PROLOGUE
DAYLEN
“Sir, would you like some headphones?” the friendly stewardess innocently asks me on our private jet to Las Vegas.
I smile at her and answer, “Absolutely, but how did you know my name was Phones?”
The guys all snort in laughter, but the stewardess and the rest of the women seem unamused. Frankly, I think I’m the funniest guy on the planet.
There’s one person who most definitely disagrees. KennedyfuckingJeffries. Kennedy is the dark-haired, green-eyed, over-six-foot stunner who plays for the Beavers, the new women’s basketball team in Philadelphia. I met her about ten months ago, and it was…hate at first sight for both of us.
Kennedy is the exact opposite of what I want in a woman. I consider myself a happy man who looks for the good in life. I’m the glass-half-full guy. I enjoy being goofy and having fun. I prefer women who share the same sentiment. Those who don’t take everything and everyone so damn seriously.
Kennedy, on the other hand, is the poster child for a glass-half-empty woman. She sucks the joy out of everything and everyone. I despise her and everything she stands for with her snarky demeanor and snotty designer clothes.
The first words she ever spoke to me were along the lines of me checking off multiple items on her red flag list. It’s not a theoretical list. She actually maintains a stupid catalog of things she considers red flags on her phone. Things she hates about men. Who does that? Who searches for the negative in people all the time?
Kennedy Jeffries does.
Unfortunately, I can’t seem to avoid spending time with her. First, our friend and placekicker, Presley Ladrón, is married to Kennedy’s friend and teammate, Layla Ladrón. Second, my best friend, Vance McCaffrey, is in love with Kennedy’s teammate and close friend, Sulley O’Shea.
Vance and I were both drafted to the Philly Camels nearly a decade ago, and we just clicked right from the beginning. I’m the tight end, and he’s the quarterback. Our on-field chemistry is what players dream of. It’s like we’re in each other’s heads at times. It’s not any different off the field.
Vance is a country boy from Bumfuck, Montana. He’s a little grumpy at times, but it’s a façade he uses to mask his pain. He’s had a rough road over the past few years, but I know, more than most, that he’s one of the best men I’ve ever met. Appreciating the burden he carries, I do my best to keep things light and make him smile. To the world, we may look like a mismatch, but with the possible exception of my father and sister, I trust Vance more than anyone else.
Every March for the past several years, we’ve gone to Las Vegas for the NCAA basketball tournament. It’s a huge sports weekend where we watch the games, gamble, drink, dance, and party until we pass out. The wives and girlfriends (WAGs) of the Camels, specifically Layla, arrange it all. We rent a few floors of suites at a nice hotel, enjoy beautiful meals, and party until the wee hours of the morning. It’s a blast. This year, Laylainvited her teammates to join us, and, unfortunately, that includes Kennedy.
Did I mention that Kennedy also happens to be my coach’s daughter? Yep, the princess is practically wrapped in layers of bright yellow caution tape.
Kennedy stares at me in disgust as she narrows her eyes at my off-handed comment to the stewardess. “You look like the last guy a lesbian sleeps with before deciding to come out.”
Everyone but me laughs at her joke while she smiles in satisfaction before turning to where Beavers’ player Shay Walker and her girlfriend, Alyssa Doyle, are sitting. “Am I right, ladies?”
Alyssa nods and sarcastically quips, “Yep, the last guy I slept with before coming out was a six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound white dude.” She runs her hands down her extremely petite body. “’Cause I could totally take a man that size,” she adds tongue-in-cheek.
“Two hundred sixty-five,” I correct. “And let’s just say I’m…proportionate.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down suggestively.
Kennedy snorts in disgust. “Ugh.Proportionatemen don’t have to talk about it.”
“Is that one of your red flags?” I snap.
“Men who feel the need to talk about how well-endowed they are? Yep,” she pops the P. “You better believe it is. In fact, I noticed your tattoo of a girl’s name when you lifted your luggage earlier. That’s one of my top red flags. What woman wants to see the name of another woman on a man?” She makes a look of contempt. “You’re so basic.”
Vance begins to interrupt on my behalf, but I hold up my hand and shake my head to silence him. Fuck Kennedy. I don’t owe her any explanations.
I stand, needing to get away from her vitriol. “I’m going to tap the kidney.”
She rolls her eyes as she often does when I mention goingto the bathroom. I tend to find new and creative ways to tell people I need to relieve myself. I used to do it sporadically, but knowing how much it bothers Kennedy only drives me to do so more often.
She stares at me. “You know what happens when your bottom lip and top lip push together?”
“What?” I ask.
“You shut the fuck up. Stop announcing it every damn time you go to the bathroom. No one cares,” she snarls. “It’s disgusting, just like everything about you.”
Fuck. This is going to be a long trip.
FIFTEEN HOURS LATER
