Play Along (Windy City, #4)

by Liz Tomforde

“Isaiah Rhodes.” “Kennedy Rhodes,” I mimic.

“I will, however, divorce your ass if you lose this.”

“Aw, Monty,” I coo, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “You want to grow old with me?”

This is different from that hug. That felt like I was someone’s friend. This feels like I’m someone’s everything.