61. Kendall
Kendall
Every. Single. Game.
Kai plays hockey the same way he walks through life. Confident. Purposeful. Ambitious. Cutthroat in his pursuit of success. And deeply deeply passionate.
He’s devoted his entire life to this game and in return, it’s given him everything.
Kai has such an intense love and appreciation for this sport.
I just hope he knows how proud I am. Not just of his accomplishments, his career, his fame.
But the kind of father he’s becoming. The strength of his character, and his steadfast commitment to Akio and me.
All of it.
When the game ends, Akio looks up at me, flushed and glowing.
“More game, Mama?” he says. I know what he’s asking. Can we come to more games? I smile and brush my nose against his.
“We’ll see, baby,” I reply hesitantly, with caution, but in my head, I can already see it.
The gears have been put in motion. More wins, more highs.
More exhilarating nights exactly like this one.
More moments where Akio falls in love with Kai, where he idolizes him like he hung the moon, the stars, the whole goddamn sky.
And maybe for the first time, I can see a future where the three of us are a family.
Not just in theory, not dealing in hypotheticals. Not some far-fetched fantasy.
For real.
***
We arrive at La Vela shortly after 8. It’s an upscale, Michelin-starred, Italian restaurant.
The kind that has valet parking and a coat check.
Kai and a few of his teammates reserved multiple tables in the back room for all of us.
Apparently, the Boston Bucks are beloved regulars here.
I drive with Kai and Emma decides to meet us there since she has to get home to Maddox after dinner.
Kai takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine as we enter the restaurant.
It reeks of opulence, expensive wine, and the slight hint of cigar smoke.
I lean into him and whisper, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Kai. That game was amazing.”
“Thanks, Ken,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against my hair.
As we make our way to the back room, we pass soaring arched windows and crisp white tables shadowed by flickering candlelight.
Situated all the way in the corner is a gold-accented marble bar and one lone bartender.
Behind him, only premier alcohol and top shelf liquor.
La Vela is sophisticated, elegant, and also slightly romantic?
Which confuses me a bit. But Kai warned me on the drive over that most of the game winning debauchery takes place after dinner.
Emma beats us there so she is already sitting at the oversized circular booth talking with Jonah, Jax, and another team member. Well, talking might be too strong a word to describe what Jax is doing. He looks uncomfortable, like he is in actual pain sitting between Jonah and Emma.
Fuck, I hope I didn’t read this entire situation wrong.
“Hey guys,” I say sliding into the brown leather booth to sit on the other side of Emma.
Kai scoots in next to me. We get head nods from the guys and Emma gives me a sweet, welcoming smile.
Hopefully that’s a good sign. It doesn’t seem like she needs rescuing from Jax.
At least not yet. Soon we’re all chatting, laughing, sharing small plates and rehashing the incredible game they’d just played.
There are wine glasses and plates littered across the table amid garlic bread, bacon wrapped scallops, and panna cotta.
“Kai, how many assists did you have tonight?” Jonah asks, his mouth full of bread.
“One,” Kai answers modestly.
“Two goals and one assist, what a fucking game! Guess that means you have to come to every one now, Kendall,” Jonah replies, throwing a wink my way.
“Guess so,” I smile.
I look over every so often to see Jax and Emma in a conversation of their own.
And they both seem interested. The guys continue to talk shop, shouting across the table.
Eventually, Jax gets up to go to the bathroom and I can’t help it; I need to know what her first impression is.
I nudge her with my arm slightly to get her attention.
“So, what do you think of Jax so far?” I pester, wiggling my eyebrows playfully.
“He’s a little quiet. But nice. Definitely easy to look at,” she comments.
“Well, you can’t seem to stop talking so maybe that’s a good thing?” I joke. She rolls her bright green eyes but laughs anyway.
“Maybe. I can’t really tell if he’s into me at all,” she whispers. “He’s tough to read. But it’s clear Kai is into you despite what Veronica says.”
I didn’t really think anyone could hear us. That and I figured they were absorbed in their own conversations about hockey. But Kai chimes in without missing a beat.
“Who is Veronica and what did she say?” he demands.
“It’s nothing, Kai. just forget we even brought it up,” I respond, shooting Emma a look that screams please drop this.
“Ken,” he pushes and I just know like a dog with a bone he is not going to let this go.
“Veronica is a snarky mom at playgroup that enjoys cutting us all down for sport,” I respond, taking a generous bite of garlic bread.
“And…” he’s waiting for the rest of the story. The details.
“And she said that I wasn’t exactly your type because I’m not a supermodel,” I say quietly. “It’s not a big deal, Kai. Honestly.”
“If you could just excuse us for one minute,” Kai says to the rest of the table, extending his hand to me and rising. He drags me out of the booth and to the single bathroom in the dim hallway.
“What, what are you—" but before I can finish my sentence, he pulls me in through the doorway with him. Flicking the lock shut with a click. The walls of the bathroom are a deep maroon red. Bamboo vases on neatly arranged shelves hold delicate white flowers. I hear Ed Sheeran filter in from the restaurant and suddenly, I’m in a fever dream. Kai’s smooth lips are on mine, soft and appraising.
Sweet and spicy. I don’t stop to question it.
I’m pulled under like a riptide. He grips my thighs, picks me up like I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around his waist of their own accord.
He sets me on the counter, bracing my jaw with one of his expansive hands.
His mouth breaks away from mine, but I can still feel his heat everywhere.
“Why didn’t you tell me about cunty Veronica and her vitriol?” He’s smirking despite the edge of seriousness in his voice. But it’s impossibly hard to think when he’s this close to me.
“Um, the same reason I didn’t tell you about Allison in high school,” I reply more breathily than I intended. He brushes a stray hair out of my face and pins me with a stare. He can be so fucking intense at times.
“Because you were embarrassed or because you believed her jealous rantings?” he asks.
“Both,” I sigh. “I didn’t feel the need to correct her and I didn’t really want to fight her in the middle of a public library either.” At this, his mouth turns up.
“So, even after all we’ve been through together, what we undoubtedly have, knowing how helplessly attracted to you I am, you still let shit like this eat at you? Why?” He doesn’t seem mad, not entirely. More irritated, impatient even.
“Because she’s right!” I nearly shout. “Almost all the girls you have been with after me have been flawless, ten out of ten, supermodels. It’s no surprise I’m not a supermodel, Kai.
It’s just a fact. The objective truth. I’m not in the same league as them.
I’m not even sure we’re playing the same game. ”
Then he smirks—fucking smirks. That smile could heal me, I’m sure of it.
It’s gotten me through some of the toughest days of my life and I’m pretty sure that handsome grin is what led to me getting pregnant in the first place.
“You are absolutely not in the same league as them, Ken. You’re in your own fucking league.
You could bring me to my knees with your smile alone.
” He moves closer to me, his hand caressing my hip through the thin fabric of my shirt.
He kisses my forehead, my eyelids and my cheeks in reverence, his lips a whisper over my skin.
“You know how many times I’ve dreamed of your beautiful face?
Your delicious mouth? You are every fucking fantasy that I will ever want, that I’ll ever need.
And you’re better than a fantasy because you’re real. ”
He takes my hand and moves it to his jeans where I can already feel his marble length.
We’ve never done anything like this before—been so desperate for each other we hooked up in a restaurant bathroom, where people could easily hear us.
But I can sense we aren’t leaving until he’s made his point and I really fucking want him to.
He gently presses his forehead to mine and rocks his hips against my hand.
“Does this feel like you aren’t my type?” he rasps. His words sound like he swallowed gravel.
“N-no,” I stammer.
“Jesus, these fucking hips,” he hisses, kneading them with his hands and tracing the top of my underwear with his thumb.
“You know how many times I’ve thought about taking you from behind and holding onto these hips for dear life?
” He’s kissing my neck now, whispering sweet depraved filthy promises into my skin.
I want to beg him to do every single one of them.
He moves his hands to my back and slides them into my skintight jeans to palm my ass.
“This sexy round ass I could sink my teeth into.”
I’m so fucking turned on and he’s barely touched me, my body strung so unbelievably tight I’m sure I would come from a slight breeze.
I know what he’s doing. Trying to make me understand that he’s attracted to gorgeous women but I’m the pinnacle of that attraction.
That I’m sexy and perfect and stunning in my own right. And so help me, I want to believe him.
“These curls, this hair. You know how much I love it?” He whispers into my temple, lightly grasping some in his hand and tilting my head towards him.
“How tempted I am to wrap my fists around it while your mouth is otherwise occupied?” Jesus Christ. His dirty mouth and words of adoration are enough to unravel me.
“Your body is torturous, Ken. It drives me wild.” He pauses to run his thumb over my sternum.
A gentle caress. A question. I don’t bother answering, I just cover his hand with mine and move it underneath my bra.
He groans into my neck like every manner of self-restraint is becoming impossible.
“These amazing tits fit perfectly in my hand,” he says as he rubs and kneads my nipple.
“And my mouth,” he whispers in my ear. “May I?”
“Mhm,” I whimper, not even sure if it’s intelligible.
“Words, Ken, I need words, baby,” he chuckles. It’s raspy and deep. I feel it at the base of my spine, where it melts into my core and sparks a flame.
“Yes,” I grate out while he pulls down my black silk shirt along with my bra to expose my breasts.
He’s sucking, licking, nipping at me, his teeth grazing the most sensitive area of my flesh.
And I’m borderline embarrassed at the sounds I’m making, writhing and wet with need, completely at the mercy of his mouth.
Potent desire anchors my lips back to his.
Raw lust buzzes and hums underneath our skin, burning and crackling and exploding to life between us.
He pulls away slightly, both of us breathing hard and heavy. I’m panting like a goddamn dog in heat.
“We don’t have to do this here. I just need you to understand how much I want you. That you’re the only person I want. You can tell me to stop at any time,” he whispers.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
I can’t tell him to stop. I don’t want him to.
Not when he unbuttons my jeans, not when he pulls my thong to the side and teases my entrance.
And certainly not when he plunges two fingers into my slick wet heat so fucking slowly.
I grasp onto his arm and moan into the alcove between his neck and shoulder.
Like it could anchor me here and tether me to this moment.
I’ll die if he stops, I’ll combust if he doesn’t.
The stretch, the fit, the feel of his fingers inside me curling to stroke the place I need him most—are all enough to send me hurtling to the precipice of oblivion.
“God, Ken you’re so fucking wet and tight.
I need to see you come. Please,” he pushes in deeper and faster while I chase the delicious friction at the base of his palm.
I’m flying. Floating. Soaring. My breath hitches when he tilts his hand, adding more pressure to my throbbing clit.
I buck my hips against him faster as desperate breathy moans escape my lips.
“Fuck, Ken, that’s so hot. I could come just watching you.” My arms curl around his upper back, my nails digging into his shoulders. He plays me like a well-tuned instrument. I’m his religion, my body the altar at which he worships.
“Kai—” and then I shatter around him, my walls quake with pure ecstasy.
His fingers are knuckle deep inside of me in the middle of a restaurant bathroom.
It’s hands down the hottest experience of my entire life.
He muffles my cries of pleasure with a kiss and it’s so easy to lose myself in him, in us.
I rest my head against his chest, breathing hard.
I’m boneless, mindless, speechless.
Then he kisses my forehead and takes my face in his hands. His smokey eyes pierce me with love and longing. Hope and affection. He looks at me like I’m everything and in this moment, I know I am.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ken. Perfection. I hope you get it now. My type starts and ends with you.”
And I do get it. I really really do. His words wrap around me and settle in my chest, burrow in my soul.
This has been about pleasure and desire but it’s also about me standing so fucking certain in my truth and his that I never doubt it again.
It isn’t that he doesn’t make me feel desired, wanted, loved.
He does. It’s my own inner critic and loud voices that make me question things.
Not anymore. Hopefully never again if I can help it.
I’m drunk on the fucking power. Dizzy and delirious from the intoxicating pleasure that is Kai.
I feel victorious. Sexy. Unhinged. I also have the overwhelming, delightful thought that Veronica can go fuck herself. That anyone who ever makes me feel small, insignificant, or insecure again can go fuck themselves. And I suspect—no, I know—that’s been Kai’s intent all along.