Page 116 of False Play
I rinsed her shampoo and put on the conditioner as she instructed, and as it settled in her hair for a few minutes, we continued showering in silence. She dropped a few kisses on my pecs and my abdomen. Every time, without fail, they made me shiver. I dropped kisses on her cheek, her lips, her forehead. I traced her freckles with my fingertips, following them like they were a roadmap to her. Admiring the way the droplets of water glided against her beautiful skin. Loving the way she stared at me with this bright fucking smile that debilitated me in the best possible way.
We rinsed her conditioner and stepped out of the shower. I took my time to dry her and then myself, then grabbed one of my sweaters so she could put it on. She went to her room to grab the rest of her hair products, and when she came back, shewas going to step into my bathroom again to do the rest of her hair routine, but I stopped her and sat her on my bed.
“I got it. Just teach me how,” I said.
She nodded as she tucked her legs underneath her, and I got comfortable behind her and followed her instructions, sectioning her hair, applying some sort of cream that also smelled like a tropical sunny day, and brushing her curls with a detangling brush.
Right then, in the simplicity of the moment, in the quiet of the night where we enjoyed each other’s company without trying to fill the silence with small talk, I knew I was hopelessly and endlessly in love with her. It wasn’t the fleeting kind of love, either. No. It was the kind that lasted. She was my comfort, my place to land, and the warmth I’d been missing almost my whole life.
And I wanted—needed—to keep it. Keepher.
THIRTY-ONE
KENNEDY
AM I ENOUGH?
“I love my job.I totally, completely love my fucking job,” I murmured the latest mantra I’d come up with every time I had to deal with the aftermath of Matt fucking Smith.
For our annual gala event, we always had a minimum of four charitable organizations to raise money for. This year, I wanted to add one more since we had raised so much money in the last three years, it made sense to scale the event even more. I wanted to prove to Brad I could handle the workload, but I also genuinely admired the workFirstGen—the organization I was trying to bring on board—was doing. Their mission centered on supporting BIPOC college students who were the first in their families to attend college, giving them the mentorship and opportunities they deserved.
The first time I met with the executive director, everything went smoothly, and she was excited to potentially work with us. That was until she dropped by our offices to speak with me and our charitable foundation manager about some logistics. I was pulled into a last-minute photo-op with Parker. I loved the fact that he was such a charismatic man and everyone loved him (and wanted to work with him), but the guy sure kept us busy. I tried to reschedule her, but she was already in the building and read the email too late.
Somehow, Matt was the one who ended up meeting with her, and just like that, the next day, I received a vague email from her saying that even though she loved meeting me and thought my heart was in the right place, she didn’t believe the Strikers organization values aligned with theirs, so they wouldn’t proceed. There were less than two weeks left until this event. At this point, I wasn’t going to be able to research and find the right charitable organization in time. All the work I did went down the drain, and to say I was pissed was putting it mildly.
There was a moment when I considered asking Henry aboutWillow House, but I stopped myself. He made it clear he wasn’t ready for it. And I understood why. I supported and respected his decision. Hopefully, one day, he would be able to. I’m sure he’d love to at some point.
I was on my way to Brad’s office with my pulse practically trying to claw its way out of my throat. I could handle Matt being passive-aggressive with me and throwing his stupid and outdated sexists insults. But when his attitude started to affect the work I cared about—and to an extent, affecting the organization’s image—that was where I drew a hard fucking line. I was so close to ignoring this and looking the other way like I’d done hundreds of times, because I was terrified Brad was going to think I wasn’t going to be able to handle a managerial role if I couldn’t even smooth things over with a coworker. And maybe I couldn’t, you know? Perhaps this was the universe’s way of telling me to let go of the idea of becoming a director.
With a shaky deep breath, I knocked on Brad’s door and stepped in once he gave me the go-ahead.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I managed to keep myvoice steady, though every nerve in my body felt like it was humming.
Brad gave me a quick nod with a smile. He’d always been a kind and patient man and knew how to handle every crisis that came across his desk. He was the sort of person who was born to be in PR. Always steady, but ready to pounce and be quick on his feet to solve any problems.
“I want to preface, I am in no way complaining or trying to throw anyone under the bus. You know my work ethic, and I’m not one to ever be involved in issues—” I was speaking as fast as I possibly could so I wouldn’t lose my nerves, but Brad interrupted me.
“I know how you work.” He shut his planner and placed the pen he was holding on top of it. “If you’re here, it must be serious.”
I thinned my lips with a silent nod as I took a seat in the blue velvet chair.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the leather creaking beneath him. “What’s going on?”
I hesitated to speak. There was a moment when I considered only telling him about what happened withFirstGen. It would’ve been easier, safer. But another part of me, the one that was tired of shrinking, wanted to be brave; to be honest. To stop letting men who weren’t worth a penny talk down to me like they were kings when all they ruled was their own inflated egos.
So I told him everything. What happened withFirstGen. Every passive-aggressive comment Matt threw my way for three whole years. What he pulled for Family Skate, and how, without the guys’ help, it wouldn’t have been a success.
“I tried to get details as to what happened in that meeting, but she was extremely vague.” I circled back to the situation at hand.
“I’m familiar with her. We went to college together. I’m going to give her a call and find out what happened,” Brad said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I know it’s my fault.” My breath hitched as I tried to find the courage to continue speaking without my voice breaking down. “I should have sent one of the interns to Parker’s photo-op, but you know this sponsor isveryspecific?—”
“You don’t need to give me any excuses. I know, Kennedy.” His eyes settled on me with a tilt of his head. “But, may I ask, why didn’t you bring the other things to my attention? Three years is a long time to stay quiet.”
I straightened in my seat, crossing one leg over the other. “With all due respect, Brad, I believe you’ve worked long enough in this industry to know how difficult it is for women to make it. The prejudice, the looks, and the comments are always there. All I have been trying to do since I stepped into this building is prove myself and let my work ethic speak for me. I didn’t want to be pitied or get special treatment, so I decided to stay quiet.”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been special treatment or pity, Kennedy. It would have been my duty as your boss to take care of a person who has been harassing you. You know how we work in this organization. We have zero tolerance for bullshit. I think having one of our best players benched for most of the season has proved that.”
