11
Kennedy
“Holy shit!” a girl shouted, stopping right in front of Nash, her eyes wide with admiration. “I’m a huge fan of yours,” she gushed.
Nash’s chuckle was the last thing I heard as I turned my back to them, making my way toward the bar, a wave of discomfort washing over me. This felt like a flashback to high school, when I hadn’t measured up to all the popular girls. When I’d been too intimidated to even try.
My heart thundered in my chest, the unease creeping up on me. The sound of giggles only deepened my irritation.
“Hey,” came a voice from my right as I squeezed up to the bar, finding an empty chair. A light touch on my shoulder followed, and I looked up to see Josh standing next to me, his brown eyes meeting mine.
“Hi, Josh. Good game today.” I forced a smile, trying to mask the awkwardness I felt.
“Thanks,” he replied, stepping closer. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Busy with work.”
“Good. I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
“Thanks. Me too. I really like it,” I replied, trying to keep my focus on the conversation rather than the scene unfolding behind me.
Josh signaled the bartender and ordered another round for the both of us.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Nash?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.
I shrugged, unsure how to respond. There wasn’t anything going on even if it had felt like it in the Uber. But seeing him now, laughing while surrounded by beautiful women, it was as if nothing had changed. I was just the friend. Like one of the guys. Like it used to be.
Josh didn’t look at me like that. He looked at me like I was the only one in the room.
For a second, I wondered if that was what I needed.
Thankfully, the beers arrived, and after we clinked bottles, I took a long sip.
Josh paid for them, waving away my offer to cover mine.
The crowd behind us seemed to grow louder, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Nash still surrounded, along with Mitchell and a few other guys and that girl Amy from the Empires’ merchandise team.
She’d brought a couple of friends, and they were dancing while camera flashes lit up the scene.
“The girls can’t seem to get enough of that Nash player,” the man next to me said to his friend. He was right, of course, and it bothered me more than I cared to admit. I tried to keep my face relaxed and neutral while I eavesdropped on their conversation.
“Must be nice to be able to have the pick of any girl you want,” the guy’s friend responded.
The guy at the bar chuckled. “He has a reputation for screwing around, but I mean, wouldn’t you if a girl like that”—he gestured toward someone behind me, and I clenched my hands in my lap, refusing to turn around to see who he was talking about—“threw herself at you?”
“Hell yeah. Or what about that one?” his friend added, clearly impressed.
“Uh-huh,” the first guy replied, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. It looked like whiskey, and for some reason, I couldn’t help but think of my dad. Not that it mattered.
“I bet this guy gets more than one girl all the time.”
“Like threesomes?” his friend questioned in a tone that made him sound really impressed but made my heart drop.
Seriously? Nash had threesomes? I stifled a groan and closed my eyes. Fuck!
What was I even doing here? I was so far out of my league it wasn’t even funny.
“Just look at the way they cling to him,” one of the guys added.
And just like that, I’d had enough. I downed the rest of the beer, slammed the empty bottle down onto the counter a little harder than I had planned, and rose to my feet.
“Are you all right?” Josh asked, his tone concerned.
No. Not even a little.
But I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”
Josh nodded but kept watching me, clearly not buying my excuse.
I gathered my purse and my jacket, glancing over my shoulder to see if Nash was ready to leave.
He wasn’t. He appeared to be deep in conversation with some woman.
The expression on his face was a little strained, but I didn’t care.
I’d seen this before. I knew how it usually ended, and I didn’t want to be around to watch it.
My stomach tightened as my thoughts drifted back to sophomore year, after the final home game of the season.
The house party had been everything you thought high school was supposed to be—packed, music so loud it shook the walls, drinks we definitely shouldn’t have had, everyone celebrating too loudly, too much.
I’d been standing by the kitchen counter, nursing some gross cheap beer and pretending I was cooler than I actually was, when I spotted Nash across the room.
He was already halfway to the door, his arm draped around a senior cheerleader.
She’d been tall. Blond. Loud. Confident in a way I couldn’t imagine.
He’d caught my eye on his way out, offered a small, almost apologetic smile for leaving me behind, and then disappeared into the night.
I’d told myself it didn’t matter—that he was just being a typical hormonal guy. But it had mattered. It always did.
I’d gone home early that night, and I’d stopped going to house parties after that.
And standing here now, watching him with another woman, it felt like nothing had changed.
· · ·
The apartment was nice and quiet when I got back home. Sammy’s coat and shoes were gone, so I knew she was still out on her date with Keith. I changed into a long T-shirt and my fluffy pink socks, then went through my usual skincare routine and put on my glasses.
It was late and I was tired, but my mind was too wound up to relax. I wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, hoping that and some Netflix would make me fall asleep.
My phone started to buzz with incoming text messages the minute I put the water on the stove. I ignored them at first, assuming they were from Nash. I was still annoyed at how he’d handled the situation in the bar, but then I started to feel bad.
I picked up the phone with a heavy sigh. Without even reading his messages, I simply texted him back, letting him know I was home and that I’d see him at the next game.
Less than five minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I assumed it was Sammy, because she forgot her keys a lot, but of course, it wasn’t.
Nash was leaning against the doorframe, looking like my ultimate dream.
I swallowed my sudden nervousness and met his eyes.
There was a hurt expression in them, something I wasn’t used to seeing.
“Why did you leave?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly soft.
“You were busy,” I replied, trying to keep my tone casual, though I could feel the tension rising.
He stepped past me and walked into the apartment like he belonged there. I hesitated for a second before I closed the door behind him and followed.
“Yeah, but not too busy for you,” Nash responded.
I gave him a look that said yeah right and watched his face tense up. He had been too busy for me, and he knew it.
“Shit.” He groaned, running his hand through his dark, wavy hair, making me wish I was the one tugging on the soft-looking strands. “I’m sorry, Kennedy. It’s just . . . I kind of have to interact with the fans.”
Fans?
I snorted. “On a Friday night? Nash, really?”
His eyes widened as I stepped closer.
“It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t it be okay for you just to be Nash, not the famous hockey player?”
I walked past him into the living room, and he followed close behind.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted with a sigh.
I watched as he ran his hands through his hair again, his shoulders slumping. He looked exhausted and frustrated.
“Nash—” I started, but he cut me off.
“It’s fine, Ken. It’s just . . . you know my game’s been all over the place. The fans—”
“The women,” I corrected him, and he grimaced.
Nash sank down onto the armrest of the couch, facing me, though his gaze was fixed on the floor. He moved slowly, placing his hands on his thighs before lifting his head.
When his stormy eyes finally met mine, I felt my cheeks heat. He’d caught me looking at him—really looking—and I usually did a much better job of hiding it. Embarrassed, I quickly turned away.
“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” I said, my voice quieter than before. “We could’ve gone out another night.”
The words felt wrong the second they left my mouth.
Because it had felt like a big deal, and I was disappointed with how the evening had ended.
“I’m sorry, though, Ken. This was supposed to be our night together.” His voice softened, and he added, “I’m really sorry.”
I shrugged, unsure of what to say. At least he hadn’t taken one of the girls home since he was sitting in my living room. That was a relief.
“Let me make it up to you, okay?” Nash reached out, his fingers brushing my arm. “Can you do dinner tomorrow? Just the two of us.”
My breath caught, but I forced myself to act calm. Dinner, just the two of us, on a Saturday night? I didn’t let myself think too much about what it might mean, but my blood pressure skyrocketed.
“Don’t you have a game on Sunday?” I asked, crossing my arms, trying my hardest to keep myself together and not to get my hopes up.
Nash grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yes, but I need to eat regardless.”
“Right . . . yeah.” That was true, of course. It was no big deal. Just dinner. Friends eat together all the time.
Nash’s grin faded, and his expression shifted into something darker, more intense.
His gaze dipped, slowly trailing from my face down to my chest, where it lingered long enough for me to feel it everywhere.
And that’s when I realized my old T-shirt was practically see-through from years of wear, and crossing my arms had only made things worse.
I felt my face heat up.
Nash’s gaze snapped back up to mine, and for a moment, I thought he might apologize or say something to break the tension. But he didn’t. His stare was unwavering, and the air between us felt heavier than ever.