Page 23 of Home Town Advantage
She shrugs. “I don’t know him. You two only left your bedroom to play ball.”
Embarrassment creeps up my neck. “Sorry. We had some catching up to do.”
“At least he’s tall.” She plops down onto a chair at the kitchen table. “It’s so hard for me to find men taller than me.”
“Beau is taller than you,” I tease. It was clear the other night that Palmer is smitten with him.
Two rosy dots form on her cheeks. “I don’t think a guy like Beau Fudd would ever be interested in me. He’s gorgeous. He could have any girl he wants.”
“You’regorgeous. You just need to believe that too.”
“I’m big. Men don’t like big women.”
I shrug. “It’s about finding the right fit. All of us are in the same boat, being unusually tall. Beau is significantly bigger than you.”
She has a giddy look on her face as she practically coos, “Hereallyis. Did you see his quads in those jeans he was wearing?”
I nod my head. “They were hard to miss.”
“They looked like they were going to burst through. I’ve never been around a man like him.”
Wow, she’s crushing hard.
“Right. How would Beau be with a small, regular-sized woman? He would crush her. He needs someone tall like you, Palmer.”
She leans on her hands with a dreamy look on her face. “Do you really think so?”
“I do.”
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and a loud, familiar voice shouts, “Sex police.”
Palmer and I laugh as I stand and make my way to the front door, opening it for Kennedy. Talk about surprises. Kennedy is widely considered the bitch of the league. The black widow, for her dark hair, dirty play, and less-than-sunny disposition. That’s not what I’ve seen through our first two games. I’ve seen a good teammate who protects me at every turn. I’ve never played with anyone like her. She’s like having a hockey teammate. The guy whose job it is to come in and check the opponent into the boards just to make a point.
Basketball has become a significantly more physical game in the past few years. Contact that once would have been a foul isnow considered acceptable. Kennedy fights hard for every single rebound. She’s constantly creating lanes for me. She’s like a tank. A machine. It’s a very undervalued aspect of the sport. I wouldn’t be putting up the kind of numbers I have in our first two games if it weren’t for her tough, unselfish play.
And her support the other night, refusing to leave my side, is something I’m unaccustomed to. I was unsure about her at first, but I officially like Kennedy Jeffries. A lot.
Opening the door, I joke, “The black widow is here.”
Her face falls. “Ugh, I hate that nickname.”
I shrug. “It suits you. Plus, she’s a superhero. You should embrace it.”
She makes a look of disgust. “Guys always want me to dress up as Black Widow. It’s creepy as fuck. I’ve added it to my red flag list.” She hands me a coffee. “I brought you guys caffeine. Shane left, right? I didn’t bring him one.”
I nod. “He’s gone.”
She walks in, and we all sit around our small kitchen table. She nods toward the half dozen vases of flowers. “Where did all those come from?”
“Reagan Daulton said a ton of fans sent them to me at the stadium. I couldn’t take them all home with us, but I took a bunch, and I grabbed all the accompanying cards so I could read them. The fans here are so nice.”
She rubs her hands together in excitement. “Ooh. Grab them. Let’s read a few.”
As I walk into our living room to locate the big bag of notes and cards, Kennedy shouts, “What are those dark red, ugly flowers? I’ve never seen them before.”
I smile to myself, knowing exactly which ones she’s talking about. I yell back, “They’re called Chocolate Cosmos. They happen to be rare. Smell them. They smell like chocolate.”
I can hear their chairs scrape across the floor before they mutter, “Holy shit.”
