Play Along (Windy City #4)

by Liz Tomforde

Travis nudges my shoulder. “So, who is she?” On this day, where everything feels like a sign, I don’t hesitate when I say, “My future wife.”

There’s been only one woman who has held my interest and now that she’s no longer wearing another man’s engagement ring, spending my time with anyone else holds zero appeal.

“Have I told you lately how much I dislike you?” “Mmm,” he hums. “I should warn you, Ken, I like it when you’re mean. It does something to me.” “So that’s why you haven’t left me alone all these years? I should’ve been nice to you all this time, I guess.” “I probably would’ve proposed a handful of times by now if you were. Nice. Mean. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

I’m completely out of my mind because with the way she’s looking at me, little smirk on those lips, brown eyes shining with mischief the way mine usually do, I know in this moment, I’d do just about anything she asked me to.

Still sitting on the bed, I hold up my left hand. “We did, however, get married.”

“Does this mean the honeymoon phase is over already?” “I hate you!” “See you at home, wifey!”

“Just think of this as one big game.” His tone is low and deep when he leans down to my ear and whispers, “C’mon wife. Play along.”

“Will you pick a favorite color for me?” I huff a laugh under my breath. I vaguely remember thinking about this answer before. “Yellow.” “Yellow.” He appraises my answer. “Why yellow?” “It’s like you. Bright. Happy.” Reminds me of the sun. “Yellow,” he repeats. “Good color. My favorite color, in fact.”

“It’s kind of fucked up that you’d pick your brother over your husband.” “What can I say? We’ve got history.” “Yeah, well we’ve got history too, Kennedy. You just haven’t been paying attention.”

“Excuse me?” I stand from my seat. “Watch your fucking words when you’re speaking to my wife.”