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 hellandplay 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 heractuallyrespond. 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 couldnotget 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?”
10
jordan
Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.
She spoke. She spoke to me. Tome.
My breath catches. What is breathing anyway? Do I need air? Fuck Idoneed air. I have no idea what I’m doing, but she spokeactualwords to me. She hasn’t asked me to leave.She called mebabe. I’m gonna throw up.
11
kennedy
Oh myGod—this cocky son of a bitch is talking to me. I would like to request a refund from the universe. Chadd sneers.Make that a demand.I glance at the idiot standing beside me, flashing me the same damn smirk that’s on his fucking bobblehead. On the other hand, I’ll take this cocky ass over Chadd degrading me for another thirty minutes. At least he has an ass worth checking out. One that could probably bounce a quarter up to a cruising altitude of thirty thousand feet. I clench my jaw at the series of events that have led me here.Can this day get any fucking worse?
12
jordan
Chadd darts his eyes between the two of us, looking more confused than a boomer trying to figure out tap-to-pay. I have no doubt he’s questioning this—the legitimacy of our confession—but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s sell a performance. I inch closer to my scene partner, hoping she can keep up. And hoping I don’t pass out from the fact that Hotty McPilot is staring next to me in this show.
“How long have you two been together?” Chadd spits.
Kennedy looks to me. “Do you want to tell him,babe?”
