3 #2
“Yeah, it really is.” And it was. I’d been backstage at games before—plenty of times in high school and a few in college. I’d even met Nash once after a game in Chicago, along with my brother and our parents, but it hadn’t been anywhere near as cool as this.
“Mr. Sampson will be with you shortly,” the man said, then he disappeared down the hall.
Josh.
Sammy sank into one of the couches, pulling out her phone to snap some photos while I remained standing, feeling unexpectedly nervous—not because of Josh, but because of Nash.
My feelings were more jumbled than ever.
I kept reminding myself that we were just friends and that I was here because of Josh, nothing more.
But standing here, knowing I might see Nash any minute, I knew I was lying to myself.
My feelings for him were still there—deep and complicated, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
The hallway outside carried the sound of people walking and a murmur of distant voices, but the waiting area itself was mostly quiet. A few other people lingered nearby, scrolling on their phones or chatting quietly.
Despite my nerves, I couldn’t stop the flutter in my chest. Just being back here like some VIP was exciting in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
Sammy, of course, couldn’t stop grinning—and her smile was contagious.
The first people to leave the waiting area were a couple in their fifties who must’ve been the parents of one of the defensive players. The father and son had the same bright-red hair.
Sammy and I caught a few curious glances, and then Josh stepped out, dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered neatly at the waist. His dark hair was smoothed back, and he had that freshly showered glow.
The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket made him look even more polished, and damn, he looked good.
His face lit up the second he spotted us, which only made him more handsome. Sammy scrambled to her feet, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Hey. I’m glad you could make it,” he said, walking over with that easy confidence I remembered from the bar.
“Thank you so much for the tickets,” I said, doing my best to match his enthusiasm. “It was a great game.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “It’s always nice with a win.”
Sammy giggled as she echoed my thanks, clearly still riding the high of the game.
The door opened behind us, and another couple of guys walked out. They grinned when they saw Josh talking to us.
“Take it easy tonight, Sampson,” one of them called out with a smirk.
The other—a younger guy who’d been drafted straight out of high school a couple of years earlier—added with a laugh, “What the hell, Josh? Two hot girls? You need to learn how to share, man.”
Sammy and I exchanged an amused glance while Josh ignored them. “Do you have plans tonight, or can I take you girls out for dinner?” he asked.
“We have no plans!” Sammy almost shouted before I could even process the question.
“Cool.” Josh grinned and then turned to me. “How does Italian sound?”
“Ah, good.”
“Great, let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward the door.
Sammy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly eager about dinner, and I was happy to go, but mostly for her. Josh was a nice, good-looking guy, but I’d really hoped to see Nash.
“Hey, Josh?” I asked, raising my voice over the noise in the hallway. “Is Nash still around?”
“Yeah, he should be out any minute.”
“Do you mind if we stay so I can say hi before we go?”
“Of course not,” he said with a smile that didn’t look completely genuine.
Sammy shot me a knowing grin before turning back to Josh, talking a mile a minute, giving me a second to glance at the locker room doors.
It didn’t take long before I heard my name.
“Kennedy!”
I looked up to see Nash striding toward us with his usual confident ease.
His dark hair was still damp, a stray lock falling across his forehead.
He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and a green tie that made his eyes—and everything else—stand out even more.
He looked better than good. He looked like trouble.
Nash’s smile widened as he opened his arms, pulling me to him. The heat from his body, combined with his familiar scent, was almost overwhelming. I inhaled instinctively, both hating and loving how much comfort I found in him.
When his arms lingered around me for a beat longer than expected, I had to remind myself, again, that we were just friends. That this wasn’t anything. And I wasn’t supposed to want it to be.
I pulled back with a smile, trying to gather my thoughts, refusing to come off as one of those girls just looking to cozy up to a famous hockey player.
“You came.” Nash grinned, his eyes lighting up.
“Of course,” I said, my voice soft. “You know I love watching you play.”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” he said, his voice lower. He reached out and gently squeezed my arm, his eyes never leaving mine. “What are you doing now? Want to grab dinner?”
Did I ever, but again, friends. And I’d already said yes to Josh.
I forced a smile. “Actually, Sammy and I are heading to dinner with Josh.”
Nash’s brows lifted slightly. “Josh, huh?” He glanced past me, spotting them a few feet away. Without missing a beat, he walked over, that easy confidence radiating off him.
“You’re a lucky man,” Nash said to Josh with a teasing grin, “taking two beautiful women out for dinner.”
Josh laughed, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, man, can’t complain.”
“You should come, Nash,” Sammy suggested, ever the instigator.
I snapped my head toward her, surprised. Nash’s eyes did too—but his reaction was entirely different. His grin widened, eyes lighting up as he looked from her to me.
“Yeah?” he asked, his gaze holding mine for a moment longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” I said, pretending to sound casual, even though my pulse had picked up.
He chuckled. “Okay.”
“Perfect.”
“All right, let’s go,” Josh said, taking the lead toward the exit, his tone easy but his jaw just a little too tight.
We stepped out of the arena into the cool night air.
The street was alive with fans in jerseys, laughter spilling from nearby bars, and car horns echoing down the avenue.
That city hum that never really quieted.
Nash and Josh fell into an easy conversation about sports—hockey, baseball, even golf—as we waited for the Uber.
They were about the same height with similar builds, and in their game-night suits, they looked like walking thirst traps.
Both had dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended.
Josh’s was neatly styled, his overall look polished and deliberate, while Nash’s waves were a little unruly, like he’d run his hand through them one too many times.
His smile came easier too—wide, unguarded—and those piercing green eyes had a way of making it hard to look anywhere else.
Sammy linked her arm with mine. “Seriously, this is so great.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling, though my stomach was fluttering for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger. This could either go great or crash and burn.
We were about to step into the car when a woman’s voice broke through the noise.
“Oh my God—Nash Reed?”
We all turned as a petite brunet in a black coat approached, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline. Her eyes were wide and starstruck, her voice trembling with excitement.
Two friends trailed right behind her, whispering and giggling, their eyes locked on Nash like he was some kind of movie star.
“Hi,” Nash said, slipping into an easy smile.
“I’m such a huge fan,” the brunet gushed, already stepping closer. “Would you mind taking a quick picture?”
“Of course.” He took her phone, wrapped his arm around her back, leaned in, and smiled for the selfie. The move was so smooth it made my stomach twist.
“God, he’s even hotter in person,” one of the friends whispered to the other, loud enough for me to hear.
“Oh, totally,” the other replied, eyes fixed on Nash. “My friend hooked up with him a couple of months ago. Said he’s the best she’s ever had.”
“No way.”
“Swear to God. Apparently, he doesn’t do relationships, though. It’s one night and he’s gone. But honestly? I wouldn’t mind being a one-night anything if it was with him.”
They both giggled while I swallowed hard, forcing down the bitter taste creeping up my throat. I didn’t dare glance at Sammy—I knew she’d heard every word too, and I didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes.
So when Josh opened the back door, holding it for us, I slid inside just as the other two girls stepped up for their turn. It was part of Nash’s job—I knew that. But overhearing them and watching him smile for their cameras still hit a nerve.
It was a reminder of how popular—and unattainable—he really was. There would always be women vying for his attention. And Nash Reed had never been a one-woman man.
· · ·
The restaurant Josh had picked was one of those dimly lit Italian spots with soft music and white tablecloths where the waiters wore vests.
More upscale than I was used to, but not necessarily stuffy.
Still, I felt underdressed in my jeans and sweater, especially next to Josh and Nash in their tailored suits.
Sammy had no such concerns. “This place is so nice,” she whispered to me before turning her megawatt smile on Josh. “Seriously, thank you again. This is so fun, and the game was incredible.”
Josh chuckled as he settled across from me, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “I’m glad.”
I smiled a little awkwardly, not quite sure how to act. I mean, how many times can you say thank you?
“It’s a nice place,” Nash’s voice came from behind me, smooth and low.
The hum of conversation inside the restaurant seemed to shift, a few tables going noticeably quieter before the buzz picked up again—louder this time—as people realized who had just walked in.