1 #2
“You let me know if you want to leave, okay?” she said, her tone suddenly serious.
I’d never told her outright how I felt about Nash, but after living together all through college, she didn’t need me to. She’d known for years.
“I want to stay,” I said.
“Good, because I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, flashing a grin. “I’ve really missed you.”
“Me too,” I said, meaning it. I’d missed Sammy like crazy while I was in Chicago, even though we’d kept in touch.
But it was different sharing an apartment with strangers you barely saw—like I had in Chicago—versus the familiarity of living with someone who felt like home.
Sammy was that for me. Hearing her off-key singing as she baked, the way she muttered under her breath about doing laundry, her infectious laughter during stupid reality shows—it was comforting.
And something I’d missed more than I’d realized.
I took another sip of my martini—smaller this time—feeling the slow burn as it slid down my throat. Setting the glass back on the bar, I let my eyes wander over the crowd. From our elevated vantage point, I could finally see the back of the room.
A group of guys stood near the rear wall, and it was obvious they were athletes. Their height and muscular builds made them stand out. Judging by the swarm of women surrounding them, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
And there, at the back of the group, stood Nash.
My breath caught, because . . . damn, he looked good. His dark, wavy hair was still as unruly as ever, and his broad shoulders and wide chest seemed even more imposing than the last time I’d seen him.
I couldn’t help but think of the Armani ad, knowing exactly what kind of perfection was hiding beneath the perfectly tailored shirt. But the image vanished the moment the guy he’d been talking to stepped aside, revealing the rest of the scene.
Nash leaned casually against the wall, that signature smirk playing on his lips. He held a beer in one hand, and his other arm was draped lazily around a curvy blond in a tight dress.
A wave of jealousy hit even though I had no right to feel that way. Nash and I had never been anything but friends, and his type had always been busty blonds.
If anything, I should’ve been used to it by now. His reputation as a player wasn’t exactly a secret—and I’d had front-row seats back in high school. I’d watched him hook up with more girls than I could count, and judging by the way this one leaned into him now, not much had changed.
I sighed and drained the rest of my martini in one go.
Sammy took one look at me. “We need another!” she declared, slamming her empty glass on the counter. “Two more!” she called to the bartender.
He kept them coming, and for a little while, I let myself get lost in the buzz of it all.
We toasted and cheered, and I laughed harder than I had in months.
But by the time I was halfway through my last martini—whatever number that was—the room had started to blur, and I was officially tipsy.
Okay, very tipsy. And in desperate need of the ladies’ room.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Sammy as I slid off the barstool. She just nodded, busy chatting with some preppy-looking guy beside her. I was nowhere near as steady on my feet as I wanted to be. It had been a long time since I’d had this much to drink.
I giggled quietly to myself, focusing hard on placing one foot in front of the other as I made my way down the dim hallway toward the bathroom.
Of course, there was a line. A long, slow-moving one too.
I tried to think about anything other than how badly I had to pee, but after a few minutes, I found myself crossing my legs and seriously considering ducking into the men’s room.
Thankfully, the last stall door opened, and I rushed inside, relief flooding through me as I sat down. But it was short-lived.
Two women were chatting in the stalls next to mine, and their conversation made me freeze.
“What are you gonna do about Nash? He’s got his arm around some blond tonight,” one of them said.
“I know,” the other snapped, clearly annoyed.
“I thought the two of you were becoming a thing?”
“I’m not sure Nash does things,” she replied dryly. “He’s more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy.”
I bit down on my lip to keep from snorting.
She wasn’t wrong. For as long as I’d known Nash, he’d never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks.
Still, I held my breath, unsure what to do.
I was finished, and there was definitely a line of women waiting for my stall—but I didn’t want to miss what came next.
I wanted to know who this girl that might or might not have “a thing” with Nash was.
“Ugh. That’s too bad. He’s so hot.”
“Yeah,” her friend sighed. “Even more so without his clothes.”
The women burst into giggles, and I cringed. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard it all before. I’d seen the Armani ads. I’d seen him in swim trunks and working out in just shorts back when we were younger. I knew Nash’s body was incredible.
But I didn’t want to hear it from someone who’d experienced it. Someone who’d touched him.
I shook my head hard.
Focus, Kennedy.
“Is it true what the rumors say—that he’s hung like a horse?”
A choking sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. Seriously? Did women really talk about that kind of thing out loud?
I fumbled with the stall lock, swung the door open, and hurried to the sinks, desperate to get out of earshot. I shouldn’t care; maybe it was the alcohol, but hearing strangers talk about him like that hit me harder than it should’ve.
“Oh, he’s huge all right.”
I groaned, scrubbing my hands quickly and avoiding the mirror, knowing I’d see bright-red cheeks and wide, stunned blue eyes.
I didn’t care anymore who the woman was or what she might have going on with Nash.
I just needed to get out of that bathroom and away from the giggles, the gossip, and the graphic commentary about a man I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for.
I zigzagged through the crowd, trying to squeeze between bodies as I put as much distance as possible between me and the bathroom gossip, but my foot caught on something, and I stumbled. I tried to recover, but between the high heels, the martinis, and the adrenaline, it wasn’t going well.
I was milliseconds from hitting the floor when a pair of strong arms caught me around the waist.
“Whoa—close one,” a deep voice chuckled behind me. “You okay?”
I let out a shaky sigh of relief as I regained my balance.
Swiping my long hair out of my face, I turned to thank my rescuer, only to face a broad, muscular chest dressed in a pressed white shirt and a suit jacket.
I tilted my head back, way back, in order to see his face.
My eyes widened as they locked with a pair of dark-brown ones I recognized instantly.
I’d followed hockey and Nash’s career since he’d started to play. The man who still had his arm wrapped around my waist, with an amused smile on his face, was none other than Josh Sampson, the Empires’ second-line center.
“Th-thank you,” I stammered, feeling completely starstruck and more than a little dizzy.
“You’re quite welcome,” he said, his smile spreading. He was undeniably handsome, but the way his whole face lit up when he smiled made him downright breathtaking.
“Maybe it was fate that I caught such a beautiful girl tonight,” he said, his grin playful. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh, thank you, but I think I’ve probably had more than enough already.” I laughed awkwardly, the embarrassment flooding in. “As you clearly noticed.”
He chuckled. “So just keep me company.”
Before I could answer, Josh took my hand. “Come on.”
I let him lead me back toward the bar, where he ordered a beer for himself and a glass of water for me.
Across the room, I caught Sammy’s eye. Her expression lit up in surprise when she noticed the tall, undeniably attractive man standing beside me. She shot me a subtle thumbs-up and mouthed a wow. I couldn’t help but smile. The whole moment felt a little surreal.
The bartender slid the drinks in front of us. I took a long sip of the water, hoping the cool liquid would help steady my nerves and flush out at least one of the martinis buzzing in my system.
“So,” Josh said, turning those warm-brown eyes back on me, “where are you from?”
“I just moved from Chicago,” I answered quickly, skipping over the fact that I’d grown up in upstate New York—right next door to Nash Reed.
“Do you like New York so far?”
I’d spent most of my life upstate, but Manhattan was something else entirely, and so far, I loved it. I told him as much, and he smiled, sipping his beer as if he had all the time in the world to keep talking.
“Yo, Sampson,” a deep voice called out from behind us, followed by a heavy hand clamping down on Josh’s shoulder. The sudden interruption made Josh’s arm slide off my back, and my breath caught in my throat.
I knew that voice.
“Seriously, Reed? What do you want?” Josh groaned.
There he was, standing just to my right, looking down at Josh with a smirk on his lips. He had one hand casually tucked into the front pocket of his jeans while the other remained firmly planted on Josh’s shoulder.
My eyes, traitorous as ever, drifted over him. I’d known he’d filled out over the years, but nothing had prepared me for seeing it in person. His muscular frame was even more imposing up close than it was on-screen.
He looked exactly like the guy in the ad.
Only better.
He wasn’t the boy I remembered anymore but every bit the man my heart wasn’t ready for. And he was looking right at me.
“Hey, Nash,” I said, though my heart was pounding like I’d just sprinted down Fifth Avenue.
A slow smile spread across his full lips.
“Holy shit! Kennedy.”
And then, without warning, he practically shoved Josh aside and pulled me into his arms.