Chapter 9
jordan
A few minutes earlier
Rolling onto my side with a huff, I punch the hotel pillow, willing it to fill with more feathers.
Goddamit, why can’t things be magic like in the movies so I can get some fucking sleep?
She dismissed me. Again. Why do I let this get to me?
Why do I let her cold response hit my heart like a tranquilizer dart, making my entire body completely numb?
If only the metaphorical tranquilizer would help me sleep.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been tossing and turning.
I’ve flipped over my pillow at least ten times.
I’ve tried counting in English. In French.
Imagining bobbleheads jumping over my bed. Anything to get me to relax.
Nothing’s working.
There is one thing that helps me sleep sometimes.
A glass of red wine. Doesn’t matter if it’s a cabernet, merlot, or pinot noir.
All of those make me drowsy super-fast and don’t affect me the next day if I just have one.
I roll out of bed and step over to the mini-bar in the room.
No dice. Only some imported beers, whiskey, and vodka.
Dammit. I need to get some sleep. We have a game tomorrow, and I’m already on my last warning with Coach. I need to be playing at my best.
The last thing I need is to be tired as hell and play like shit. My head flops toward my side table. I could order room service, but that’ll take an hour. I slam the fridge closed. Fuck it. I throw on sweats and my ‘I am Kenough’ hoodie, grab my wallet, and head downstairs.
As I step into the lobby, my gaze locks on the bar like my phone connecting to the Wi-Fi—instantly wanting to log in and explore.
She’s here. My heart drops into my stomach seeing the one person I can’t have.
Just like a random Wi-Fi signal, I don’t have the fucking password.
I rub my tired eyes, hoping the action will press the ‘forget network’ setting.
It doesn’t. I can’t be around her again right now.
I can’t see her beautiful face and take another rejection.
Not tonight. I shuffle my feet, wanting to retreat to my room like a damn turtle back into its shell.
But wine is the only thing that’s going to help me sleep.
Fuck. I was a ninja turtle for Halloween one year.
I’ll just channel that energy and hide inside my shell in plain sight.
I take a seat in a corner booth away from the bar.
I’ll just order a drink and head on my way.
Easy peasy. But goddammit, I still see her.
I’ll always see her. The server comes by, and I order a glass of Bonanza, my favorite cabernet.
It seems fitting for the state of my life, and it knocks me out for a solid eight hours.
The name sounds as ridiculous as my persona, and the word means a windfall of good fortune, which I could fucking use right now.
Especially with Kennedy.
I can’t help but stare at her, wondering what it would be like to just go up and say hi.
To have her actually respond. But as soon as that thought enters my mind, some guy approaches and takes the seat right next to her.
Who the fuck is that? My breath catches.
Does she have a boyfriend? He looks like a douche.
Oh shit. That’s our new pilot. I saw him standing behind Kennedy earlier on the plane.
Goddammit. He’s sitting a little too close to her for my taste.
My stomach drops…she looks…uncomfortable.
My teeth clench as he leans close, as if whispering in her ear, but I see her flinch.
I see her shift away in her chair. I see her hand clenched into a fist in her lap.
She is not into this motherfucker. I am also not into this.
Rage pulses through my veins as he reaches over to place his hand on her arm.
I watch her cringe as she pulls her arm back enough to break contact without being overly rude.
What the fuck is happening to me right now? I don’t know why my feet are suddenly the most confident motherfuckers in the world or why my heart is beating out of my chest. I don’t know how I’m standing next to her or why the next words come out of my mouth.
But they do.
Words I’ve wanted to say for a long time fall out like teeth after a puck to the face.
“Sorry that took so long, babe. I could not get my agent off the phone—what a yapper!” I say, looking at her with pleading eyes, hoping she won’t balk. Hoping she can see what I’m trying to do. She blinks, her face amazingly blank. So far, so good.
I turn my attention to face dipshit. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. I’m Jordan Boucher, Kennedy’s boyfriend.”
His eyes narrow. “Chadd. With two d’s,” he says, deadpanned as he reluctantly extends his hand. “I wasn’t aware you two were dating.”
“It’s new. But it was love at first sight, right, babe?” I turn my gaze to see her staring back, her lips tight like she wants to thank me and murder me all in one swift move. I swallow hard—the combination of those two things is weirdly hot.
But in the best moment of my entire twenty-three years of life, she opens her mouth and says the unthinkable:
“Yeah, Chadd. This is my boyfriend. Jordan. Everything okay with your agent…babe?”