25
Nash
“What’s up, man?” Mitchell asked when I walked into the locker room after getting chewed out by the coach. I’d just finished one of the shittiest practices I could remember, and he hadn’t held back. Not that he should’ve. I didn’t even try to come up with excuses. I deserved it.
Coach had wrapped it up by telling me to do better.
I dropped onto the bench across from Mitch. He was already showered, dressed, and ready to head out. Meanwhile, I was still drenched in sweat and in a shitty-ass mood.
“I gotta step up my game,” I muttered.
Mitch made a low, noncommittal sound while I peeled off my shirt and tossed it toward the hamper.
“Fuck!” I groaned, ripping off my pads and slamming them down harder than necessary.
Mitch raised an eyebrow, calm as ever. “What else?”
A humorless laugh slipped out of me. Of course he knew there was more. He always did.
“Kennedy,” I admitted under my breath. “She’ll be gone for another month.”
“What? When did that happen? Wasn’t she supposed to be back next week?” Mitch asked.
“Yeah.” I grabbed a towel off the bench and wiped the sweat from my face. “It got extended. Too much work to finish.”
I’d talked to her that morning, and the call had rattled me more than I wanted to admit. Or, more accurately, what had rattled me was the silence afterward—my own imagination filling in the gaps. She’d been rushing to get to a meeting with Trevor and Andy.
Andy was a friend, someone I trusted to keep an eye out for Kennedy. But not Trevor. He didn’t care if the woman that caught his attention had a boyfriend or was married. He just cared about winning. At everything.
I’d played around before Kennedy, but I hadn’t hidden it. The women I’d been with knew exactly where I stood: a fun night or two, but that was it. There were no promises. Nobody was looking for a relationship.
But Trevor operated on a whole different level.
The guy was smooth in a way that made my skin crawl.
Most of the guys I knew picked up women looking for a mutual release, no strings, just a good time, but not Trevor.
He didn’t care about a connection. To him, it was only about the added notches on his bedpost.
“Nash,” Mitch said. He’d gotten up and bumped my shoulder, his voice pulling me out of my head.
The concerned look on his face told me he must’ve been watching me for a while.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone cautious.
I let out a sigh.
“Can we go grab a beer?” I asked even though I knew we shouldn’t, not after practice, but I needed it. And I needed my friend.
The look Mitch gave me had a thousand questions in it, but he must’ve realized this wasn’t the time.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Sure. Let’s go get a beer.”
After I took a quick shower and got dressed, we went to a small Irish pub near Bryant Park. The place didn’t draw a lunch crowd. Only a handful of regulars nursed beers at the bar, their eyes glued to the international soccer match playing on the TVs mounted against the exposed brick.
I found us an empty booth in the back where no one paid us much attention.
“What the hell is going on?” Mitchell asked once he’d taken a long swig of his beer and set the glass down, leaving a wet ring on the table.
I sighed, dragging my hands through my still-wet hair.
“All I know is Kennedy’s stay just got extended by a month. Maybe more. Sounded like it could be a lot more.”
I picked up my own glass and downed half of it in one go. Across from me, Mitch leaned back against the booth, studying me.
“So,” he said finally, “what’s really eating at you? That she’ll be gone longer than you expected . . . or that you’re scared she’ll find someone else? Because honestly, Nash, that second one? I don’t see it happening. At all.”
“Both, I guess.” I let out a heavy sigh, dragging my palms down my face before gripping the back of my neck. I felt like such a pussy. Another month. That was it. Unless it got extended again, of course. In the grand scheme of things, that was nothing. So why the hell was it freaking me out?
“Trevor?” Mitchell asked, hitting the nail on the head.
Of course he knew. I was worried about the famous quarterback and underwear model who had a reputation that made mine look like child’s play.
“Yeah.”
“She won’t fall for it, man. Kennedy’s smart and grounded. She doesn’t take bullshit, and she sure as hell doesn’t swoon over empty compliments. You know she’s not impressed by status or fame. She loves you, Nash. She wouldn’t do anything to risk that.”
“I know. Fuck.” I leaned back in the booth, staring up at the ceiling before meeting Mitchell’s eyes again so he’d know I meant it. “I trust her. I do. But I don’t trust him.”
“That’s fair.” Mitchell nodded, reaching for his beer. “I wouldn’t trust him either. And I’m not saying he won’t try something—because I think he will.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, Mitchell validating part of what I was already worried about.
“Fuck, man.”
Mitchell took a long drink and set the glass back down. I glanced at mine, still half-full, and took another swallow just to keep my hands busy.
“She won’t fall for it, Nash,” Mitch said again, sounding and looking confident. “Maybe Trevor’ll realize that right away and move on.”
“Or he’ll see it as more of a challenge.”
“Or that,” he agreed with a grimace.
If I were betting, that was exactly where I’d put my money, and the thought made my blood boil.
Andy would fill me in if Trevor pulled anything, but he couldn’t be everywhere.
There’d be times when Kennedy would be alone with him, a known ladies’ man who’d use every trick he had to get her into his bed.
And how the hell was I supposed to compete with that when I wasn’t even there?
The realization that I was actually jealous pissed me the fuck off.
I trusted Kennedy. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I didn’t trust anyone else.
It was the first time in my life that someone had mattered enough for jealousy to even register.
I’d never felt it before Kennedy. Not even when other guys went after women I’d been with.
But this was different. This was Kennedy.
And the thought of another man—even one she’d never want—trying to get close to her when I couldn’t made something primal and possessive roar inside me.
Josh still texted her, stupid cat videos and random shit, which I knew shouldn’t matter because they were just friends, but it got under my skin every damn time.
Maybe it was because he was my teammate.
Or because he was a guy. Or maybe because I knew he used to have a thing for her.
I didn’t care that Sammy texted her every damn day, so it wasn’t the attention itself that bothered me.
It was who it came from.
Or maybe it was simpler than that—maybe it was because I’d always been protective of her, long before we became a couple. And missing her the way I did made every little thing feel magnified.
And now with Trevor circling, it was much worse.
We got quiet for a few minutes and finished our beers.
“Does Kennedy think the assignment is going to get extended again?” Mitchell finally asked.
“She doesn’t know.”
“So, buy her tickets so she can come home for a couple of weekends. She must be allowed to have time off, right?”
“I know. I already told her I would.”
But that was another thing bothering me.
I wasn’t sure she’d actually take the time.
Kennedy had a habit of burying herself in work, like proving herself meant more than anything else.
I’d seen the way she ran herself ragged in New York.
She reminded me of myself—pushing through the pain, ignoring the warning signs, because winning was the only option.
I didn’t want that life for her, not when she was across the country and I couldn’t be there to pull her out of the office or put food in front of her.