore underneath was low-cut, indecently so, displaying large, perfectly round tits.
For a second, my brain stalled out. My thoughts flashed to Kennedy, and I knew I had a decision to make, but then Josh’s face appeared next to hers in my mind, smiling, and that fucking pissed me off.
Kennedy had chosen to go to dinner with him. She’d obviously known she was going to see me at the game, but she chose to go out with him anyway.
“Come on, Nash,” Amy purred, sliding her hand down my stomach until her fingers brushed my belt. “You look like you could use a little company.”
I sighed, knowing exactly what she was offering. It was easy—too easy—but I could blow off some steam and forget about everything for a while.
“Nash?” she repeated, her voice lower now, her hand slipping between my legs and cupping me through my slacks. She hummed appreciatively when she found my dick half-hard. “Are you coming?”
“Sure,” I heard myself say, though I wasn’t sure I meant it. But at that moment, coming seemed like the only kind of relief I had left. Pun fully intended.
Amy grinned knowingly.
The moment we stepped through the door of the rundown apartment she shared with two roommates, who thankfully weren’t there, her hands were all over me. She yanked off my jacket and immediately went for my shirt, pushing me toward the bedroom.
No words were necessary. We both knew what this was. There was no need for sweet talk.
Amy’s lips found mine, urgent and aggressive, and I allowed it even though my response felt a bit forced. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be to just let go. To let her touch me.
I couldn’t shake the thought of Kennedy, even though I tried to remind myself that she’d made her choice. She was out with Josh. Josh, who was single, good-looking, and horny like the rest of us, and probably just as into her as I was.
What if she went home with him?
The thought triggered a low growl in my throat.
Frustration surged, and I grabbed Amy’s top, yanking it over her head with more force than necessary, determined to push all thoughts of Kennedy out of my mind.
Amy’s smirk turned into a moan as I unhooked her bra and cupped her tits in my hands.
She didn’t waste any time, either—within seconds, she was on her knees, unzipping my pants.
She licked her lips teasingly, and I didn’t hesitate, I just shoved my already hard dick into her waiting mouth.
Her lips stretched around me as she worked her hands in rhythm, trying to keep up.
I barely noticed. My eyes slid shut as her fingers cupped my balls, and I tried to ignore the pent-up frustration buzzing through my veins and just focus on the sensation.
The heat. The pressure. The edge I needed to get rid of.
But all I could see was Kennedy. The feel of her soft skin when I kissed her cheek goodbye. The faint blush that spread across her face when she caught me watching her. I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her for real.
Fuck.
Cursing under my breath, I grabbed a fistful of Amy’s hair and pulled her off me. She blinked up at me, catching her breath, and gave me a knowing smile. She stood and shimmied out of her pants.
I tried to ignore the warning bells and reached for my wallet and the condom inside.
“You know you don’t have to use one, Nash. I’ve already told you I’m on the pill.”
I paused. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
There was absolutely no way I’d go without protection. A pregnancy scare in college had taught me that the hard way. I wasn’t taking that kind of risk ever again.
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”
I arched a brow.
“I said fine, just put it on already.” She pouted.
It only took me a few seconds to roll on the condom. “Turn around. Hands and knees,” I said flatly, avoiding eye contact on purpose. It made things too personal, and this wasn’t that.
Amy smirked, all too familiar with the routine, and did what I asked.
“Give it to me, Nash.”
I thrust into her hard, each movement fueled by frustration I didn’t know what to do with. She moaned loudly, encouraging me to go faster, rougher.
“Fuck yeah, Nash, harder,” she yelled.
I knew I wouldn’t last long. I was too frustrated to take my time. I tried to forget about everything and just enjoy the fuck. It used to be so easy to just let go, but this time was different. I had to close my eyes.
“Oh my God, yes,” Amy yelled as she tightened around me. I squeezed my eyes closed and picked up speed, chasing the release for both of us. Amy was usually good for a couple of orgasms.
Flashes of long dark hair and bright-blue eyes went through my head, and that was all it took.
“Oh fuck, Ken,” I groaned as I came, only partially realizing what I’d said. Luckily for me, my voice was drowned out by Amy’s scream as the second orgasm rocked her body.
As I pulled out and tossed the condom into the trash, Amy glanced over her shoulder with a satisfied grin. “That was so good,” she purred, stretching lazily. “You want to stay over? I wouldn’t mind going another round later.”
She fluttered her lashes, looking smug and content.
But I didn’t.
The moment felt cheap.
The release should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t.
Instead, it felt hollow and desperate, and I guessed that was what it was.
Amy was just a stand-in because I couldn’t have the one person I actually wanted.
And that truth hit me hard. What was Kennedy doing right now?
Was she with Josh? Worse, was she with him in the way I’d just been with Amy?
My mood darkened instantly, and the tension I’d tried to escape was back. “I can’t,” I said abruptly, pulling away and zipping my pants back up. “I’ll see you around.”
I couldn’t get out of her apartment fast enough.
Ten minutes. That was all it had been.
It left me feeling worse than before.
Had it really come to this? Desperate, meaningless sex with someone I barely knew just because she was willing?
“Shit.”
I dragged my hands over my face as I slid into the back seat of the waiting car.
For the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed of what I’d done.