He drums his fingers on the table, unmoved by my enthusiasm. I get it. Engineering isn’t for everyone. I just figured he’d be excited for me. “Kennedy, I think you’re missing the bigger picture here.”
Bigger picture? What could be bigger than my future?
He leans in close as if he’s sharing something confidential. “You’ve got one shot to turn your fifteen minutes of fame into a sustainable platform. You’re the first woman to get a D1 scholarship and clock meaningful game time. And you’ve got a pretty face. The media loves you.” My belly rolls like a ship in a storm. Goddamn pirate books. This is so not the time for pirate similes. Not when his every word lands like a blow, shattering everything I’ve worked so hard to build. “Leave the engineering stuff to the geeks and focus on your brand. You’re underleveraged. You should be doing interviews every week so that when your eligibility expires, you can start looking at endorsements. Hell, you guys win a national championship, you might even be able to play in one of the semi-pro leagues.”
He looks at me expectantly, completely unaware his dismissal of all my hard work—of my dreams—has gutted me. I don’t want to be a pretty face or a football player or a brand ambassador. I want to make a name for myself in the world of STEM, where I’ll be recognized for my ability to use my brain. Is that so hard to understand?
I clench my napkin in my fist as heat spreads across my face. Anger claws at the back of my throat, but the words don’t come.
He’s so wrapped up in his sales pitch, he’s oblivious to the harm his words have caused.
“I’m telling you, Kenny. What you need is a manager to hook you up with primetime media. Someone with connections. Someone who’d have the networks eating out of their hand.” He pauses and tips a glass of whiskey to his lips, draining it. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign it’s not his first drink of the evening. “Your mom dropped the ball here, but I can fix it. My fifteen percent fee is nothing compared to the money you’ll rake in.”
How dare he. I see red at the mention of my mom, and a vein in my forehead begins to pulse. This was a mistake. I never should have agreed to dinner.
“Especially now that you’ve hooked a big fish,” he continues, unfazed. “Number one draft prospect? Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”
I’m trembling with rage, and it’s all I can do not to climb over the table and strangle him with his own napkin.
“You’re disgusting,” I hiss, climbing to my feet. My voice wavers, but not my resolution. I’ve got years of pent-up rage and he deserves every last bit of it. “I should’ve known you weren’t here for me, just a quick buck. You haven’t changed at all. You’re the same selfish, self-absorbed asshole you’ve been my whole life.” I’m breathing hard, nostrils flared, but I can’t stop. Not even when he glares at me and hardens his jaw. “You know what the worst part is? I wanted it to be true. I wanted so badly for you to give a damn about me, despite twenty-one years of evidence to the contrary. And you know what? The only mistake my mother ever made was not kicking your sorry ass to the curb the minute she realized what a selfish bastard you are.”
I turn on my heel, not bothering to wait for a response. I’ve had enough of his bullshit to last a lifetime. The hostess stares openmouthed as I stalk past. I’m guessing this sort of thing doesn’t happen often at the Four Diamond hotel, but I’ll be damned before I apologize.
The night is crisp and cold when I step outside, but I gulp the cool air down like it’s the remedy for my burning anger. I’m not sure if it helps, but there’s no denying the shift in my emotions as fury gives way to hurt. Tears stream down my face before I can stop them, and the tiny bubble of hope I’d nurtured fractures, vanishing like any possibility of a relationship with my father.
I pull my phone from my purse and text Austin through tear-filled eyes.
At times like this, I usually call my mom, but that’s out of the question. Knowing I met with my dad would only hurt her. Besides, she’d probably hunt him down and castrate him if she knew how he’d behaved. How he hurt me.
No, the only person I can count on right now is Austin.
Turns out, he’s waiting at a coffee shop just up the street. The headlights of the Jeep round the drive in less than three minutes, and he’s at my side before I can open the passenger door. He reaches for me, a grim expression on his face, and I tumble into his arms, a streaky, tearstained mess.
I doubt this is how he pictured spending his Sunday evening, but Austin holds me tight, wrapping me in his warm embrace as he kisses the top of my head. He doesn’t bother with meaningless platitudes or apologies, and I’m thankful for it. I just need to be held, to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne and listen to the steady beat of his heart.
He seems to understand exactly what I need, even without words, and I marvel at how far we’ve come since that day on the soccer field. How could I have ever believed he was like my father?
Chapter Twenty-One
Austin
“You’re killing me.” Kennedy bends over, her perfect ass on display in a pair of leggings that look like they might be painted on. I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing underwear, which does nothing to help my current semihard situation.
We’re hanging at her apartment, and I’m counting down the minutes until Enzo leaves so I can have my way with my woman. Enzo and Kennedy are mostly just ignoring me and trying to work out the bugs on their robot. It’s a squat little fucker with googly eyes, lots of moving parts, and a remote they won’t let me touch, because, and I quote, “It’s sensitive.”
Like I’m going to manhandle it or something. I’ve got great hands, as evidenced by my performance against Indiana. Nailed their asses to the wall, putting us one step closer to the championship game. Besides, I’m pretty sure the only person in the apartment who’s ever gone full Hulk mode is Kennedy.
But I don’t point it out because I want to get laid later.
“Hush.” She gets down on her knees to inspect the robot and I watch, transfixed, as she presses her cheek to the floor with her ass up in the air.
For the love of God, is she trying to kill me? So much for semihard. My cock is now pressed uncomfortably against my zipper and this little study group has shown no signs of fatigue. It’s going to be a long fucking night.
My only consolation? It won’t be nearly as long as the evening I spent in the coffee shop, tapping my boot on the tile floor, hoping Kennedy’s father wouldn’t prove to be a grade A piece of shit. I wanted so badly for it to work out for her. She deserves better than the hand she’s been dealt, and I know it wasn’t easy for her to give him another chance. To let herself be vulnerable.
I still can’t believe that asshole came sniffing around just to try and make a buck off her.
Just the thought of it heats my blood. She’s his only kid, for fuck’s sake. My old man might push me, but I know he loves me. He’d never try to take advantage of me, and he’d squash anyone who did. That’s what it means to be family. Obviously her father doesn’t get the concept.
His loss. If he can’t see what an amazing woman his daughter is, he doesn’t deserve her.
Still, I hope we never cross paths. He hurt Kennedy. No way I’ll give him the chance to do it again.
A wave of protectiveness surges through me. I abandon my Global Marketing text and join them in the tiny kitchen. The robot is rolling around, knocking down one plastic tube after another. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be doing that. I watch as the bot takes down another tube, the ball atop hitting the floor and rolling toward the stove where it joins six other balls of varying sizes.
“Dammit.” Kennedy plants her fists on her hips, an adorable little wrinkle forming on her brow. Can’t say I blame her for being frustrated. They’ve been tinkering with the robot for hours. “I really thought we had it that time.”
“Can I try?” I ask.
There’s a resounding “No!” and they start bickering about whether the issue is the robot’s resp
onse time or the sensitivity of the remote. Me? I think it’s the drivers. It’s clear they haven’t played Mario Kart a day in their lives.
Enzo sits the remote down and starts jotting down notes. I grab it and set the little fucker to task. I collect two balls and drop them in the designated box without knocking over a single tube.
“How’d you do that?” Kennedy demands.
I smirk. Not because I’m an asshole, but because I know it gets her hot. “Years of practice.”
She narrows her eyes and I shrug. “What? I play a lot of video games. We can’t all have your STEM-loving brainpower.”
“Go again,” Enzo says, putting his notes aside. He resets the grid, righting the fallen tubes and balls with a practiced hand. When he’s done, I maneuver the robot around the kitchen—taking a long, indirect route to better showcase my mad driving skills—and select two more balls and deposit them in the bin as they watch in disbelief.
“Show off.” Kennedy sighs, toying with the end of her braid. “So, basically we just need to practice.”
“That’s a good thing,” Enzo says. “It means the problem isn’t the design.”
“Nope,” I say, cheerfully handing over the remote. “It’s your total lack of skill with a joystick.”
They both glare at me. “You know, this thing would be way cooler if it could battle. Did you think about putting like a cutting tool or a hammer or something on it? I used to watch this show when I was a kid—”
“Absolutely not.” Kennedy rolls her eyes, but it’s all for show. She wants to laugh. I can see it in the tilt of her lips. And after the week she’s had? She deserves it. Of course, I can think of better ways to work the tension from her body, but Enzo’s got to go. “No BattleBots.”
“Too bad. It would be better that way.” I hook a thumb at Enzo. “Ask him. He knows what I’m saying.”
“Man, leave me out of this.” Enzo flicks his attention to Kennedy. “Don’t listen to him. The design is perfect just the way it is.”
“Thank you.” She hops to her feet and turns her attention on me. She gets up in my personal space, poking me in the chest with her finger. “This is important. It’s my last chance to final.” She’s so close I can smell her flowery shampoo. “I’ve been close before, but never made it.” She looks up at me with those big, dark eyes, excitement flaring in their depths. “I need to be on that stage.”
“I know. And you will be,” I say, snaking a hand around her waist so it rests just above her ass. “But I can’t help it if all this sexy nerd power gets me excited.”
“We’ve got work to do,” Enzo says, keeping his eyes glued to the robot. “Don’t go getting my partner all hot and bothered.”
“Too late.” His head jerks toward me. I wink at him for good measure. It’s a total Coop move, but I can’t deny it’s effective.
“That’s it. I’m calling it a night.” Enzo grabs his backpack and begins shoving books and leftover parts inside. “It’s getting too damn weird up in here.” He turns to Kennedy. “If you’re cool with it, I’ll take the bot home and practice my moves tonight?”
“Sure.”
I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You can practice your moves on me.”
Kennedy
True to his word, Austin gives me free rein over his body once Enzo is gone. I waste no time stripping him of his white tee, although I leave his track pants on. After that crack about my robot driving skills, which were admittedly terrible, he’s due for a little punishment. Those pants aren’t coming off until I say so, and I intend to inflict plenty of sweet torture between now and then. We’re making out on the couch, and I’m lavishing kisses over his rock-solid pecs, teasing him with my tongue, when my phone rings.
“Let it go to voice mail.” Austin grinds his hips against mine. The hard swell of his erection teases my sweet spot through the thin fabric of my leggings. It’s a convincing argument, and I’m tempted to ignore the phone. Then I remember the robot.
I slide my hand between our bodies, grasping his cock in my hand. I give a gentle squeeze and drag my fingers up the length of his shaft. He makes a sound that’s half growl, half moan.
“You want me to ride your cock?” I ask, smiling sweetly.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Sorry, babe. You’ll have to wait.” I give him another languid stroke. “That’s my mom’s ringtone. She’ll worry if I don’t answer.”
“Jesus, Kennedy.” He struggles to sit up with me on top of him. “You’re cruel.”
I pat his chest and reach for the phone. “What was that you were saying about my skill with a joystick?”
He rolls his eyes. “I take it all back. Just please don’t ever mention your mom when you’ve got your hand on my dick. No offense, but it’s a total boner killer.”
“Don’t make fun of my driving skills and I won’t.” I swipe to answer the call and slide off his lap, settling in next to him. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. What are you up to?”
“Not much. Just hanging out with Austin. He’s helping me with my stick handling.” His eyes nearly bug out of his head, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. “Apparently I didn’t play enough video games growing up, so he’s giving me pointers on using a joystick to maneuver the robot.”
“Sounds like fun,” she says, a cheerful note in her voice. “Tell him I said hello.”
Okay. I really need to meet this Joseph guy she’s dating, because that’s so not the reaction I was expecting. A horrific realization hits to me. Is she having sex with this guy? Is that why she’s so happy all the time?
Nopenopenope.
Don’t even go there. I’m thrilled Mom’s found someone she enjoys spending time with, but I am in no way prepared to think about her getting down and dirty with some internet dude.
Just. No.
“Speaking of which,” she says, putting an end to my speculation about her hopefully nonexistent sex life and dragging me back to the conversation at hand. Crap. What were we talking about anyway? “I wasn’t able to get Friday off, so I’ll have to miss the first day of the competition. But I’ll be there Saturday and Sunday, so I’ll get to see you compete and catch the Michigan game.”
My heart sinks. Should’ve known getting three days off would be impossible. “Coach was concerned about Enzo and me competing on game day.” I pause and lick my lips. They’re dry as bone. “So the contest runners agreed to move us to a Friday time slot.”
The line goes quiet. She’s probably beating herself up on the other end of the line. Which is ridiculous. Sure, she’s missed games and competitions over the years, but it couldn’t be helped. Priority one had to be keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table. Besides, I’m twenty-one freaking years old. Next year I’ll be on my own. I shouldn’t need my mother in the crowd, cheering me on.
But I do.
The idea of presenting in front of so many people scares the hell out of me. It doesn’t matter how many times I do it, it never gets any easier. The anxiety was so bad last year I thought I was going to pass out. And that was after Becca’s mom prescribed me anti-anxiety pills for the occasion.
Not that I can tell Mom any of that. She probably feels bad enough as it is.
“Don’t worry,” I say, forcing a half-hearted smile to my lips. “The awards ceremony is on Sunday, so you’ll get to see Enzo and me up onstage when we win. That’s the most important thing.”
She sighs, and I can practically hear the relief in her words. “Thank you for understanding, sweetie. You know I’d be there if I could. You’re going to do great.”
I nod before remembering she can’t see me. “Of course. We’ve been busting our butts.”
“All right, well, don’t let me keep you from your…what did you call it? Stick handling?”
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. Because apparently I’m not as mature as I like to think. “Yeah. Stick handling.”
“Is Austin treating you well?” Th
ere’s the woman I know and love.
“The best,” I say truthfully. Any doubts I had about Austin being boyfriend material vanished when he scraped me up off the ground after dinner with my dad. If it weren’t for Austin’s support, I probably would’ve spent the week in bed eating Reese’s and crying into my pillow. The thing is, I know my dad is the one with a problem, not me, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Good. I look forward to meeting him when I come visit.”
“Meeting him?” I steal a glance at Austin. He doesn’t look overly concerned about the prospect, but of course, he’s faced worse. Or so he thinks. Maybe he’s forgotten about my mom’s threat to neuter him. Just as well, I guess. She’s using her no-nonsense voice, which means she’s not going to let this go.
“Of course. How about I take you both to dinner Sunday, after the awards ceremony?”
I mouth Dinner Sunday? to Austin and he nods his head. “Sure, Mom. Sounds great.”
We wrap up the call and I sink back into the cushions of the couch. Austin kisses my neck, but I’m not into it. Which makes no sense, because, hello, he’s hot AF.
It doesn’t take him long to notice my total lack of enthusiasm.
He pulls back, cupping my cheek in his hand. “What’s wrong?”
I toy with the hem of my shirt, hands shaking. “I’m worried about the competition. My mom just found out she’s not going to be able to make it on Friday to see me compete. It’s not her fault,” I say, the words flowing like word vomit. God forbid he think both of my parents are selfish assholes. “She has to work. But I have a really hard time with public speaking and…the prospect of presenting to such a large crowd without any support is terrifying. Last year I almost passed out.”
I don’t mention that while I didn’t pass out, I did puke my guts out in the bathroom before the competition started.
Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 23
