1 #3
My feet left the floor, and my body pressed flush against his. His chest was solid and warm, and his familiar scent—clean, fresh, and laced with that hint of spice—wrapped around me as tightly as his arms.
For just a moment, I let myself close my eyes and breathe him in.
When I opened them, I caught sight of Josh watching us, his expression unreadable but his brows drawn tight in quiet confusion.
“What are you doing here?” Nash asked, setting me back on my feet, completely oblivious to the way Josh was still standing right beside us. “Jackson said you were in town but not why.”
“I just moved here. I got a new job.”
His eyes widened again, but this time it was accompanied by a wide, dazzling grin. The kind that made women everywhere lose their minds . . . and their panties.
“Really? That’s awesome,” he said.
Josh cleared his throat beside us, successfully interrupting our little reunion.
“Sorry, man,” Nash said, grinning down at him as he stepped away from me. “How do you know Kennedy?”
“I don’t,” Josh replied, his tone casual. “Caught her when she was about to face-plant a few minutes ago.”
Great. That didn’t exactly make me sound like the sophisticated, grown-up professional I wanted to portray.
“Are you all right?” Nash asked, his voice laced with worry as he checked me for any signs of injury.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Thanks to Josh.”
“How do you two know each other?” Josh asked, first looking at Nash then turning to me with a curious tilt of his head. “And how do you know my name?”
“We grew up together,” Nash answered before I could open my mouth. “Next-door neighbors.”
His heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and he gave it a quick squeeze. “Kenny and I have been friends forever.”
And there it was. Friends.
We were friends all right. Just friends.
Nothing more . . . even if my heart had never really gotten that memo.
“I’ve followed hockey ever since Nash started playing,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “That’s how I recognized you.”
“Cool,” Josh replied, offering a tense smile. But the shift in his posture didn’t go unnoticed. His expression tightened slightly as Nash casually slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into the solid warmth of his body like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re looking good, Kenny,” Nash said, then he released me. “Let’s catch up this week, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied, hoping the slight flutter in my chest wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
“I’ll text you,” he said with that same knowing smile before turning toward the crowd, leaving me standing there with a pulse that refused to slow and a stomach that wasn’t sure whether to swoon or sink.
I truly hoped I’d hear from him, even though it might be better if I didn’t, and I wasn’t holding my breath.
Our history was long and complicated.
It went all the way back to when we were kids.
My brother, Jackson, was a year older than Nash’s brother, Isaac, and three years older than Nash and me.
We used to play together all the time growing up, especially sports.
Jackson hated being on the same team as me, because according to him, I was the reason we always lost—and, honestly, he wasn’t wrong.
Nash, however, never seemed to care. So, most of the time it was me and him against Isaac and Jackson.
As we got older, it became a rule—not just for sports, but for everything.
We studied together, called each other’s parents by their first names, and walked in and out of each other’s houses like we belonged there.
The trouble didn’t start until our freshman year of high school. Jackson drove all of us in his old, beat-up Ford Explorer, and Nash and I were always stuck in the back seat. Up until then, I’d never thought it was strange that I mostly hung out with guys; it was just the way it had always been.
But once the high school girls realized who my brother was—and that I was friends with the Reed brothers—things changed. The older girls would give me dirty looks unless the boys were around. Then they would act like they were my best friends.
Looking back, it was clear that the girls had wanted an invite to my house to get close to Jackson or the Reeds. All I knew back then was that I felt left out.
As a result, I spent a lot of time on my own. I became quieter, more withdrawn. I preferred the library or my bedroom to dealing with people who only pretended to like me. I didn’t really have a true female friend until I met Sammy.
When Jackson left for college, Isaac became our designated driver. Nash and I were sophomores then, and that was the year everything really started to change. Nash grew. Suddenly, he wasn’t a boy anymore but a young man, all broad shoulders and easy smiles. And the girls, they noticed.
He started noticing them too, and soon he was as interested in girls as he was in hockey.
But not in girls like me. No, the older girls.
The ones with perfect hair, tight skirts, and confidence I couldn’t even fake.
He still spent time with me, but it was different.
He treated me like I was either one of the guys or someone he needed to protect from them.
By junior year, Nash was already over six feet tall and built like an athlete who’d been born for the spotlight.
He quickly became the most popular guy in school—maybe the whole county.
Riding to school with him became awkward, because I was—just like every other girl—completely infatuated with him.
But for me it wasn’t just that he was good-looking.
It was that I knew he was a good person.
And maybe that made it worse . . . knowing I didn’t stand a chance.
Once Nash started picking up his “flavors of the week” to drive them to school, I began taking my own car.
By senior year, Nash was practically living at the rink or hanging with the popular crowd. I still loved watching him play, but I kept my distance. It hurt too much seeing him with someone new every other week—seeing how easily he gave away the smile I used to think belonged to me.
As Nash walked off across the bar, Josh watched him go, then turned to me with a raised brow. “Childhood friends, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice even, though I could feel the unspoken question between us—Then why say you were from Chicago?
But instead, Josh asked, “Are you coming to our game on Sunday?”
The hockey season had just started, and the Empires had won one game and lost the other.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Why not? I thought you just said you were into the game,” he teased, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took a sip of his beer, gaze still fixed on me.
“I am,” I said with a small smile. “I just haven’t had a chance yet. I’ve been busy unpacking and getting settled.”
“Gotcha. I was just messing with you,” he said, flashing a grin. “But listen, I’ve got tickets. Bring a friend and come.”
My heart skipped a beat. His tickets. Not just any seats, but Josh Sampson’s. I could only imagine how incredible they were. I tried to stay calm, not wanting to seem overly eager.
“Oh, that’s really nice, but I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not,” he said easily, his smile reassuring. “It’ll give me a chance to see you again.”
I hesitated, my pulse catching. The invitation hit harder than it should have. Because it wouldn’t be Nash’s name on those tickets like I wanted it to be.
But accepting Josh’s offer was still a way to be there—to see the game, to see Nash play.
I bit my lip, forcing my focus back to Josh. I was being ridiculous, still hung up on someone who clearly didn’t see me as anything but the girl next door, the one who’d always tagged along with him and our brothers.
Josh was nice, and very good-looking. Maybe saying yes would remind me there were other guys in the world. Guys who actually noticed me.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Josh said, nodding.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Yeah. I’d love to go.”