“Are you okay? What did she say to you?” I demand, barely breathing between questions. “Sloane said she’s working on getting some of her access revoked.”
Kennedy looks me up and down, her eyes flashing with heat. “You’re sweaty.”
“Observant. Now answer my questions.”
She pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us. “I’ll answer the questions youshould’veasked. Why yes, Cam, the dessert table last night was a hit. The birthday cake trifles were the first to go, just like you thought. I also nailed down what flavors I’m presenting for the Ashford-Chen wedding, and we finally have a date on the calendar for the tasting.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, surveying my face. “I’m here because my consultation with that wholesale bakery customer gotrescheduled to Friday, so my day freed up. Figured I’d come see you in action without thousands of people screaming their heads off. I discovered today that Henderson is low-key terrifying. Oh, and you look very good in goalie gear.” Her eyes drop to my chest, then lower, and her smile turns wicked. “I already knew that last part, but still.”
We’re in a semi-public hallway and my teammates are passing by us as they head to the locker room. I’m still in full gear and probably smell like a locker room, but none of that stops me from backing her against the wall and caging her in with my arms.
“I’m glad the event went well. I knew it would,” I reply, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “And thank you for stopping by. Now tell me what she said.”
Kennedy leans up on her tippy toes and boops me on the nose like I’m a dog. “Doesn’t matter.”
Frustration floods me. “Kennedy.”
Her smile only grows. “Cameron.”
“Tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter what she said,” she repeats, her smile gone and her tone brooking no argument. “You may think theReal Housewivesare silly, and sure, they can be, but they’ve taught me that mean girls really do exist. Of all ages. She’s targeting me because she feels threatened by me, so any verbal attacks are actually twisted compliments.”
“She shouldn’t be allowed to?—”
“Make your life hell anymore.” Lips curving into a soft smile, she cups my face. “So stop stressing and go shower.”
“She’s not going to give up easily,” I say through gritted teeth. “You know that, right? She’s going to keep pushing, keep trying to get under your skin?—”
“Our skin. She’s trying to get underourskin.”
The word “our” does something to my chest. It’s a reminder that I’m not in this alone. This woman is willing to commit cyber warfare on my behalf.
My previous anger shifts into something more like concern. Or admiration, maybe. Possibly both.
I grip her waist and kiss her, not caring that my gear is in the way or that we’re in a hallway or that Logan is wolf-whistling from somewhere behind us.
Kennedy laughs against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair. I’m considering whether I can get away with hauling her into a supply closet when Henderson’s voice cuts through the moment.
“Davies! Either get in the locker room or take your girlfriend somewhere private. Stop blocking the hallway!”
Kennedy pulls back, her cheeks flushed and her lips red, looking thoroughly kissed. “I know it’s a good idea for your teammates to see us together, but I wasn’t kidding about being scared of your coach. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Go shower. I’ll let you buy me lunch afterward.”
She nudges me in the other direction before I can process her words. Before I can unravel the motivation behind that kiss. Was I doing it for show or because I felt like it?
Back in the locker room, the betting jars have been changed. The sign now readsHow long until Davies Proposes?One jar is labeled withBefore Playoffs, and the otherAfter Playoffs.
“You guys are the worst,” I announce to the room at large.
“We prefer ‘supportive,’” Logan corrects. “And for the record, I’m betting before playoffs. You’re moving fast, Davies.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
kennedy
“I hate traffic.”
“I hate when people interrupt me while I’m singing the best verse in ‘Take Me or Leave Me,’” I reply. “Yet here we are.”
“In my defense, that was the third time you’d sung it, and despite how hard you try, you will never compare to Idina Menzel,” Maya complains. “Sue me for needing a little variety in my life.”
