Chapter 22 Kennedy
kennedy
Arriving at the hotel in Dallas after the game, I stumble into my room, kick my shoes off, and flop down face-first on the bed.
I open my mouth to scream my frustrations into the mattress.
But I can’t. I am so damn tired; the thought of expanding my lungs more than necessary is exhausting.
I thought I would be relaxing all day, but between the endless notifications going off, calls from my friends and family, and going over flight plans, I barely got a chance to relax.
Thankfully, I got a quick nap in after chatting with Hannah, otherwise I’m not sure I would’ve made it through the post-game flight. Chadd was tolerable on the flight—not sure how long that will last, but at least I survived. I’m ready to hibernate in a cave for a year.
The minute we got in the shuttle to the hotel, I started getting tagged in a million notifications on social media.
Specifically, the one of Jordan announcing our relationship after the game.
I watched it—the shirtless man with an incredibly sculpted chest declaring I was the woman of his dreams. I watched again, to make sure I heard everything correctly, since I was too distracted watching his muscles ripple across my screen.
And then a third time, needing to be certain I caught it all, noticing the way his throat bobbed as he spoke.
My breaths became quick, my thighs clenching together as I watched it a few more times for good measure—until I remembered I was on a bus filled with other people.
If I weren’t so damn tired, I’d watch it again here in bed…for science.
It’s a great speech. I swallow hard, realizing he ticked off every item on the checklist of things I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone to say.
But it’s not real. This is all for show.
One thing I’ll never doubt about him is his ability to perform on demand.
If I didn’t know any better, it would have been a nice declaration if I were even into that sort of thing from a guy, especially one like him, which I’m clearly not.
It was just another of the many performances from hockey’s greatest showman.
Flipping onto my back, I stare at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I’ve done. Was this the right decision? I could just admit to Chadd this was all a ruse and deal with the fallout. I flop my arm over my face. Shit, I cannot lower myself to admit to him this was all fake.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of paper rustling. I quickly sit up, finding a piece of paper shoved under the door from the adjoining room next to me. Is he in there? How is this happening again?
I walk over to pick up the paper and unfold it to read.
Kennedy,
I hope you’re doing okay after everything today. This has all been a lot, way more than I ever would have thought.
Sorry I didn’t get to check in on you until now, game days are always crazy somehow. Sleep tight, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.
Your boyfriend, Jordan.
P.S. Open the mini-bar
A tired smile creeps up my face as I huff out the smallest laugh. Is it my exhaustion or does some of that rhyme? I did hear rumors about a filthy poem he wrote for Hayes Larson’s bachelor party.
I can’t remember the last time a guy wrote me a note, let alone one with pen and paper.
The slightest of flutters runs through my stomach, warmth filling me before I quickly squash it.
Just because he’s not thinking only about himself for one minute doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has their moments.
I read the last line again, my eyes peeking up from the paper toward the mini-bar.
Walking over I slowly pull the door open, half afraid I’ll find some immature joke.
I suck in a sharp breath as I stare at what’s before me, blinking a few times to make sure it’s not a mirage.
I reach out and touch a bottle. Nope. It’s real.
Really, truly real. The entire fridge is filled with nothing but Aviation gin, bottles of tonic water, and a container of freshly cut lime wedges.
I tilt my head to the side, that damn flutter in my gut back again and stronger than before. How did he know? I guess I ordered a gin and tonic at the bar last night, but he wasn’t there that long. And this is my favorite brand. All of it is my favorite.
I grab the ingredients to make myself a nightcap, knowing it’s exactly what I need after this horrific day and snatch the ice bucket to fill in the hallway.
But…it’s already full. I’m not going to deny that being able to make myself a drink without having to schlep down the hall to get ice is a welcome luxury after this day.
How the hell did he arrange all of this?
I make my drink, finding a piece of paper and pen and the nightstand, and sit at the small table by the window.
You know what? A drink by my side and a gorgeous view of downtown Dallas lit up across the night sky.
This isn’t half bad. Writing down a few things, I fold the piece of paper and push it under the door between our rooms.
I walk back to bed and, for some ridiculous reason, I’m…I’m smiling? What the hell? I do not smile by myself in a hotel room. It must be the alcohol hitting my stomach. My gaze shifts between my bed, the door to his room, and my phone.
Apparently, Jordan Boucher is taking this fake dating thing pretty damn seriously. I think I just got my second wind to watch that video again.