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K ENDALL

I don’t see Nash for the rest of the week, but he fills my phone with texts throughout the day. They’re silly and cheesy and bring a smile to my face. At night, they turn flirty and dirty. I don’t respond to all of them, but I can’t help the way my heart races whenever I get a text alert.

Sunday’s game is the last home game for three weeks, and the gang gets together to cheer on the Revs. Rowan, Riley, Jackson, Taylor and I pregame in the VIP lounge, courtesy of Walker. At least it’s another one o’clock game so I shouldn’t be completely useless at school tomorrow.

“So what’s the deal with you and fifty-six?” Riley points at my jersey.

“Nothing.” I tip back my margarita. My third and last. I’ll guzzle water and sober up during the game.

“You ignored our questions all week,” Rowan says. “Where did you two disappear off to after last week’s game?”

“Nash wasn’t up for a big crowd. We went to some hole-in-the-wall place for dinner.”

“And after?” Jackson asks, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Did he take you hard and fast against the wall like you love so much?”

“Such a dirty mind.” I lift my shoulder, flicking him off. “And, no.” Not a lie. Did I want him to? Hell, yes. Instead, he did me dirty by making slow, passionate love to me.

“What’s the deal with you two?” Riley asks. There’s a knowing sparkle in her eye like she’s aware what’s happening is more than a dirty fuckfest, yet she doesn’t show her cards.

“No deal.”

“But you two have fucked. That much is obvious,” Jackson adds. Damn, the man has a one-track mind. There’s no hiding the truth from him.

“Sure. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Says the girl wearing his jersey.” Rowan points out.

“To be fair, I wore Buck’s jersey all last year and never fucked him. But you, my friend, are wearing eight-six. Does that mean you and Miles are getting down and dirty?”

Rowan’s cheeks turn bright pink, and while I feel bad about making her the center of attention, something she hates, I don’t mind the pressure being off me.

“Miles? God, no. We’re nothing alike. You’re the one who gave me the jersey, Kendall.”

Fair enough.

We talk about the game, Riley and Walker’s sex life, place our bets on when she’ll be pregnant, then filter out to our seats. The game is a blowout, and Boston wins by four touchdowns.

While we wait for Walker and his friends to come out of the locker room, those fucking butterflies wreak havoc on my insides.

When Nash comes out looking so freaking gorgeous, they make their way into my chest. A pang of jealousy plays around with the butterflies as a gaggle of women swarm around him, Miles, and Walker.

It’s supposed to be friends and family in this area to avoid the pap scene, but sometimes the friends of other players get starstruck. Especially when this particular trio of guys had a stellar game.

While Miles eats up the attention, draping his long arms around four girls, Walker makes a run for it straight to Riley. Nash signs a few autographs, then comes over to our circle. “Hey,” he says directly to me, ignoring everyone else.

One simple word shouldn’t stir me up so much, but it does. I tip my chin to him in greeting, then grip onto Rowan’s hand and tug her toward Jackson and Taylor.

“Let’s get a head start and reserve our table.” I push Jackson toward the parking lot before Nash can steal me away again.

While I ended up enjoying our dinner for two last week, it just as equally terrified me.

“You know the restaurant has an entire area roped off for us, right?” Jackson asks as he slides on his leather gloves before grabbing Taylor’s hand.

“And you know it isn’t for us, right?” Rowan adds, tossing a smirk my way. “We should wait for our celebrity friends, or they won’t even let us anywhere near the table.”

Damn. She has a point. “We can sit in the warm car while we wait.”

With the press of a button on his key fob, Jackson’s sleek Mercedes starts up. It’s already warm and toasty by the time we reach it and climb in. The buttery leather seats are soft, and the seat warmer feels amazing after freezing in the stands for three hours.

Walker could get us box seats, but Riley likes being close to the field where she can see her husband better. To be fair, the view from the third row is pretty damn good.

We’re not even in the Mercedes for two minutes when Jackson turns around and glares at me in the backseat. “Time to spill, Ken-Ken.”

“Spill what?”

“The tea. We all knew something was up between Riley and Walker last year when she shut us out. It’s not like you and your loudmouth to be quiet, so there’s obviously something you don’t want us to know.”

Rowan snorts next to me, and she’s so not a snorter. I give her the side-eye and Jackson points at her.

“You know?” he gasps with a flair of drama. “Row-Row. What is our little Ken doll hiding from us?”

“The fuck? I’m not a Ken doll.”

“No, but I’m guessing your fuck boy is.”

“I don’t have a fuck boy.” I don’t need to look at Rowan to know her brow is lifted. “Fine. I have a fuck boy, but that’s all he is. I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d make a big deal about it.”

“Ehh.” Jackson makes an annoying buzzer sound. “If it was no big deal, you’d have no problem telling us. Tell me I’m right, Tay.”

Taylor, who usually plays Switzerland, shrugs his shoulders. “Kendall doesn’t usually have a problem kissing and telling.”

“Meaning she has hearts and flowers for her fuckboy.”

“You’re an idiot.” I flick Jackson’s forehead. Realizing the only way to get out of this is to tell the somewhat truth, I let out a sigh. “Fine. But don’t make a big deal about it. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want things to be awkward for Riley and Walker.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

I run my tongue along my top teeth and spit out, “I had sex with Nash a couple times.”

“You said as much earlier. So why the secrecy?”

“Because we were just scratching an itch. We’ve scratched it. The end.”

“Tell me it wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

Jackson punches Taylor’s shoulder. “Didn’t I say those two would have explosive sex?”

“You did.” Taylor gives me a wink. “Now that we know, we can leave her alone.”

“Thank you, Taylor. If I haven’t told you lately, I like you better than Jackson.”

“Bitch. I’m not leaving this alone. It’s too good.”

“See?” I throw my hands in the air. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything.

Leave it alone, Jackson. In case you haven’t noticed, Nash is a private guy.

He doesn’t let people in, including me. It’s just occasional sex.

That’s all I want. That’s all he wants. Don’t make a big deal about it, okay? ”

“Hmph.” Jackson turns around and settles in his seat. “Do Riley and Walker know?”

“I told Riley. I’m sure she told her husband.”

“Interesting.”

“Promise me you won’t say something stupid in front of Nash.

He’s only recently started going out with the team.

If you embarrass him, he won’t hang out anymore and that will piss off Walker.

Which will piss off Riley. And then Rowan and I won’t talk to you either. And Taylor will file for divorce.”

Taylor chuckles from the front passenger seat.

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Jackson fastens his seat belt and puts the car in Drive. “Fine. Mum’s the word.”

Rowan, bless her heart, goes on a rant about her final exams next week. Once she passes them—which she will—she’ll be a registered nurse and won’t have to work the crazy shifts in the ER. Tonight is her last hoorah before buckling down and burying her nose in her textbooks for ten hours a day.

When we get to the restaurant, we sit in the car until we see the fleet of trucks and SUVs from the stadium pull up. It isn’t until Riley and Walker make their way to the entrance that we climb out of the Mercedes to meet them.

A long arm reaches in front of me to hold the door. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Nash. I can feel him. Smell his soap and pine scent.

“Thanks,” I murmur, following our entourage. Mindy and Darius are already here, and everyone piles around the long table.

Nash rests his hand on my lower back, and even through my thick jacket, I can feel the heat from his touch. “Here.” He pulls out a chair for me, and I glance around the table.

No one is paying us any attention except for Jackson. I glare at him and plop myself down in the chair, ignoring Nash to my right. I struggle with my coat, but when my arms are finally free, he takes it from me and hangs it on a hook behind our chairs.

“Thanks,” I say to my lap, still not making eye contact with him.

I keep my body turned to my left so my back is to him and pick up the menu, pretending to be completely enthralled with the offerings.

We’ve been coming here after almost every game for over a year, and I always get the same chicken sandwich and salad.

Still, I need a distraction from Nash being so close.

I don’t mind flirting with him on my phone, or talking dirty when we’re naked, but this whole out in public thing has me on edge. It was hard enough when it was just the two of us, but now we have an audience.

Friends. We’re just friends. Our sex life is private. Well, except half the table knows about it. Maybe more if Nash has told his friends. I’m doubtful, with how much he likes to keep others out of his private life.

I set my menu down and lean back in my chair when a strong hand strokes my left shoulder. I startle and look down at Nash’s fingers as he plays with my hair.

“Chicken sandwich and salad?” he leans into me and whispers into my ear.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t whispering, but he wasn’t yelling across the table like the rest of our rowdy friends. How does he do that? Know what I like to eat, what I’m feeling, what I need?