Play Along(38)

“I’d probably describe him as clingy and needy if you’re asking me. A bit pathetic too.”

“Glad no one asked you,” my brother pipes up.

I don’t fully register his words because a text from Kennedy drops onto the screen, stealing my focus.



The Mrs: Can you call me?



“Miller, I gotta go. Kennedy needs me to call her.”

She barks a laugh. “And you call your brother pathetic.”

The video call ends, and I immediately dial Kennedy.

“Everything okay?” are the first words I say after she picks up.

“Are you busy, or could you come to this dinner?”

“To your family dinner?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for asking, but I need you.”

I need you.

I’m off the bed and shoving my feet into my shoes. “Send me the address. I’m on my way.”

“Isaiah?”

Her tone causes me to pause. “Yeah?”

“Everyone is here.”

Everyone is here. Her words are begging me to put the pieces together and it doesn’t take long for me to register what that means.

Her ex is there. Maybe her stepsister too.

“I didn’t tell them the truth,” she continues.

She didn’t tell them why we’re still married. Probably didn’t tell them why we got married in the first place.

I like that far too much.

“Don’t worry, Kenny. I got this.”





Chapter 12


Isaiah


The car drops me off outside of a restaurant in downtown Atlanta and as soon as I step inside the dim lobby, lit only with candlelight, I’m instantly aware of how severely underdressed I am.

It’s all the more evident when Kennedy rounds the corner. She’s in a little black dress that falls just past her knees, strappy black heels on her feet to match. She’s old-Hollywood glam with her red hair curled and pinned to one side, showing off an exposed shoulder and more of her freckles than I’ve ever had the chance to see before.

She’s stunning, classically beautiful, walking right towards me, and I’m wearing fucking jeans.

One foot crossing over the other like she’s walking a runway, Kennedy holds a small black clutch in one hand, the other smoothing over her dress like she needs it to lay more perfectly than it already is. Formal and polished and perfected.

It’s strange to see this side of her when the majority of time we’ve spent together is at work, but as I said, I’m quickly realizing I don’t know much about the girl I’ve had an infatuation with for the past few years.

“I’m underdressed,” I say before she gets the chance to.

She shakes her head. It’s a frantic disagreement, like she’s nervous. “It’s fine. You look great.”

“Great, huh?”

“Sorry, I meant decent. Average at best. I forgot I need to keep your ego in check at all times.”

“Well, I can’t say the same about you. Average, I mean. The way you look in that dress . . .” I shake my head in disbelief. “You look like you’re going to say something a little bit evil, break my heart, and I’ll end up thanking you for it.”

“Don’t tempt me, Rhodes.” A tick of a smile lifts, but it drops just as quickly when she throws a thumb over her shoulder and says, “I was going to tell them the truth, you know. But then Connor showed up with my stepfather, and then Mallory walked in, and I just couldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing we got married because I was feeling petty over them.”

It’s odd, seeing her this way. She’s so confident when she’s at work, like she knows she belongs, but here, with her family just inside, she seems entirely lost.

“Look, I need to warn you. My family, they’re not nice people. Money is the most important thing to them. Comparatively, you’ll think I’m an angel after meeting them.”

“I already think you’re an angel.”

She shoots me a deadpan look.

I nod towards where she came from. “Do you think you could try to pretend to like me for a couple of hours?”

“I don’t know. I’ll do my best, I guess.”

“Still keeping my ego in check, I see.” I hold my hand out for hers.

She eyes my outstretched hand for a moment before cautiously slipping her own into my palm.

It’s clear how unnatural it is for her by the stiff way she barely curls hers around mine. I shake it out, hoping to rid the nerves for her before going ahead and lacing our fingers together.

She looks down and watches, as if she’s studying the way it appears for her pale, freckled fingers to rest between mine. Or studying the way it looks to hold someone’s hand in general, I’m not sure.

“C’mon, wife.” I lead her back into the dining room. “Time to play along.”

Kennedy points in the direction of the private dining room and when I reach out to open the door for her, a server steps up and does it for us instead.

He’s in a three-piece suit and I don’t miss the way his eyes quickly scan my clothes on my way into the dim room. My bad for thinking a nice button-up and clean jeans qualified for dinner attire.

As soon as I step inside behind Kennedy, I realize the look he gave me maybe wasn’t judgment at all, but instead a warning that I should turn around and run in the other direction as quickly as possible.