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CHAPTER SIX

KENDRA

W hen I ended it with Tyler—my long-term boyfriend, the guy I’d moved across states for—just over a week ago, I figured things couldn’t get much worse.

Well, I was wrong.

The morning after I dragged myself from my bed—aka my pit of sorrow because I had nothing to show for our past four years together—I expected to find my kitchen just how I’d left it the night before. Instead, I found half my ceiling missing, debris and plasterboard everywhere, dust ingrained into every soft furnishing I owned.

How in the hell I’d slept through it happening I have no idea, but I did.

It’s safe to say, my place is fucked.

It’s also safe to say that my landlord is an asshole of the highest order. Apparently, it will take weeks to bring my apartment back to some kind of livable state, and he doesn’t seem that concerned in hurrying the fuck up about it either.

I can’t say I’m shocked that half my ceiling fell in. The building is old and was in a bad state when I moved in a year ago. Which is probably why I secured the low rental I did.

But I was determined to have a place of my own instead of moving into shared housing, like most of my team had done. I couldn’t really afford the rent, but I made ends meet, and it was worth it to have my privacy. Even if Tyler had offered to help me out financially, I know I wouldn’t have accepted it.

My apartment was my little haven. And now it’s a construction site.

Sure, the New York Storm could put me up in a hotel, which they said they’d do, but living out of suitcases for the next however long really didn’t appeal to me. I need some kind of home comforts, and staying in a hotel long-term doesn’t feel all that safe.

So, it was at this point that I lost my shit, and just like my ceiling, I collapsed, every single emotion pouring out of me. Luckily, the only person to witness my meltdown was Jenna, who immediately suggested the sofa bed in her living room.

And that’s exactly where I am right now. With a suitcase full of clothes and insurance claims coming out of my ears, this isn’t what I expected from my life twelve months after moving to the Big Apple.

My phone buzzes in my hand as I continue scrolling for alternative places to live in the Brooklyn area, all well out of budget.

Tyler

Kend, I really want to talk to you. Can’t we just try and work this out?

Ignoring this text like I have with all his other ones, I throw my phone down on the duvet in front of me and adjust myself on the sofa bed that’s seen better days. The springs dig into my sides, leaving me exhausted and grouchy. Not a great combo for a pro athlete trying to break into the national squad and get a shot at the World Cup next summer.

Despite the shit show that is my life right now, one thing has never been clearer: I’m not upset over our breakup because I lost Tyler; I’m upset over the decisions and sacrifices I made for him. Yeah, there’s a part of me that misses him—how could I not when he was a huge, if not dwindling, part of my life for four years? But the larger part of me feels—I don’t know—indifferent toward it all. Like, deep down, I always knew it was inevitable, and I was coming to terms with the end of us for way longer than what I could admit.

But I don’t have the right words for him at the moment, and honestly, I’m still pissed about the way he treated me. I can’t even find it in me to tell my family we split, not that my mom or dad cared much for him anyway. They always thought someone who loved himself that much could never hold space in his heart for anyone else.

A giggle filters down the hallway, followed by a bang against the living room wall, and I sink down further under my duvet.

Another reason why I need to find a solution to my homelessness—I think there’s only been one night in the past week when Lee hasn’t been over, and when I say my friend has a high sex drive, I mean it.

A lot of my stuff might have been ruined in my living area, but one saving grace was, my vibrator was safely tucked away in my nightstand. If you asked me when the last time I had sex was, I’d tell you there was snow on the ground. Tyler was a guy who believed his own hype, but unfortunately for him, his skills on the ice didn’t exactly extend to the bedroom. He was selfish between the sheets, and I mastered the art of faking it until my interest in sex faded almost entirely.

Replacing my earplugs so I can’t hear my friend, I reach across to my suitcase and grab my red wand—which I named Scarlett because I think she works better with an identity.

The second I switch Scarlett to the first setting and dip her below the waistband of my sleep shorts, my mouth pops open with instant euphoria.

I’ve been way too distracted to think about getting myself off, but when she finds my clit, sending delicious vibrations through me, I realize this is exactly what I needed.

Working the vibe slowly inside me, I can’t help but feel like maybe I haven’t just been missing out on career opportunities while messing around with Tyler, but maybe on hooking up too. And when the vibrator hits a spot my ex-boyfriend could never find, I start to wonder if playing the single game and having fun might be the way forward.

Jenna told me for months that I could do better, and each time, I told her that beyond my relationship with Tyler, I couldn’t picture being with anyone else.

As I move the wand between my legs, my knees begin to shake under the weight of intense pleasure.

Perhaps I don’t need to have a relationship with anyone. Maybe what I really need is to date and have casual sex. Maybe all I need is to take the pressure off me to find the right guy and settle down for a while.

I hit the next setting up on the wand and throw my head back into the pillow, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth.

God, this is good.

It’s kind of sad that my vibrator can get me off when my ex-boyfriend couldn’t.

I push Tyler out of my mind and flick Scarlett to her highest setting, suppressing a moan when the vibrations take me right there. I can feel it building, every single thread of knotted tension unraveling as blissful waves crash over me.

My orgasm threatens to break through, and I’m right on the verge of tipping over as I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on just me and this moment.

Until I’m not seeing darkness any longer, and I fall over the edge when Jack’s face comes into view, his broad shoulders and toned abs moving above me. His dimple pops on a sexy smile, and his floppy brown hair falls over his blue eyes.

“You like that, Kendra?”

I bolt up on the bed and look around, unsure if I’m hallucinating or dreaming. One thing is for sure: Jack Morgan is not in my bed, but he sure as fuck was in my head a second ago.

Pushing the covers back quickly, I lean across and flick on a side lamp, flooding the living room with soft light.

What the fuck just happened?

I drop Scarlett onto my duvet and shoot out of bed, padding into the kitchen and flicking on the coffee maker. I grab an overturned mug from the drainer and grip it with both hands as I lean back against the counter.

I’ve never thought about Jack in that way. Sure, I’ve thought he was good-looking, but never … like that.

“Babe?” Jenna stands in the space separating the kitchen and hallway, her fluffy pink robe wrapped around her. “You okay? You look kind of shocked.”

My eyes flick over to the sofa bed, and against the crisp white duvet, Scarlett is unmissable.

My cheeks flush when Jenna follows my gaze across the room, and she pins her bottom lip between her teeth, suppressing amusement.

“Did I interrupt something?” she goads.

At twenty-five, she’s not exactly innocent—definitely not with the way she and Lee go at it every night—but I can’t help the heat as it spreads throughout my body.

“Coffee?” I say, turning away as I grab a second cup and quickly fill it.

She clears her throat and then walks toward me, and I spin back around, offering the drink to her.

She takes it, eyeing me cautiously.

“Go on. Say whatever’s on your mind,” I drawl on a futile breath.

She raises a brow, bringing the cup to her lips. “I was just thinking about the last time I saw that flush on your cheeks.”

I cock my head to the side, eyes narrowing at my friend. “Oh yeah? When?”

She takes a small sip but keeps the rim to her mouth, trying to hide her smugness. “Oh, I think you know when you last had that kind of reaction.”

I continue to play dumb, picking up my own cup and adding sweetener. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

She spins around and makes her way back to the bedroom, but not before she stops, turning to look over her shoulder. “I’ll give you a hint: you told me he was the only guy you accepted a drink from that night.”