Chapter 1
ONE
TEN MONTHS AGO
KENNEDY
The shrilling sound of my ringtone wakes me from a peaceful slumber in the luxurious comfort of my silky, high-thread-count sheets.
I try to reach for my phone, but there’s a meaty arm holding me in place.
Did I let this guy sleep over? I never do that.
Hmm, I must have passed out after we had sex, and he decided to stick around.
I rack my brain trying to remember his name. Gary? No. Greg? No. Oh right, Geoff with a G. He made a whole annoying thing about it being spelled G-E-O-F-F and not J-E-F-F.
When I saw it spelled with a G when he messaged me on Tinder yesterday, I should have known he’d be the clingy type and sleep over. At least he was a decent lay.
I quietly extricate myself from his hold and slip out of bed naked before grabbing my phone and heading out into my living room. I look down at the phone and realize it’s the owner of my team. Shit. What does Prescott Wellington want?
I accept the call and do my best to act cheery when I’m anything but. “Good morning, Mr. Wellington.” Ugh. I sound like the angels in Charlie’s Angels.
In his raspy, near-death, old-man voice, he responds, “Good morning, Kennedy. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes as I look out the window of my New York City apartment and see a billboard of the most annoying basketball player in existence.
Tonight is the WNBA draft. I know he’s going to ask me to babysit whoever we select.
Ugh. Rookies. Fucking useless. At least we have the fifth pick, so I know I won’t have to play with the most over-hyped player in league history, Sullivan O’Shea.
The media-greedy bitch has practically hijacked the league, and she hasn’t even been drafted yet.
Yet here she is, on a billboard for our league already. God, I hate her.
I pull the phone from my ear when he loudly clears the disgusting phlegm from his throat. Good lord, he should be on some sort of breathing machine.
“Kennedy,” he wheezes, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to shoot straight.”
“Ooookay.”
“As you know, there’s an expansion team this year.” The Philly Beavers. “We’re only allowed to protect five players from our current roster. The rest are subject to being scooped up by the Beavers.”
Everyone knows this, but I’m one of the best players on my team. In the league. Surely they protected me. It never even occurred to me that they wouldn’t.
He continues, “After careful internal conversations with the general manager and coaching staff, we decided not to protect you and—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I interrupt. “I’ve led the team in rebounding all three years I’ve been here. I led the league in double-doubles last year. I’m a goddamn all-star.”
He exhales another audible wheezing breath.
“Kennedy, it’s not about your numbers or your performance.
You’re obviously valuable to the team in that regard.
It’s your…camaraderie with your teammates and general demeanor that are problematic for us.
You’ve been suspended by the league seven times in three years for your dirty play.
Your teammates have been in my office countless times asking that we trade you.
Put simply, you’re a cancer in the locker room.
We’ve reached our boiling point. When we made the decision not to protect you, Philly immediately grabbed your contract. ”
“No!” I shout. “Not Philly. I refuse to live in Philadelphia ever again.”
“It’s your hometown, Kennedy. Where your family lives. I was hoping this would be welcome.”
Panic rises to my chest. “It’s not. I promise to do better. Please let me stay. I love New York City. This is my home. Give me one more chance,” I desperately plead.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We can’t keep you.”
“What about a trade to a different city? Any other city.”
He’s quiet for a brief moment before admitting, “I tried, but we weren’t able to find an appropriate fit.
It’s already a done deal. Philly owns your contract now.
I’m truly sorry, Kennedy. Use this as an opportunity to reinvent yourself.
If you embrace it, it could be a fresh start for you,” he says in a hopeful voice.
Fresh start? Fuck him and everyone on the damn team and staff. “Screw you, Prescott Wellington the Fifth and your fucking pretentious name. You’ll regret this, asshole.”
I end the call before he can respond. My mind is spinning. I hate Philly. The prospect of living in the same town as my family again is beyond unappealing. There’s a reason I went to college in California. To get as far away from them as possible.
The rage in my body is overflowing when my phone pings with a text notification from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hi, Kennedy. This is Reagan Daulton.
I’m the new owner of the Philly Beavers.
We’re excited to have you on our team. As I’m sure you might assume, we’re drafting Sulley O’Shea tonight as the first overall pick in the WNBA draft.
She’s in New York for the draft. I’d like for you to meet her and some of your other teammates tonight at nine.
I need you to come thirty minutes early so we can talk privately before the others arrive.
Oh crap. Sulley O’Shea. She’s going to be my teammate. I wonder if life smokes a cigarette after it fucks me.
The media worships the ground that princess walks on. They refer to her as a phenom. This is such bullshit. This whole team is going to be about her. What a nightmare.
Me: Sorry. It’s late notice. I’m out of town.
Unknown: No, you’re not. I have eyes and ears everywhere. You’d be remiss not to remember that. Let me be clear, you WILL be there tonight. You WILL arrive thirty minutes early. I’ll send you the address later. I look forward to seeing you then.
Who does this bitch think she is? I’ll arrive if and when I want to.
I walk back into the bedroom and notice G-E-O-F-F.
Oh shit, I’m not dealing with morning-after nonsense.
I grab all of Geoff’s clothes from the ground and throw them at him.
He startles awake and gives me a sleepy smile as his eyes take in my naked body.
“Come back to bed, baby. Let’s go for another round. ”
Baby? We just met. I’m adding that to the list of red flags I keep on my phone. Men who call you baby just after you meet…or ever. Gross.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not your baby, and I have a busy day. I’m getting in the shower. Don’t be here when I get out. Lose my number while you’re at it.”
I arrive at the address Reagan gave me just before nine. I didn’t show up extra early like she asked. I’m not in the mood for a lecture, and this bitch needs to know she can’t boss me around. She should be happy I showed up at all.
The hostess escorts me to a private room in the back, where I get my first glimpse of my future teammates, all sitting around a table.
First, I notice Shay Walker. She’s a veteran forward from the team out of LA and is very good.
I can’t believe they didn’t protect her.
That’s odd. She’s tall, with dark skin and eyes.
We’ve thrown a couple of elbows at each other throughout the years, but I’m not unhappy to see her here.
She’s a good addition to the team. Ironically, her girlfriend went to the same college as me.
I don’t know her well, but I’ve met her a few times and never had a problem with her.
Next, I notice Layla Ladrón. She’s been in the league a little longer than me. She played for the team out of Miami. I know she recently had a baby and is married to a football player from Philly. I suppose it makes sense that she’d be willing to move there.
My eyes then find Palmer Payne. She’s new to the league.
I don’t know much about her, but I watched the draft today and knew she was selected by the Beavers in the second round.
She’s a curvy, extremely tall center with mousy, frizzy brown hair.
She wears goggles—fucking goggles—when she plays. Who does that?
She’s wearing regular glasses now, and I can see her eyes better. They’re unique. Almost purple. If I were her, I wouldn’t cover those eyes. They’re her best attribute.
Reagan stands, looking irritated, but musters a fake smile while holding out her hand. “How kind of you to join us,” she says with a bit of an edge. “I’m Reagan Daulton. You can call me Reagan.”
She’s extremely attractive—like model attractive—with blonde hair and blue eyes.
I can’t imagine she’s more than thirty-five.
Wow. She’s tall by conventional standards, but not around this genetically gifted group of women.
She’s wearing a pink power suit. Her wavy hair and makeup are perfect. She exudes wealth and sophistication.
I shake her hand in return as I try to size her up. “Sorry I’m late.” I give an over-exaggerated smile. “I was super busy restarting the dryer so I don’t have to fold my clean clothes.”
Her lip twitches with amusement, and she nods. “It’s safe to say we all do that at times.”
We sit, and Reagan begins. “Ladies, I’m thrilled that we got the opportunity to sign all of you to our team.
With this group of talent, I know we’ll be competitive in the league from day one.
I’ll get into this more when Sulley arrives, which should be in a few minutes, but I want to say something before she gets here.
Sulley is from a small town. She’s suffered some real trauma in her life.
I know she garners a lot of media attention, but she doesn’t ask for it. ”
I scoff. “The hell she doesn’t.”
Reagan turns to me. “She doesn’t. When you meet her, you’ll see her for the humble woman she is. You can’t find one soundbite where she comes off as arrogant because she’s not. I wouldn’t have drafted her if I thought she was going to be problematic.”
“You picked up Kennedy’s contract,” Shay mumbles.
I snap my head at her. “Screw you, wannabe celesbian.”