Chapter 40 Kennedy
kennedy
Thank God I don’t have work today because I got zero point zero hours of sleep last night.
Lying in bed, I roll over to avoid the beam of sunlight sneaking in through my shades.
My exhaustion does nothing to calm the heat still swirling through my body as I remember his mouth on mine, his hands curled around me, the feeling of him pulling me in and holding me like he never wanted to let go.
Trying to sleep last night was like all those nights in the hotels, knowing he was just on the other side of my door.
Except he was in my freaking apartment—my home.
Which, for some reason, is even hotter. I flail on the bed like a starfish, my emotions all over the place with everything going on. My body is feral for this man.
Gin and sex are my go-to stress relievers, but since my liquor cabinet and the person I want to have sex with were both in the main living area of my apartment, I may have silently relieved some of that last night when I couldn’t fall asleep.
I hope it was silent anyway. Had he walked in on me touching myself, I would have proved him right—I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.
He was right to sleep on the couch.
As I crawl out of bed to get ready to meet his mystery friend, I marvel at the amount of self-control he has.
The number of times I thought about walking to the couch and at least snuggling up with him should probably be illegal.
Hell, this whole thing should be off limits.
He’s twenty-three, for God’s sake! But…every time I convince myself this could never work, something about him draws me back.
Kissing that man is a drug, and I am officially addicted.
I swear that man’s thighs, the ones that stretch the seam of his pants when he sits down, are my weakness.
What is it about a man with nice thighs that gets me so worked up?
I wonder how much he squats? Fuck, now I’m picturing his thighs and that ass of his in a squat position. Snap out of it, Kennedy!
Obviously, admitting I’m attracted to him physically is an understatement.
But last night, something shifted. I bite my lip.
I finally got to see the real Jordan. He let down his guard—for me.
These past few weeks, I’ve seen little pieces of the real him.
He’s funny and sweet and thoughtful, and he can unlock my goddamn front door like he’s done it a million times.
But last night, he laid his soul bare. Every last drop.
I saw the pain in his eyes, the hurt he hides day in and day out.
My pulse quickens thinking about the girl who did this to him.
I’m not a crazy possessive person, but if I ever find fucking Angelica, I will use my jiu-jitsu training to take her down.
I’m still ninety-nine percent sure he’s intimidated by me—or, at least, he was.
He’s been doing all of this because he had a crush on me.
And he had the chance last night to have me…
but instead he acted like a complete gentleman, asking if he could kiss me goodnight. Then he left it at that—nothing more.
I’m used to random one-night stands, meeting a guy at a hotel bar, and hooking up just for some fun. My stomach clenches, bile clogging my throat as the realization hits me. Here I was being judgmental about him hooking up with all those people, when in reality, he wasn’t.
I was.
God, I feel like a piece of shit. I have done nothing but ignore him, acting like I was better than him, when he’s done nothing but keep trying. Fuck if that doesn’t make me want him even more.
As I brush my teeth and try to do something with my bird’s nest of tangled hair, I admit to myself there’s something incredibly sexy about him wanting to take things slow.
He’s in control here. And it’s kind of…sweet?
Grilled Cheesus, I have never done sweet with any guy.
I’ve only dated complete assholes who would find out I was a pilot and immediately ask if I had joined the Mile High Club. I roll my eyes. So original.
But not Jordan.
This is nothing like any other relationship I’ve been in before.
Maybe that’s the point? Shit…Kennedy, you aren’t in a relationship with him.
I slam my hairbrush on the counter, reminding myself that the relationship part is fake.
He wouldn’t even want this to be real…would he?
I’m jolted from my thoughts as a text comes through.
Jordan:
On my way back to your place! Be there in 15. Please check for talking bears.
Shit. I hurry to finish my make-up and find something to wear. I still don’t know where we’re going. He said casual is fine, but dear God, what do I wear? What says, ‘I like you, and I respect your boundaries, but also I want to rip your clothes off, tie you to my bed, and sit on your face?’ Jeans?
I decided on some leggings and an oversized crewneck, fancying it up with a necklace and earrings and cute tennis shoes. I throw my hair in a quick pony and decide the elevated Sporty Spice look is fine for this non-date.
I finish getting ready and race downstairs, a strange feeling hitting my gut as I wait in the lobby. My stomach flips, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. Am I…excited? What the hell is happening to me?
When we arrive at our destination, we walk into the building hand-in-hand. My pulse races and my eyes blink like they are trying to talk in Morse code. Jordan must sense my anxiety, squeezing my fingers gently.
“Are you okay? If you don’t want to come in, I get it. I know this is a lot.”
I can say with all honesty, this is the last place on earth I would have thought we would end up.
The giant giraffe painted on the wall, the colorfully decorated elevator banks, and the cheerful music playing are a disheartening contrast to the mood of everyone walking by.
All the bright and cheerful artwork is a distraction that will forever fall short.
Walking through the lobby, there’s no laughter, only quiet whispers between parents and children.
Some are here for a quick visit. Others are simply fighting to survive.
I swallow down my emotions. “No. I’m okay. I’m just…surprised. It’s really cool that you do this.”
He shrugs as we walk toward the visitors’ desk to check in. “Remember when I told you how I like to entertain the fans at the games? This is why. You never know what someone’s going through, and if there’s anything I can do to help them have a better day…I’ll do it.”
Now it’s my turn to squeeze his hand, choking back the tears threatening to fall at this caring and compassionate side of him. I loop my other hand around his arm as a wave of guilt makes my feet heavy for ever misjudging this man.
“Hi, Janet,” Jordan says as we approach the desk. “I brought a friend today…” He pauses as he flashes me his impossibly charming smile. “My girlfriend, actually. This is Kennedy.”
A wide smile spreads across Janet’s face, her eyes darting between the two of us.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve never brought anyone with you, Bougie. Nice to meet you, Miss Kennedy. Here are your badges,” she says, handing us each a little sticker with our names, Floor Seven, and a word I never thought I’d have to read on it.
Oncology.
“Miss Kennedy, you snagged yourself a keeper. He’ll show you where to go. Oh, and welcome to Milwaukee Memorial Children’s Hospital.”