Play Along (Windy City, #4)

by Liz Tomforde

With bouncing knees, I sit on the closed toilet lid in one of the stalls, needing to get my shit together. Needing to get back to goofy, everything-rolls-off-his-shoulders Isaiah Rhodes.

It was as if I had found my purpose in life—to make those around me happy, so I tend to keep the sad, sappy moments private.

There’s a reason I don’t hire women. Fucking asshole.

Maybe my mom sent me on her path today.

I hold out my hand to shake hers. “Isaiah.” She returns the gesture. “Kennedy.” “Well, Kennedy, now that I’m no longer a stranger, tell me more about these two tits of yours.”

He remembers the day we met? Why? There was nothing significant about that day other than I got a new job. A job that I have come to love in a way, regardless that I don’t feel like I’m living up to my full potential.

“I’d be the first female lead doctor in the MLB.” Isaiah’s lips curve at that. “As you should be. That’s amazing, Kenny. You deserve all the good things.” I’m still trying to convince myself of that.

A laugh bubbles out of me, the way it wants to most of the time I’m around Isaiah, though I typically don’t let it. “Not until I sign my new contract and I’m two thousand miles away.”

Tonight is the best night of my life. “What?” Kennedy asks at my side. Did I say that out loud? Fuck it. “I said, tonight is the best night of my life.”

Well, except Dean. You know Dean. You hate Dean.” I do hate Dean. “He’s the only person that’s vocalized how fucked up this whole thing is.” Okay, well, maybe I hate Dean a fraction less than I did thirty seconds ago,

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.

At that moment, it’s as if the rose-colored glasses get removed. I’ve never once been mad at Kennedy. Never disliked something she said. Never disagreed with her. But this…her blaming me for last night… For the first time since I’ve known the girl, I’m fucking pissed at her. “Do not put this on me, Kennedy. You asked me to do this.”

“It doesn’t mean anything anyway.” “You’re right. It doesn’t. All it was for you was the perfect revenge for what happened with your ex. Well, you’re welcome, Ken. I hope it feels good when you tell him.”

It might not be the healthiest of things, but when I can’t calm my own intrusive thoughts, I do so by checking in on everyone I care about.

“Are you still mad at me?” Hesitating, I think it over. “Kind of hard to be mad at you when you just agreed to be my wife.” “It’s okay to be mad at me if you need to. You don’t always have to keep that smile plastered on your face.”

“Mm-hmm. I notice that you smile even when you don’t want to. Like with me. I hurt your feelings today, and instead of leaving me to deal with everything on my own, you saved my job and made sure I was smiling before you left.” I didn’t realize she noticed that. I didn’t think anyone noticed that.

“But you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she continues. “It won’t change how I feel about you.” You’re allowed to be mad at me. It won’t change how I feel about you. I clear my throat. “So, you’ll still hate me?” “Exactly.” I hear her swallow. “Isaiah?” “Yeah.”

I’ll never understand Isaiah’s so-called crush on me. If he knew anything about me, his feelings would evaporate. Connor was offered the keys to my family’s company. All he had to do was be with me, and even he couldn’t.

Watching Kennedy scarf down the sandwich I made her gave me an instant hard-on.

Ew

There’s only one bed. Of course there’s only one bed. There’s usually only one person to a room, so there’s no need for a second bed.

“Are you a perfectionist and I had no idea?” Perfectionist. Type A. Cold. Just a few things I’ve been described as. “You’re so cold, Kennedy,” Connor had said. “You’re the least affectionate woman I’ve ever been with. No man is ever going to want to be with someone who flinches every time they come near you.”

Thank you so much, Polly, and I hope you have a great night too. Don’t work too hard.” Flirt. He hangs up the phone. “They’re out of the free ones and their market doesn’t sell any. There’s a drugstore close by and I got directions.” “From Polly?” His lip twitches in a smirk. “Jealous.”

“That color kind of looks like your hair and Trav once told me your hair was red. I know it’s not just red. It’s auburn. Kennedy Kay Auburn, in fact.” Travis had to tell him my hair was red? The mismatched clothes. Choosing the wrong colors. Having to ask what color my hair is. “Isaiah, are you colorblind?”

But it makes so much sense. His mis-paired socks. His uncoordinated outfits. A pang of guilt rattles through me for the shit I gave him for dressing like he didn’t care, when in reality, he just didn’t know when things didn’t go together.

I notice he’s careful not to let any part of him touch any part of me. I think I hate that.

“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.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what a good boy I am for not getting in a fist fight with your brother?” “You want me to call you a good boy?” “Mmm, yes, please. Preferably while we’re naked and you’re on top of me, but now would do too.”

HELLO?

“Because he’s watching and I want him to know that you’re mine.”

“He’s watching?” I hate that her tone holds hope. “Yeah,” I swallow. “So, tell me, Ken. Can I touch you?” She squirms in her seat before nodding against me. “Okay.”

“A little more enthusiasm would be appreciated here.” She chuckles. “Yes, Isaiah. You can touch me.” Fuck me if I don’t get hal...

“Just kick me under the table or something if it’s too much or you don’t like it.” “I have no p...

She hums against me, and I’m fairly certain that was involuntary. “What are you going to do?” “What do you want me to do?” “Whatever you want, I guess. Whatever would sell this.” “Mmm.” This time it...

Her hand that’s holding mine on the table grips tighter. I lean down to whisper, “Tell me to stop.” She shakes her head no. With a knowing grin on my lips, I inch my hand higher. Words are spoken, but I’m not paying attention. I’m only watching Kennedy, noting the quickening of her pulse as I run my hand over her thigh. She bites her lip and it reads as if she were nervous. I give her leg a squeeze. “Kick my foot under the table.” “No,” she breathes. Fuck.

In theory, it’s innocent. A man resting his hand on his wife’s leg, fingertips drawing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. But Kennedy has never been touched, so nothing about this feels fucking innocent.

“Kenny, have you ever thought that maybe you’re not the problem? That maybe the issue is no one has ever let you feel safe and that’s why you’re not affectionate?” Oh. “I…I don’t know. I haven’t had the chance to test that theory.”

“You really need to make this about yourself, huh?” “Of course I do.” That timely smirk makes its appearance. “Put me out of my misery, Kenny, and tell me you’re coming for me.”

I don’t know if I can handle the spontaneity. If it were up to me, I’d schedule out an hour a day when I knew he would be touching me.

darkness, that I’m half hard and needy as fuck. This. This is why I haven’t slept in the bed with her, because she’s innocently touching me and I’m over here getting a hard-on because of it.

I, on the other hand, have quickly learned that I’m going to be entirely fucked if she’s serious about this thing between us having an expiration date.

Someone should be fucking at your place. It’s practically a monastery these days.

Because there’s not a world in which I could pretend I’m not still that heartbroken thirteen-year-old boy waiting for his mom to get home, and I don’t know how to keep my lighthearted, easy mask on when she’s the topic of discussion.

Ouch

“How lucky is she to have two boys who love her as much as you and your brother do. And how lucky are you,” Kennedy continues, her knee nudging mine, “to have a mom you love so much you still miss her all these years later.”

Ouch

“You picked the one thing you’ll never say?” “Yep.” “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“Please,” he begs. “Please wrap your hand around it.” “You’re very polite when you want something.” His chuckle is dark. “Oh baby, I told you already. I’m a good boy, especially when I want something.”

I’m not prepared. The only blow jobs I’ve ever given were all to the same man, who told me they weren’t very good. I don’t ever want to be told that again,

My throat tightens. Because he was once just a kid who lost his mom. Who didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Who didn’t have food to eat because his dad left him too, and my eyes burn when I think about all the times Isaiah has adamantly fed me.

“You live, laugh, love me?” “God, so fucking much.”

I can still remember the smell of the pizza we ate that night. The sound of the front door closing as police officers left. The laundry I had piled on a chair in the corner of the room that my mom told me to fold before baseball practice but I didn’t.

“Fuck, Ken,” I exhale. “I missed you.” She pulls back to look at me, sopping wet hair glued to her face, brows narrowed in confusion. I halt in my steps. “What?” “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be missed.”

“You’re going to have to come three times tonight to make up for those times I didn’t get to see it.”

Liz i was not aware of your freak levels