Play Along(10)

“Kenny, I’m going to need you to go with the flow, here. I just left my teammates, and don’t get me wrong, I’m stoked to be in this position right now, but we’re going to do things my way tonight. And I never said anything about this one drink being quick.”

A car honks at us, but still Isaiah doesn’t budge.

“We need to move.”

“I’m not moving.”

I exhale, a strand of hair billowing around my face. “I don’t know how to go with the flow.”

“I know. Give me one night and let me see if I can teach you. Trust me, my way is a lot of fun.”

The car honks again, this time laying on the horn.

“I only agreed to one drink.”

“You never indicated how fast I have to drink it. Could take me all night, really.”

“Can we get out of the road? Jesus, we’re going to get run over.”

“Only if you agree to do things my way tonight.”

“Isaiah . . .”

“Kenny . . .”

The car honks again before the driver swerves around us, flipping us his middle finger.

“Fine,” I agree. “Can we please get out of the middle of the road?”

Isaiah finally moves, continuing to the other side of the street. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“What?”

“Shoe size.”

“Six and a half.” The statement comes out sounding more like a question. “Why?”

He takes a sharp left, holding the door open for me to a shopping mall attached to one of the hotels. Even after midnight, stores are open and busy.

Isaiah doesn’t slow down, walking right into the Vans store and finding the women’s section.

He grabs a pair off the wall. “You like red, right? You’re always wearing the red team gear.”

“Those aren’t red. Those are hot pink.”

“Really?” He cocks his head, looking at the shoes in his hand before setting them back on the wall. “Do you like checkered? Max has checkered Vans.”

Max—his two-year-old nephew that he’s in love with.

“I don’t really—”

“Nah, checkered isn’t you.” He scans the wall again before zeroing in on a pair of black high tops with a single white stripe and a platform base. “These ones. Do you like these ones?”

I won’t lie, they are cute. I don’t wear much other than neutrals, unless I’m in the team colors of red and royal blue. And the platform will give me some height. Being 5’3” isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it’s a little difficult when you work with a bunch of giant men and already feel like your boss is looking down on you.

Metaphorically that is, but still.

“I like those.”

Isaiah holds them up to the cashier. “Can we get these in a six and a half?”

“What are you doing?”

“Buying you shoes. Your feet hurt.”

I pull my credit card out of my clutch, but Isaiah snags it, slipping it into his back pocket without looking at it or me. He simply continues to peruse the aisle, pulling a pair of socks off the rack by the register before unhooking the hanger of a denim jacket and holding it up for my approval.

“I can pay for my own shoes.”

“And I said I was buying you a drink.”

“This isn’t a drink.”

“This is part of the drink. This is my one shot, and if you’re uncomfortable the whole time you’re never going to want to have a drink with me again and I can’t blow my one shot because it’s cold and your feet hurt.”

“Isaiah, this isn’t your shot. It’s just a drink.”

He completely ignores me as the cashier comes back to the register with the shoebox in his hand.

Isaiah hands him over his credit card, keeping mine slipped into his back pocket as he pays for my socks, shoes, and new denim jacket before handing them off to me. “Get rid of those heels, Kenny, and let’s go have a drink.”



The light bounces off the crystal chandelier in the center of the room, sparkling with pinks and purples thanks to the curtains draping the walls. I guess the entire room is the chandelier, hence the name of the luxe bar located in the center of the Cosmopolitan.

Weaving through the crowd, I follow closely behind as Isaiah cuts a path for us to the bar. He holds his hand behind him slightly in case I need to grab it to keep us from getting separated, but I don’t. Regardless of all the bodies I have to plow through to keep up with him, I’ve never been one for casual touching.

When we make it to the bar and find the only two unoccupied stools, Isaiah pulls one out for me with his free hand. The other is busy carrying my white Louboutin heels I exchanged for sneakers.

“One drink,” I remind him as I climb up on the seat.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

Settling into my chair, my feet dangle, unable to reach the resting bar, and Isaiah’s eyes fall south before letting out a low chuckle.

“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.”