Play Along(57)

Cody: Changed my mind. Don’t come out.

Travis: I’ll be running to your apartment to take a piss if this line at the bar doesn’t move a little quicker.

Cody: And I’ll be running to your place and pretending it’s mine when I bring someone home with me tonight. Make sure to clean up. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a slob.

Me: The door will be locked for both of you.

Cody: I made myself a key.

Me: Cody, what the hell is wrong with you?

Travis: Cody has for sure fucked in your guest room FYI.

Cody: Not cool, Trav.

Kai: Annnnd this is why I keep the group chat on mute.

Travis: Multiple times, might I add.

Me: You’re changing the sheets next time you’re here and no more fucking at my place. And no more pretending it’s yours. You have your own apartment.

Cody: I have roommates. There’s nothing sexy about telling someone they have to be quiet because I have roommates.

Me: No more fucking at my place.

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

The city bustles with Friday night liveliness just outside my apartment windows. The bars are packed, the streets are rowdy, and my entire team is out there somewhere enjoying the night off with a travel day tomorrow.

Well, everyone but my brother, who is home with his family. And me, who is here alone in this quiet apartment because going to bed early, knowing I’ll get to see my wife first thing tomorrow at the airport, sounds far more appealing than drinking with my buddies.

What the fuck am I doing?

It’s the question I’ve asked myself daily since this ring landed on my finger.

I’m in too deep, way too fucking deep, and I don’t know which way is up. I don’t want to know which way is up. I’m enjoying this little game Kennedy and I are playing, with her letting me treat her as if she were mine. Except my mind is starting to confuse the game with real life. Everything feels genuine to me, and I have no idea if that’s due to my own delusion, wishing it were, or if she feels it too.

And instead of drowning my worries with my friends, I’m the sad fucking sap who’s about to order a midnight pizza before going to bed by myself once again.

At least when I’m back home I get to sleep in a bed. That goddamn floor is going to be the death of me and my thirty-one-year-old back, but I refuse to sleep next to Kennedy until she asks me to in a way that’s not offering out of guilt. No more of the “you can sleep here if you want.” I need to hear her say she wants me to be there next to her.

I need her to give me something. Anything that tells me she’s enjoying our little game as much as I am because all I’m getting right now is avoidance.

With the TV playing tonight’s highlights from around the league, I grab my phone and dial my favorite late-night pizza spot, but when I’m two ringtones in, there’s a knock at my door.

Fucking Cody. Or Travis. Either way, I need new friends.

It takes me a moment to get to the door, thanks to the awkward slide I had today, fucking up my groin. “Cody, I swear to God. I’m not lying about whose apartment this—”

Swinging the door open, I expect to come face to face with one of my teammates, only to find Kennedy standing on my doorstep.

“Hi.” Her voice is small, nervous, but trying to be brave.

And all I do is blink like a fucking idiot because I’m sure this is a mirage. The prettiest auburn-haired mirage to ever exist. When do you start hallucinating due to abstinence? Because I’m currently around the nine-month mark and starting to see things.

I shake myself out of the daze. “Hi.”

“Sorry, were you expecting Cody?”

“No. No, you’re much better than Cody.”

A tense smile lifts on her lips.

This woman is standing at my door, entirely out of her comfort zone, but why? I saw her at the field less than two hours ago.

Kennedy’s hair is tucked under a baseball cap. She’s still wearing her wedding shoes with a pair of leggings and a long tee, covered with that oversized denim jacket I bought her in Vegas.

She looks so fucking cute, and it’s only amplified from those dusted freckles shadowed by the brim of her hat, but best of all, she’s looking like that while standing at my door.

“What are you doing here, Kenny?”

“I . . . um . . .” Her voice shakes and she avoids eye contact. “I thought you might be going out tonight.”

“And you’re checking up on me?”

I like the idea of that. That she could be so jealous that I might be out on the town with the boys that she couldn’t help herself from coming over and checking for herself.

“Because I’m not,” I answer for her. “Never planned to.”

“I . . . uh . . .” Her small hands fidget and that’s when I see it. My hat. One of my countless team-issued hats in her hand. She holds it up. “You left this in your locker stall, and I thought you might need it . . . if you were going out tonight.”

I find the top of the doorway, hooking my hands around the frame, my knowing smile impossible to suppress. She didn’t come over here because of my fucking hat that I intentionally left at the stadium. She came over because she wanted to.

I’m equally tempted to give her a hard time as I am tempted to pull her inside and lock the door. Kidnap my wife and never let her leave.