Sliding Into Home (22 page)

He was right. I promised I wouldn’t do it again.

Then, a few weeks later, I was out drinking again at some party I was paid to be at and I flashed the cameras again. This happened over and over, and every time I talked to Hank about it, I blamed someone else. I’d say my friends got me drunk and the paparazzi talked me into it. Or I blamed my friends for egging me on. I used every excuse in the book. He didn’t want to hear any of them.

I don’t know why I kept flashing. It reminded me a little of my drug days. Back then I would do a bunch of drugs, get caught by my mom or a friend who cared about me, and say that I wasn’t going to do it again. But it was only a matter of time—sometimes as soon as a day later—before I was doing drugs again. I was having trouble juggling both lives. I didn’t want to upset Hank, but as long as I was living at the Mansion my brain kicked into party-Kendra mode when I was out.

Not long after the TMZ flashing, I went to the Dominican Republic for an appearance and it happened again. I felt like I was in another world, and away from all the cameras, so I didn’t think I would get caught. Also, I swear on my life that I had to do it. I’d built up this persona, and there were thousands of people at the club who wanted to see me, so I went up onstage and started dancing with some girl. The crowd wasn’t that into it, so I grabbed the mike and began rapping on stage. That picked the crowd up a little, but then a guy screamed, “Flash your boobs!” and before I knew it the whole place was chanting, “Flash! Flash! Flash!”

I didn’t want to do it. I even left the stage once without doing it. I knew it was wrong, and I knew Hank would be pissed. But even when I was offstage the crowd was still begging for some boobs. I felt the pressure . . .

Fuck it.

I went out there and gave them what they wanted. If it’s going to make them happy, then I’ll give them some boob. Why not? I pulled my shirt down and the crowd went wild. My work was done, so I ran off the stage and that was it . . . until, of course, the video showed up all over the Internet.

Hank was mad, and I swore that I wouldn’t do it again. He was actually pretty calm and reasonable, considering I kept doing the one thing he hated the most. But at some point he had to break. That breaking point came when I went to Las Vegas to film the show and the producers wanted me to skydive topless. Okay, maybe I wanted to do it—maybe it was even my very scary idea—but for Hank’s sake, let’s just say someone forced me to do it.

Before I went I swore up and down that I wouldn’t show my boobs—for real this time. I meant it.

I lied.

Again, he couldn’t say much when I told him because he was in the car with someone and he couldn’t be heard yelling at a girlfriend he supposedly didn’t have. But even without getting into a real argument with him, I knew it was wrong. I’d broken a promise—a real promise—and I felt terrible.

Making fans or photographers happy wasn’t worth feeling as horrible as I felt, but I was caught between wanting to change my ways and holding on to what got me there in the first place.

Although we didn’t fight often, this was our ongoing battle. But fighting every now and then is a good thing, and Hank and I could always talk our arguments out. I listened to him and he listened to me. It made us better as individuals and stronger as a couple.

This time he was right. It was time for me to grow up and decide what was more important to me. If I was going to make this relationship work, I needed to make some sacrifices. Hank was certainly holding up his end of the bargain. Most guys wouldn’t put up with a girl living the Playboy Mansion lifestyle, the long-distance relationship, and being forced to keep the whole thing a secret. He was so committed and so patient, and I knew he deserved better.

CHAPTER 18
 

The Secret to Love

By the time we were filming the fifth season of
The Girls Next Door
, I think Holly, Bridget, and I were just sort of going through the motions. Each girl knew exactly what she had to do to make an episode interesting, so we were able to get through shooting fairly quickly.

We all knew the show was nearing its end, so we wanted to leave a good lasting impression on the viewers. After all, we were pros.

Bridget was the creative, motherly type who was always fixing problems and making some artsy shit, but she was no pushover. If something went wrong or she didn’t like what was happening in an episode she was the first to say “Fuck you” and get her way. She means business, and I think fans got that from her in the fifth season.

Holly was the nice, polite girl who had a smile on her face at all times, but she was also strong and courageous and never gave up. I’ve never seen Holly cry. You’d think I would be the toughest of the three of us, but I lost my shit a number of times. Holly was the fighter.

During the fifth season the producers wanted to film us taking a scuba-diving test, but Holly didn’t know how to swim. We figured Holly would just sit this one out, but she had taken a few swimming lessons with Amanda Beard for a previous episode, and then, knowing we had the scuba episode coming up, she really worked at learning to swim off camera. She was determined to pass that test.

On the day we went out on the ocean to get certified, the water was really choppy. It was a terrible day for scuba diving. In the episode it looks like we all passed the test easily, but the truth is, none of us wanted to even get in the water, except Holly. Holly—who had just learned how to swim—was determined to get that certification, and she did it. It was amazing.

As for me, I was the resident party girl, but I was doing my best to put an end to that off camera. I didn’t care how I looked on the show, but I wanted to prove to Hank how much he meant to me, and that meant toning it down in public. Plus, I missed Hank so much that it was hard for me to have fun the way I used to.

I began focusing all my energy on figuring out how Hank and I could meet up without getting caught. I was losing my mind without seeing him, and then, just before football season started, Hank told me he was going to Cabo San Lucas with some of his boys and he wanted me to come. I didn’t really want to crash a boys’ weekend, but at the same time I
totally
wanted to crash the boys’ weekend. I didn’t know how I was going to make it work, but I told Hank that I would find a way to see him.

At the time Hef was being way more lenient on the rules because he knew our time at the Mansion was almost up, but there was no way in hell he was just going to let me go to Cabo for no reason. So I found a reason. I had my publicist book me an appearance at a hotel
down there so I could make it a work trip. It worked out perfectly—I even scored a free flight and a room at the ME Cabo Resort.

I took two girls with me so the trip seemed like a girls’ weekend in addition to a work event, and of course Joe, the bodyguard, was there, too. I use the term
bodyguard
lightly. Joe was a skinny, gray-haired guy in his sixties—not exactly the ass-kicker you might imagine. He was more the guy who got me out of bed and to my event on time, and who stayed sober to make sure there was no funny business. Don’t get me wrong—he always had my back, so in a sense he was a bodyguard, but in a more fatherly sort of way.

Joe and I had developed a good relationship, but he was super-loyal to Hef, so Hank and I knew we had to be sneaky—especially since he had seen Hank a couple of times already and was starting to get suspicious. Hank and I always said that we were family friends, and we never acted like we were together when Joe—or anyone else for that matter—was around. Plus, in Cabo there would be paparazzi, so we had to be extra careful.

Just being in Cabo with Hank made all the work I had to do to get there, and all the sneakiness that had to take place once we were there, worth it. The day we arrived I met all of his friends. We went off-roading on ATVs, and then we all went to the hotel pool, where I bought shots for everyone. I was like one of the guys, cracking on Hank and talking trash. I fit right in—they loved me.

My girls came out, too, and they met all of Hank’s friends, but they also had one another to hang out with, so they weren’t too concerned with what I was doing. That’s why I took two friends: if you bring one, they count on you to be with them all the time; with two,
they entertain each other. So they didn’t care if I was off somewhere with Hank. I had everything figured out.

Joe watched us the whole time, but it all looked platonic, so there was nothing for him to report.

Later that first day, as soon as I saw an opening, I made an excuse and went to my room. Once Joe had gone to his room and all of our friends were good and drunk and looking for fun, Hank came and met me. Finally, we had some alone time.

Sitting on the balcony, looking out at the ocean and getting to be “us” for a change, felt so good. I felt so relaxed when we could let our hair down and be a real couple.

As we sat on the balcony talking, Hank told me he loved me for the first time.

Whaaaaaaat?!?
I wasn’t expecting that at all. I knew he loved me, and I loved him, but I was still shocked when he said it out loud. For some reason, hearing it totally caught me off guard. Maybe it was because he took the relationship to the next level so suddenly, or maybe I just didn’t expect a guy to be so brave and just come out with it before knowing exactly what my reaction would be. Either way, I forget what my exact response was, but it definitely wasn’t “I love you, too.” Even though I’m sure he would have been more than happy to hear it then, I didn’t want him to think I was saying it just because he’d said it to me, so I held out.

In the past I had dated guys for at least a year before I said “I love you.” Hank and I had been dating a couple of months (and we really spent only a few days actually together), so this felt pretty quick. In general, dropping L-bombs doesn’t come easy for me; loving someone and telling them you love them are two totally different things. Saying “I love you” is a very powerful thing to me. Some people
say it all the time and don’t think about it, but I save those words for when I mean them.

Even though he’s not a perfect person, to me, Hank was perfect. He proved to me that he is not a typical cocky athlete. Everything that he said to me was truthful, and everything about him was real. There was never any bullshit with him. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it—I loved him. I just needed a couple of days to catch my breath before I said it back.

A few days later Hank and I snuck off to go parasailing together. It was the first time we were able to get away from the group and Joe, and we were excited to do a public activity together, just the two of us. However, I was scared to death about floating in the air while tied to a moving boat, even though Hank would be there with me.

Right when we were about to go up I told him to hold on to me tightly. He wrapped his arms around me and told me not to worry. Seconds later we were soaring over the Pacific Ocean. It was incredible. With about five hundred feet of air between the ocean and us, I yelled for Hank to look me in the eyes.

He turned to me and I shouted, “I love you!”

In that moment we were both so happy. We knew how we felt about each other before the trip, but hearing and saying those words was really special.

Hank spent the night in my room, and the next day it was time to go back to our regular lives. He had training camp and I had a show to film. Just after the big “I love you” exchange, we were splitting up again. It was the hardest good-bye yet. I started crying as soon as I woke up because I didn’t want to leave him.

While I sobbed uncontrollably and packed my bags, Hank stepped into the bathroom. A few minutes later the maids came in to clean. I
was so upset that I forgot Hank and I weren’t supposed to be caught in the same room, and seconds later Joe knocked on the door. I wiped away my tears as well as I could and let Joe inside. He’d come to make sure I was getting ready to leave, not to check up on me, but he’d unknowingly trapped Hank in the bathroom.

Joe was talking and talking and it didn’t seem like he was going to leave until I left with him. Luckily the maids were there, and as they were making some noise and providing a distraction, Hank was able to peek out from the bathroom and find the perfect time to slip out without Joe seeing him. We didn’t even get one last kiss or hug in. Hank just mouthed
I love you
and disappeared.

I cried the entire flight back. I opened up to my friends about our relationship and they did their best to comfort me, saying Hank and I looked perfect together and that someday it would all work out.

I knew that to make relationships work, you had to sacrifice, and that nothing in life comes easy, but this was getting too hard to handle. I was dying inside, and since Hank and I had left Cabo without any real plans to see each other again, I didn’t have anything but loneliness to look forward to.

I thought it was going to be months before we saw each other, and I was miserable about it. Then a few days later, out of nowhere, my agent told me he’d booked me an appearance at Harrah’s Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City during what was, coincidentally, Hank’s bye week during the football season.