6
Nash
I took Kennedy to Luigi’s, a small Italian spot just down the block from my apartment.
The food was always incredible, and the owners, Claudia and Luigi, were great.
They had a table in the back, near the kitchen, that I liked to use.
It was technically one of their worst tables, but because it was hidden from view of the front door and the windows, I loved it.
It gave me the privacy I wanted, and I never had to worry about being in full view of the media.
“Good evening, Mr. Reed,” Claudia greeted me formally but warmly when we stepped through the front door.
“Good evening, Claudia. Sorry we’re a little late.”
“It’s no problem at all.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she gestured for us to follow her.
I rested my hand on Kennedy’s back again, savoring the familiar warmth of her beneath my palm as I guided her toward our table.
A few diners glanced our way. Some clearly recognized me, but thankfully, no one approached.
That was another reason I loved this place.
Claudia ran a tight ship, and her regulars respected the quiet, no-fuss atmosphere.
If anyone got too bold, she handled it with all the grace and grit of a protective bulldog.
“Valerie will be with you shortly,” she said, pulling out a chair for Kennedy and offering a polite smile. “Enjoy your night.”
“Thanks, Claudia,” I replied, settling into the seat across from Kennedy.
We’d barely sat down before the waitress appeared with menus and took our drink order.
Kennedy surveyed the space, her eyes taking in the simple yet charming decor.
White tablecloths, votive candles, and small vases of pink flowers adorned each table.
The walls were painted a deep maroon, with framed black-and-white photos of Rome and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “This is a cute place.”
“They have really great food,” I agreed. “My parents love it here.”
“Oh.” Her big, beautiful blue eyes turned toward me with curiosity. “You bring your parents here?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I come here a lot. I live just down the street.”
Her small smile widened into a full-fledged grin. “You live here? Like by Central Park?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. I’d like to see that.”
I gave her a slow smile. “I think that could probably be arranged.”
She laughed, but then her cheeks flushed a gorgeous shade of red, like she suddenly realized how her comment might’ve sounded.
I knew she wasn’t trying to suggest coming over to my place after dinner for a round between the sheets.
Still, her comment took my mind straight to the gutter, and I felt my dick twitch in my pants.
He definitely wouldn’t mind if she came home with me, but that wasn’t what this was.
And Kennedy, she wasn’t the kind of girl you took home just for the night.
She was the kind of girl you wanted to wake up with, and we were not there yet.
It was time to change the subject.
“What do you feel like eating?” I asked.
She glanced at the menu. “I’m not sure . . . maybe risotto.”
“It’s really good here,” I agreed. “But honestly, everything is.”
“Even the veal?” she asked cheekily, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She knew damn well that was the one thing I wouldn’t touch.
As Kennedy looked over the menu, I let myself exhale. For the first time in a while, I felt . . . content. The win had felt so damn good, and I’d needed that.
Badly.
My performance on the ice had been suffering for a while.
Practices were usually fine, but when it came to game days I was struggling.
Something just wasn’t clicking. It was like I’d lost the spark, the hunger to score, the thrill that used to make the game fun.
Instead, it had felt more like a chore, like something I just had to power through.
The Armani ads hadn’t helped with that. Sure, they’d increased my bank account, and I’d loved the attention in the beginning. Picking up women had never been a problem, but once those ads started it had been a piece of cake.
But the media’s focus on my abs and so-called sex appeal seemed to rub the sports commentators the wrong way. And I got it. I was a hockey player. My job was to make plays and score goals for the Empires, not grace billboards and buses.
But I didn’t train my ass off every day to be called a dumb has-been hockey player turned wannabe model. And I didn’t particularly like being called an idiot.
Hopefully, tonight’s performance would change that. Maybe now people would pay attention to what I could still do on the ice, not how I looked off it.
Man, I hoped this meant things were turning around.
Kennedy flipped the menu over, her eyes focused on the selections, and I realized that having her around probably helped.
Growing up, she’d been my biggest supporter.
My good-luck charm, the steady voice when everything else was noise.
Being with her was effortless, like slipping back into a familiar rhythm.
There were no games, no pretenses, except for the attraction.
It wasn’t new, but it hit harder now. Maybe because we weren’t kids anymore.
Maybe because, for once, we were in the same place.
The waitress returned with our drinks—a beer for me and a glass of wine for Kennedy—and took our order.
“How’s the new job?” I asked, reaching for my beer glass as Kennedy checked her phone for the third time since we’d sat down.
“Sorry,” she said, grimacing.
“It’s fine if you need to check.”
“I just don’t want to miss anything,” she said, setting the phone face down on the table. “We’ve got this huge campaign rolling out next week for Alo. It’s the first one I’m managing on my own, and my creative director has been firing off last-minute edits like it’s Monday morning.”
I nodded. I did get it—but it was Friday night.
“Do you like it?” I asked, genuinely curious—and also wanting to make sure she was going to stay around.
Her face lit up with a wide smile. “It’s good. Really good. But there’s a lot to learn, and it’s intense. I think I worked close to sixty hours this week.”
I blinked. “Sixty hours?”
“Yeah.” She blushed, laughing a little. “It might be a bit much, but I’m used to it from Chicago.”
I stared at her, both impressed and a little concerned. Keeping that pace couldn’t be good in the long run. “Damn, Kenny. That’s no joke.”
She shrugged. “I need to get up to speed, and there are a lot of things to learn: media buys, influencer contracts, coordinating shoots, making sure the creative actually fits the brand. It’s a lot, but it’s exciting. I just want to prove they didn’t make a mistake taking a chance on me.”
I nodded, taking another sip of my beer. Kennedy had always been focused and driven, but sixty hours? That was a lot. Maybe too much.
We ended up being one of the last couples to leave the restaurant.
The food had been incredible, as expected, and the conversation had flowed easily.
We caught up on everything that had happened since we’d both left for college.
Kennedy told me about living with Sammy and their college adventures, and I listened as she explained how she’d climbed the corporate ladder in Chicago.
In return, I shared my story of leaving college early to pursue my hockey career in the NHL, and she asked questions.
They were thoughtful, genuine questions.
Kennedy was definitely not like the usual girls I spent time with.
She was still just like I remembered her, only more grown-up, more confident, and somehow even more beautiful.
It was clear that she was genuinely interested in hockey and in me as a person, and that was a comforting feeling.
It reminded me of home, of the nights when our families would have dinner together after one of my games.
I’d be sitting there in my jersey, sweaty and starving, while she sat across from me with her hair in messy pigtails, rattling off every stat from the night like a tiny sports analyst. She always remembered who scored and who assisted.
Back then, I thought it was funny. Now, I realized I’d never forgotten, and I saw just how much I’d missed her.
The conversation flowed the entire way back to her apartment, until I walked her to her door.
“Ken,” I said, and she turned her beautiful face toward me, a small smile on her soft lips.
“Yes?”
“I had a really nice time. Thanks for going out with me.”
She laughed, and it felt like a punch straight to the gut in the best way possible. She was so damn cute. Actually, she was more than cute. She was beautiful, stunning even.
For a second, it made me wonder how many nights like this we could’ve had if I’d stayed in touch.
“Thank you, Nash. For everything.” A light blush dusted her cheeks. “I had a really nice time too.”
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling more hopeful than I’d expected to.
“Yeah.”