TYLER

I had fallen asleep after my shower, only to wake up right before the Philly Clean Skills Clinic because Donovan had called me to see if I was on the way. I should have been here an hour ago to discuss the specifics with Parker and Donovan, but after last night and a rough morning, I had trouble keeping my eyes open. So, I rolled off the bed, kissed Roxie, my German shepherd puppy, good-bye, and hopped into my car with a few minutes to spare.

I made it over the bridge from my house in Cherry Hill, New Jersey and into Philly in time and right before the congestion worsened with the Sixers playing at home today. We share the Wells Fargo Center with our pro basketball team, but with our practice facility located in Voorhees, New Jersey, and my family right next door, it made sense to buy a house there instead of Philly.

As I park out back of the Strickland University event center, I spot a woman with blonde hair waiting by the back entrance. She seems lost, staring into space and glancing up at the sky. I doubt she’s Kennedy Lockwood, the reporter I am meeting before the clinic. No way would she be this unfortunate in the looks department with a voice like that. She sounded like a phone sex operator with her sweet, sultry bedroom voice.

I turn off the ignition and step out of the car, and she turns in my direction as I shut the door and lock it. She raises a hand to her forehead to block the sunlight, pinning me down with one look. Then, she does something strange and waves to me.

I wave back, assuming she’s Kennedy, and stalk toward her. She closes the distance between us, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail over her shoulder, bobbing against her breasts. Bouncing with each step, she stops and extends her hand to me.

“Hi, Tyler. I’m Kennedy Lockwood.” And there’s that sexy as fuck voice I heard on the phone.

I shake her hand and then shove my Flyers jersey up to stick my hands in my jean pockets. Alex Parker had insisted we all wear our jersey for the day, which made sense since we are attending a sports charity event to raise money for drug and alcohol addiction in the city.

Philly Clean is a local charity that all our sports teams support, and with my agent’s background, the charity means a lot more to her than just another fundraiser.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, appraising her odd choice in outfit. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

That was rude. I should apologize.

I notice a slight frown scroll across her face for a few seconds before she perks up, recouping from my stupidity. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes what you expect the most turns out to disappoint you more.”

She has me there. Payton was everything I had thought I ever wanted in a girl—beautiful, smart, funny, and charismatic—until she ruined my life and destroyed my relationship with my parents.

Upon further inspection, Kennedy is better looking close up than from afar. The problem is her clothes. She has flawless skin, like smooth porcelain, wheat blonde hair, similar to mine, except hers has flecks of dark blonde mixed throughout, and a smile that reaches up to her blue eyes.

But her clothes…what on earth is she wearing?

She’s dressed as if she raided her mother’s closet. Judging by her face, she can’t be older than twenty-five. In tight black leggings that leave no room to the imagination, it’s obvious she has nice legs. But the pink polka dots on them make her look about ten years old, especially when combined with an oversized old lady sweater in the same color and a black scarf with the same pink dots. What surprises me most is that she’s a reporter.

I have yet to see a female sports reporter wear something so ridiculous, knowing she has interviews lined up with half of Coach’s client list after the event.

Taking far too long to answer her, I don’t even realize the awkward pause I created by checking her out until she clears her throat to get my attention.

“If it’s all right with you, I would like to go inside and get setup. I will need to talk to whoever is handling the PR along with the Director of Donor Relations for Philly Clean before we even start with interviews.”

“No problem.” I open the door for her, and she steps into the quiet hallway. “I guess you need a press badge, too.”

“Yeah,” she smiles at me as we walk down the long tiled hall, similar to the one at the Wells Fargo Center, “that would be great. I know how you athletes like to avoid interviews when possible, but Alex promised me exclusives with the players.”

“You can start with me,” I offer.

She shrugs, not even giving the slightest indication that she wants to interview me, which strikes me as odd.

“What is there to know about you that I don’t already? You’re the starting center for the Flyers, you ended this season with seventy-one points. Congrats, by the way, that’s impressive. Shame, you guys, still couldn’t make it into the playoffs. Let’s see. You’re from Cherry Hill, so a local boy who made it big. With your stats and agent, you could play for a much better team, but you stay here out of what….loyalty? Home town recognition? That’s the one thing I don’t get about you. As far as your personal life, I never see you with girls, maybe a puck bunny here and there but nothing like what I saw from Parker or Donovan. I know your professional life—stats, position, all the basics—but that’s not the story worth writing.”

I’m impressed that she knows so much about me even though as a sports reporter it’s her job to know these things. When she speaks, she carries herself like she’s the only person in the room and everyone should stop to pay attention to her. Too bad she hasn’t learned how to dress. She could be super hot given better attire.

But Kennedy is not the kind of woman you chase after because of her looks. No, she’s the girl you admire because of her brain, and I like that about her. I can already tell she’d school my dumb ass.

“So, you want to write about my personal life? Is that what you’re saying?”

We reach the end of the hall, and I open the door to the main entrance, allowing Kennedy to go before me. Loud cheers greet us from inside the event center, which tells me Parker and some of the players have already made their entrance. I’m the asshole who woke up late and couldn’t make it here on time for Kennedy to get her photo op. Walking faster, I steer her toward the gym where all the cheering is coming from so we don’t miss another minute of the action.

“No offense, but I don’t know if your personal life is what I would call newsworthy. What Alex is doing for Coach will get a lot of press. Just not so sure anyone will care about what girls you hook up with outside the rink.”

“There’s more to me than hockey,” I spit back, defensive.

She flashes a sexy but arrogant smile. “I don’t doubt that. Care to share?”

I look away from her and into the expanse of the gymnasium, searching for Parker and finding him and Coach together. At least a dozen, if not more, NBA players huddle around them as Alex says something to Coach I can’t make out from a distance with all the fans cheering in the stands.

“I didn’t think so,” she says, answering her own question before I have time to answer.

My personal life is off-limits to anyone outside my inner circle. Even Parker doesn’t know about my family and all the drama that comes with Payton and my parents.

Ignoring her statement, I guide her to where Mickey is standing with Donovan, trying to put Payton behind me for the next few hours.

* * *

After the event ends, with Parker and Coach leaving to go live happily ever after, I introduce Kennedy to the players she wanted to interview and wait for her on the sidelines as she makes her rounds. I feel responsible for her today though I’m not sure why. Parker insisted that I help her out with the guys because some of them can be a little grabby and obnoxious, especially the players she had in mind.

She had a lady boner over Dante West, and I guess I can see why seeing as he’s hands-down the most dominate player in the NBA with the championships and stats to back it up, not to mention that fucker rakes in over thirty million dollars per year. I love hockey but damn if I didn’t wish I was better at basketball or football because those dudes make a killing compared to what we make in the NHL.

As the highest paid player in the league, I still pull in fifteen million a year, but that’s nothing compared to other professional sports. Coach landed me a sweet deal with Under Armour that she negotiated right before she handled Parker’s trade to Philly. Sponsors add a nice chunk to my salary. Growing up in a middle class neighborhood in New Jersey, my parents never had any money with two girls and me running around.

Ever since I was a kid, I had wanted to become a pro hockey player. That dream had carried over into high school, and since I wasn’t eighteen yet at the time of the draft, I went to Rutgers for a semester before I was selected in the first round by the Flyers. But life had other plans, and those plans almost derailed my entire career.

“I’m all done,” Kennedy calls out to me with the wave of her hand as she makes her way toward the bleachers. I get up from the bench, and she stands next to me, her eyes pointed at the basketball court as she speaks. “This was a successful day for my paper. Dante West did an interview with me. How about that? I never thought I would see the day.”

“That’s because Dante loves the shit out of Coach.”

She turns to me, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smile. “I can tell her clients really love her. She’s an awesome agent. The deals Coach has made in the past few years are impressive for someone so young.”

“Are you kidding me? Coach is my girl. I remember the day she tried to steal me away from ASG like it was yesterday. She has some moves when it comes to dealing with athletes. I found it impossible to say no.”

She smirks. “Yeah, I’m sure it was a tough decision for you. I bet you hit on her the first time you met.”

I look away from her, somewhat embarrassed at the memory. “Yup, she turned me down hard. And she did it in front of my teammates.”

Kennedy tilts her back and laughs. “I would’ve paid good money to see that. I knew there was a reason I liked her.”

“Doing it in front of my team made it even worse, but I respected the hell out of her the way she handled the situation. She has that killer instinct that makes her the best.”

Despite her frumpy and bizarre wardrobe choice, I kind of like her and don’t want this conversation to end. I like talking to Kennedy because I can actually have a real conversation with her and not have to put on the Tyler Kane show, the image the rest of the world expects of me.

“I’m starving,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

She glances down at the notepad in her hand before meeting my gaze. “No, I have to get home and work on these articles. I was hoping to get at least two of them finished by Monday. Thanks for the offer.” Her tone has a finality to it, which makes me want to change her mind.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s just food, not a date. And I kind of want to pick your brain.”

My last statement catches her attention, and she perks up. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I want to know more about your paper and sports reporting. Is that all right with you?”

She shrugs, nonchalant, and swipes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I suppose so. But I’m not having dinner with you. How about coffee? You can get something to eat at Broad Street Beans. It’s just down the street.”

She’s referring to the coffee shop on the Strickland University Campus located at the corner of Broad Street and Greek Row and within walking distance from the arena.

I offer my arm out to her. “We can walk together. Are you ready?”

She raises her eyebrows in confusion. “What are you doing? You don’t have to escort me down the street on your arm.”

Unsure of why I made such an odd gesture, I try to shake it off, laughing and pretending like I didn’t just offer to escort her like we are going to the damn prom together.

It has been a long time since I met a girl who I want to spend time with for more than a booty call. Kennedy is the complete opposite of the usual puck bunnies. Well, because she’s not a puck bunny.

I was nineteen when Payton and I split, only for us to go back and forth for months, maybe even years, before her games and torture became too hard for me to bear after a while. Our relationship was killing my career. The choices we made were destroying me though I doubt I will ever come to terms with our actions. We were toxic together.

When she broke my fucking heart, she took more than a piece of it with her, before giving away the one thing we shared together, the one thing that could have kept us together. Instead, we let it tear us apart. I haven’t been in a relationship since because I still carry the pain with me and the anger I have over allowing her and my parents to help me make a horrible decision. But I still made that decision, one I will regret for the rest of my life.

There’s something about Kennedy that gives me a sense of home, makes me comfortable around her. The feeling is nice, welcome even.

“C’mon, let’s get going before they close. I’m a growing boy who needs to eat.” I rub my hand over my stomach, and she laughs.

“Well then, I guess we better get you fed.”

I nod, and a tiny smile plays on her lips as she falls in line with me as we exit the gymnasium.