Page 31 of Defending her Heart

As I walk off, Buck calls behind me, “If you asked me if I’ve ever slept with, fucked, or kissed Kendall Wentworth, the answer is no. As far as I know, you’re the only one to stick his tongue down her throat.”

That stops me in my tracks. “Bankes’s wedding. You two slipped out hand in hand.”

That shit eating grin is back. “The little minx dared me.”

“Dared you to what?”

“She said if I didn’t hit on the bridesmaids during the entire wedding, she’d let me moon the bride and groom. We went outside to find the perfect spot where they were sure to see me when they drove off to their honeymoon.”

“What the hell kind of dare is that? And there were only two bridesmaids.” Kendall and Rowan.

“I know.” Buck let out a heavy sigh. “The wedding was small and mostly guys from the team. The only other women were wives or girlfriends. Hence why the stakes were so high on the bet.”

So the giggles, the hand holding, the dancing wasn’t about them hooking up but being in on a stupid bet.

And I called her out for being a slut. Again.

“You and Kendall a thing now?” Buck asks.

“Not even close.”

“But you want to be?” he says in a stupid sing-songy way like a ten year old poking fun at his buddy for liking a girl.

“Doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. Kendall hates my guts.” Rightfully so.

“I can fix that. I’m her favorite person. She’ll listen to me if I sing your praises and tell her about the size of your dick. Unless she’s already been acquainted with it.”

“Please don’t. On either account. I’m not looking to...hook up. I just need to right my wrong.”

“Right yourdong? Is that what you call your soldier?”

“Shut the fuck up, Buck.”

“Look at you. A poet and you didn’t even know it.”

I flip him my middle finger as I cross the lot over to my vehicle.

That was the most draining conversation I’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot when I’m raising a chatterbox of a daughter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KENDALL

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. Bothwere 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.

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