My dick presses against the zipper of my jeans.
I see her every time we travel. I smile, say hi, and she just dismisses me like I’m beneath her.
Goddammit, I would like to be beneath her.
Sadly, she still acts like she doesn’t know who I am when I speak to her. She seems to be literally the only person on the face of this planet that doesn’t want to get to know me. It’s fuckingtorture.The number of people who want to be my friend just because of my status, whether for hockey or my family name, is disheartening.
But nother.
I see how she acts around her friends. Once in a while, when I’m at a get-together, one of the WAGs will invite her.Everyone loves Kennedy.I see the way she laughs. The way she makes everyone feel at ease. The way she seems to do everything in life with a sense of purpose.
And the way she does everything in her power to stay as far away from me as possible.
I’ve been sending her gifts. Anonymously. Not in like a stalker way, more like an I want to impress her way. I like to think of myself as a year-round Secret Santa—secret because I’m too much of a chicken-shit to sign my name. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, I keep a running list of gift ideas waiting for one to wow her so I can fess up.
Truth is, I would give everything up to focus on this full-time if it were actually working. I even bring her a latte every flight. Granted, she doesn’t know it’s from me since I have one of the flight attendants drop it off to her, but it’s the thought that counts.Right?I groan, burying my face in my hands. I am so fucking confident in every other area of my life.
I run my fingers through my hair, ready to pull every strand out in frustration.What’s my problem being confident around Kennedy?If Elle Woods were here, she’d help me figure out how to impress her.
I guess the fact that I got majorly burned by one woman and caused a massive PR crisis, endless shame and embarrassment, a complete change of my lifestyle, and, oh, I don’t know, a million other things could be part of the problem. I swallow hard, trying to suppress the anger that still bubbles up, thinking back to that fucking disaster.
And let’s not forget the other fun fact—the fucking bizarre messages I’ve been getting lately. Threatening texts from an unknown number. Texts that specificallysay to stay away fromKennedy. I haven’t told a soul outside of my dad and my cousin Hannah that I like her.So how the hell does a random texter know?I keep getting that creepy as hell feeling like I’m being watched every day. Yikes bikes. I’ve got my security detail on it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t freak me out a little.Okay, a lot.
I shake away the thoughts that have been eating at me for days as I grab a white T-shirt and throw on some jeans and sneakers, splash on a few drops of cologne, and head out to celebrate my friend.
Having rehashed the disaster my public life turned into a few years ago, I’ll also be having some drinks to drown those feelings. Because even on my worst day, I know someone else is probably having a worser day than me.Is worser even a word?I shrug my shoulders and head downstairs to my car. Being my chipper self is why I’m known as Mr. Sunshine. Making other people feel special is the one thing outside of hockey that fuels the fire inside me. I do a final fit check in the mudroom mirror, flashing myself a smirk and a wink to get into character.
Tonight I’ll be Jordan ‘Bougie’ Boucher, life of the party. And oh, do I bring my fucking A-game to a party.
2
kennedy
“Ican’t believe you’re leaving us, Benny Boy! It’s not going to be the same without you,” I shout drunkenly across the table at the club. We’ve known each other for years, first through the Air National Guard, and now as one of the few rotating pilots I fly with for the Milwaukee Steel Riders. Well, hewasanyway. He’s worked his ass off studying to get more degrees and certifications, on top of all our flights, and he finally got his dream job with NASA. I can’t say I blame him for leaving—NASA is cool as shit.
“I know, I know,” he says with a sad smile, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of all of you! But NASA is calling, and I can’t pass that up. But don’t worry, I’ll text when I get to Mars.” He lifts his shot glass in salute to everyone at the table before knocking it back in one go.
“Just watch out for aliens trying to probe your anus, bro,” one of our friends pipes up, getting a laugh and an eyeroll from half the table. “Let’s all raise our glasses to a fun night out celebrating the one, the only, Benjamin Logan!” We all whoop and cheer for our friend, the tequila disappearing in an instant.
“You all want another round?” the server shouts over the loud baseline pumping from the speakers, the strobe lights creating colorful shadows across the table.
“Yes!” I shout. “Tabs on me. Even thoughBennyshould be the one paying, since he’s deserting me and leaving me with God knows who for a co-pilot the rest of the season. I swear to all things gin, I will drag your ass back here if I’m stuck with some pompous asshole who starts off with ‘Oh boy, a female pilot. Sure you can handle a jet like this?’” I grumble in my ridiculous imitation of an idiotic man’s voice.
Benny shakes his head with a scoff. “You’ll be fine, Kenni! I mean, you’ll never have anyone as perfect as me, but hopefully someone who is at least cool. Besides, you know Theresa and the rest of the flight crew won’t put up with that either.”
He’s right.Theresa is a no-nonsense bitch. She doesn’t take shit from anyone—including me—which is why I make sure to stay out of her way and on my good side. A shiver runs up my spine thinking about the few times I’ve mildly irritated her. That is one flight attendant you donotwant to cross.
Still, having her in my corner doesn’t take away the sting of someone questioning my ability to fly an aircraft.
Benny’s one of the good ones who treats me like any other pilot. Sadly, some aren’t. I have the same number of flight hours, go through the same rigorous training, and set all emotion aside to fly. I can’t tell you the number of times a male co-pilot came to work in a bad mood, all pissed off about a baseball game, and had a horrible attitude the entire flight. But ifImake any mention of emotion, I’m accused of being too sensitive or having PMS. I dig my fingernails into my palm at the double standard, the black cat inside me wanting to claw it in the face and then ask it to apologize. I hope that waitress gets back soon, ’cause I need to make another gin and tonic my bitch before spiraling further at the thought of who Benny’s replacement will be.
But instead of a drink being set before me, my annoyance is furthered by a loud group of drunk guys waltzing in. I roll my eyes, then quickly realize it’s not just any bunch of rowdy drunks.It’s the Riders hockey team.
As one of the pilots, I see them on their flights, and I am actually friends with several of their wives and girlfriends, the WAGs as they refer to themselves. Maggie James, who lives in the apartment down the hall, is engaged to the team goalie, Vladi Volkov.If you want to talk about two more people who don’t put up with anyone’s shit, add them to the list.
My brow furrows. But I don’t see Vladi in the group. This club doesn’t really seem like it would be his vibe. Honestly, I don’t see any of my friends’ spouses here. They have a home game tomorrow night, then we fly out for several away games, so I’m guessing they are spending some time with their families before the road trip.
I can’t say I’m not jealous. A heavy sigh escapes as the alcohol haze thins, allowing the thoughts I’ve been pushing down to creep back. While I’m a self-proclaimed badass bitch, and have achieved what I wanted in my career, my stomach churns as something inside me tries to claw its way out. Something I’ve been meaning to get around to but never really did. I’ve always been one to do things in my own way and in my own time.
