Chapter 29 Kennedy
kennedy
I’m going to strangle Maggie. Hello, awkward—party of two—here for our reservation of a cringe-worthy car ride.
Because we kissed and have not talked about it.
We’ve sent a few texts here and there to coordinate things—each one from him having a ridiculous amount of emojis.
During away games, we’ve still, somehow, had adjoining rooms. And every time I arrive at the hotel, my mini-bar is fully stocked with all of the ingredients for my gin and tonic—fresh ice and limes included.
Every night, I make my drink, sit on my bed, and stare at the door between our rooms, wondering why the hell I’m lusting after my fake boyfriend.
And now here we are, walking through the tunnels of the arena to the player parking lot.
Our footsteps echoing off the concrete are the only sound cutting the thick tension.
And with each step, I remind myself this isn’t real.
It could never be. He’s too young. Too cocky.
Too…way too fucking handsome. Based on my very rational and very analytical analysis, we could never work.
It’s like flying. Follow the flight plan and arrive at the destination.
My brain is well aware of how this works, but my body seems to only remember that goddamn kiss.
And his biceps. And his thick as hell thighs.
And—no. Hell no. I can’t go there. He needs to focus on the playoffs.
And I need to focus on literally anything else.
I pick at my cuticles because if I don’t, I’m not sure my mind will win this war; it’s raging with my hormones.
Walking past the rows of player cars, I realize I don’t even know what kind of car my boyfriend drives.
I’m guessing it’s some sort of tricked-out sports car I can’t pronounce with every extra imaginable.
He comes to a stop beside a black Range Rover.
Is it expensive? Yes. But at least the doors don’t open in an upward motion.
“Huh.”
His face crumples. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You just said ‘huh.’ What was the ‘huh’ for?”
“I just…I just figured you’d have some ridiculously expensive sports car with weird doors.”
He winces, his jaw clenching as if the sting of my words hit deeper than he’s willing to admit. My stomach churns. Maybe I went a step too far? Ugh…why am I such a bitch? His eyes narrow.
Shit.
“Jordan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts, his face surprisingly neutral. But I know he’s not fine. I feel like I just got the stereotypical line women usually say to men. That’s my line.
He steps closer, trapping me against the side of his vehicle. My pulse races as his gaze locks on mine. The hard lines in his eyes sharpen as if something inside him snapped.
“I know you think I only like lavish things, but just so you’re aware,” —he leans in, our faces a breath apart, the tension crackling— “I don’t buy things because of the price tag. The things I have? It’s because I want them.”
My breath catches, his arm reaching behind me, caging me in.
CLICK.
He opens the car door, stepping back to open it for me. “Come on. Let’s head out.”
I nod, trying to catch up with what he just said. He technically has me at the moment…is he implying? No. He can’t be. I settle into the car and buckle my seatbelt.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That?