Play Along (Windy City, #4)

by Liz Tomforde

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.”

Our wedding song is on full blast as Isaiah makes his way to the plate, but before he gets there, he turns back in my direction. With the entire stadium singing the song I walked down the aisle to, Isaiah extends his bat, points at me, and winks.

I think I might have a crush on my husband.