Page 13

K ENDALL

The week leading up to Halloween is always a cluster in kindergarten. Kids are hyped up about their costumes and the truckloads of candy they’re going to get trick-or-treating. At least the chaos in the classroom helps keep my mind off Nash.

It’s been nine days since he kissed the shit out of me and followed it up with a punch in the gut. I’d say he tore my heart out, but my heart wasn’t in the game that night. My tongue. My soaking wet underwear. My aching nipples. They were tortured then burned, and I’m still feeling the pain.

Riley and I met for dinner a few nights after, but I didn’t bring up the kiss.

Walker is only in his second year on the Revolutions and has always kept himself aloof from his teammates to get past his own baggage.

Now that he’s finally coming out of his shell and making friends, ironically with Nash Humphries, I don’t want my drama to come between his teammates or between him and Riley.

We talked about her work at Boston Strong and went through the feedback forms from her annual 5K she organized last month.

When I wasn’t passing time with Riley or Rowan, I spent time with my mom and sister.

They don’t like to leave the house much, so it takes a lot to get them to go for a walk in the park on weekends.

We avoid highly congested areas and keep to the less popular trails.

But I needed to push them out of their comfort zone to help me not obsess over fuck face.

I somehow made it to Sunday without ripping anyone’s head off and met Rowan for lunch.

On Monday night, I killed time at Jackson’s penthouse to watch the Revolutions game with Riley.

I left at halftime, pleading tiredness and an early morning.

Both were true, but Nash was having an off game and I was tired of hearing the announcers talk about him and his stats.

He’s bound to make his hundred and fiftieth sack any game now, pushing him to top five of all time.

Like I care. I’d like to sack him in the nuts, preferably, for making me feel cheap. I’d just turned the corner from getting over the shame from Jason’s breakup when Nash swooped in and brought me down to a lower low.

The misogyny sucks. Men can flirt, sleep around, and be considered the most desirable bachelor, but a woman dances, flirts, and has two one-night stands in her entire thirty-one years and is considered a slut.

I can count all the men I’ve slept with on one hand, yet I’m a whore. Fuck Nash and his stupid good looks and his stupid words and his stupid ability to make me feel like shit.

After my last student is picked up, I finish organizing the stations for tomorrow’s class.

Now that Beth and Joe Humphries are feeling better, Nash has no more need for me.

His absence in my life is needed. If he showed up in the middle of the day again begging for my forgiveness and followed it up with a plea to watch Paisley, I’d knee him in the nuts.

Sack that, asshole.

No, I’d take off my shoe and stab his dick with my heel.

The man infuriates me to no end, and I hate myself for still being attracted to him. It’s like those helpless heroines in romance novels who fall for the bad guy. Only, they turn out to be semi-decent. Maybe morally gray, but they live and breathe for the heroine.

Nash lives and breathes to piss me off. I spray the white board with cleaner and rub the dry erase marker off with more aggression than necessary, pretending it’s Nash’s beautiful face.

Tossing the rag aside, I jump when I see a figure in the doorway in my classroom. Not any figure, but one that is too perfectly sculpted. One that I’d just been imagining chopping at with the heel of my shoe.

“I’m busy tonight and can’t watch Paisley. Call a nanny service.” I turn my back on him and reorganize the already organized bookshelf.

“Kendall. Can we talk?”

“It’s Miss Wentworth, and I’m about to leave. If you need to schedule a parent teacher conference, you can talk to Sharon in the office. I’ll be requesting to have an administrator present.”

“I’m not here for Paisley.”

“Good thing since your parents already picked her up. Way to keep track of your daughter.”

“I know. I asked them to so I could have a chance to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” I turn and fold my arms across my chest. “You told them that you’re a chauvinistic douchebag with as much class as Kanye West?”

Kanye’s music may be amazing, but his character leaves much to be desired. Tell me I’m wrong.

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

“No thank you. I have nothing to say to you.”

“I know. But I have some things I need to say to you.”

“Spit it out here. I’m not going anywhere with you.” I don’t trust myself to fall for his trap again. To fall into the spell of the right words coming out of his delectable mouth only to spew diarrhea and vomit a day later.

Nash slowly enters my classroom and lowers himself to one of the student chairs. He dwarfs the chair, and his knees come up to his chest, but he doesn’t show any discomfort. I remain standing, arms crossed, scowl deep and permanent.

“I was under the impression you and Miles Buckingham were in a...relationship. An open one, but together in your own way.”

“Why does it matter if I am or if I’m not?”

“I haven’t been...” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Raising Paisley alone has been hard.”

“Your parents have helped you.”

He nods. “And I’m truly thankful, if not too dependent on them.”

“If you’re going to use the over-tired single father bit as an excuse for your behavior, you can get up now and let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.”

“No. That’s not what I came here to say.” He huffs out another sigh. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out with a woman.”

“And in that while you forgot how not to be a dickhead and insult her at every chance you get?”

“Apparently so.”

“Wow. Thanks for the not quite an apology. I don’t forgive you. You can leave now.”

“I’m not using that as an excuse, Kendall.” He stands, and his height and size fill my classroom, making me feel claustrophobic even though he’s not crowding my personal space.

I back up, putting a grouping of tables between us. “You’ve called me a slut. Twice. Your previous apology is null and void. Your words are meaningless, Nash Humphries.”

He glances at the open door and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“I don’t want to be alone with you. I don’t trust you.”

“Understandable.” He nods in agreement. “Can we walk and talk?”

“It’s raining.”

“Will you meet me at the coffee shop across the street?”

“I don’t drink coffee at four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I’ll buy you tea.”

Damn. A hot tea from the Boston Tea Party does sound good right now. “I don’t know.” I hate myself for caving.

After learning of Jason’s deception, I never gave him the chance to explain himself.

There was no need. He was married with two kids.

He lied about his marriage. One that he was not leaving and made me the other woman.

There was nothing he could say to make me forgive him, not even if he swore he’d leave his family.

The fact that he had an affair with me for two years proved what kind of man he was.

I shouldn’t care about Nash’s apology or his stupid fucked up reasoning for treating me the way he did. I’m ashamed I gave him a second chance. A third? Well, fool me once and all that shit.

“I’ll be across the street. I hope you’ll join me and give me a chance to apologize again. Even if I don’t deserve it.” He lowers his gaze to the floor and leaves.

Damn. If he said he wanted to explain why he was an ass, it would be easier for me to refuse. But admitting he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, well, that makes me kinda-sorta-maybe wanting to hear what he has to say.

Not that it will make a difference. I still don’t trust that there isn’t a motive behind the apology. It’s more likely he wants to keep me on retainer for bailing him out when his parents are unable to watch Paisley.

If they do get sick again, what will he do? Call a stranger? Or a babysitting service like I threw at him? He has to have connections with his teammates. Many of them are married and have children.

It’s his own stubborn pride that is getting in the way of reaching out to another player to ask for help.

Although, wouldn’t it wound his pride more to reach out to me?

A relative stranger up until a few weeks ago.

A stranger who he’s offended on more than one occasion and one he knows is ready to chop his balls off.

I fuss about my classroom to stall for time. Meeting him will send the message I’m ready to forgive him. I’m not. He hurt me. It’s crazy how words from someone I barely know can cut so deep.

I broke down and told Rowan about the parking lot kiss the other day and made her promise not to tell Riley. She agreed that it could stir some hostility between Walker and Nash and has kept mum. Needing her advice, I take out my phone and call her, hoping to catch her between patients.

“Hey. What’s up?” she answers, out of breath.

“Either you're running late or in the middle of a sex marathon. For your sake, I hope for the latter. For mine, I pray you didn’t put a pause on your sexual escapades to answer my call. You’ve gone too long without a guy in your life.”

“Pot. Kettle. And it’s the stairs. Ew. No offense, but I’d never pick up a call during sex. At least I don’t think I would. It has been a while.”

“Tell me about it. I’m chasing your dry spell with my own.”

“I take it Nash hasn’t tried to kiss your ass?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” I fill her in on his impromptu visit and his request.

“How long have you kept him waiting at Boston Tea Party?”

I check the clock on my classroom wall. “Twenty minutes and counting.”

“How long do you plan on making him wait?”

“You’re assuming I’m going to meet him.”