Play Along(69)

“Remind him how much I hate him for me, will you?”

“And you think I’m being sensitive today? The guy is living rent free in your head. I’ll talk to you when you’re being less of an asshole.”

I hang up the phone and slip out of the car.

My stomach dips when I see Isaiah, an odd fluttering that makes me feel equal parts sick and excited. The memory of the way he moved in my hand, the way he panted my name low in my ear last night as he came, is all I can think about as he rounds the hood of his car and meets me by the door of mine.

“There’s the old ball and chain.”

“That’s a new one.”

“We’ve been married for over a month now. I figured with the short lifespan on this whole marriage thing, it’s probably time we move out of the newlywed phase.”

He’s got this knowing smile on his lips, this goofy sparkle in his eye that screams he’s giving me a hard time. But the reminder causes my chest to sting, as if I didn’t know there was an end date to this whole thing. As if I wasn’t the one who set it.

“Sorry I’m late.” With an arm over my shoulders, he pulls me in for a hug, pressing his lips to the top of my head in the most casual way. As if we’ve done this all along. As if we’ll do this forever. “I had to swing by the market on the corner of my block. I wasn’t sure if you’d have enough time to grab one of these this morning, seeing as you had yourself a late night and all.”

He pumps his brows a couple of times like a fucking dork before unfolding the newspaper under his arm and handing me today’s issue of The New York Times.

“I heard Saturdays are the hardest, so you just let me know if you need some help with that.”

I huff a laugh, but it’s a choked, watery laugh because this is insanely sweet of him to do, to think of me without begging him to.

“Have you ever even completed a crossword puzzle?” I ask, instead of gushing about how grateful I am.

“Nah. I’m more of a word search guy myself.”

Popping my trunk, he pulls my bag out of the back, dragging both of ours behind him as we head through the private airport terminal, past security, and out towards the team plane on the tarmac.

This has been our routine since the season started. We meet in the parking lot and walk on board together. Reese has yet to beat us to the plane, but we haven’t wanted to risk showing up separately and opening ourselves up to questions.

“Isaiah,” I begin, as he passes our luggage off to one of the line guys to place in the pit of the plane. “Why do you and Dean hate each other so much?”

“I think it’s best if you get that answer from Dean himself.”

“I tried. He won’t tell me what happened.”

Isaiah huffs a laugh. “Of course he doesn’t want to tell you. Guy’s a fucking tool, but as much as I can’t stand him, you care about him, so I won’t be the one to try to change your opinion of your brother.”

At the base of the stairs, I pause, looking up at him. “I wish you would tell me, but okay.”

“Okay.”

With a soft squeeze to the back of my neck, Isaiah motions up the stairs for me to go first. We’re here a bit later than we typically try to arrive at the plane, and when I turn the corner and face the aisle, ninety percent of the seats are already full.

Thankfully, we have somewhat assigned seating, especially for the staff up front, so my empty seat is waiting for me next to Sanderson.

Monty and his staff sit in the first row, followed by team ownership where . . . Fuck.

Reese is already on board, sitting in the third row. Tailored pencil skirt, high heels, and blonde hair that’s perfectly styled. She smiles at me, but there’s a bit of confusion etched between her brows as she looks around, I’d assume for Isaiah—my husband. Who I should’ve arrived with. Because we live in the same apartment. Because we’re happily married.

I freeze in my spot, right there in the front of the plane with eyes on me, when Isaiah barrels around the corner and right into my back.

“Shit, Kennedy.” His arm flies around my waist from behind to keep me steady. “I almost took you out. What are you waiting for?”

His thumb strokes over my hip bone where his hand has yet to release me.

Good. This looks good.

I don’t move and he must sense my nervousness because he drops his hand immediately.

But I’m not nervous about him touching me. I’m very quickly becoming comfortable with his touch. Quickly craving his touch.

So I turn, trying to convey with my eyes that Reese is here, we’re being watched, and that’s what I’m nervous about. So if he could play along right now, that’d be great, but Isaiah doesn’t catch on to any of it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks loudly enough for the first few rows to hear him. “Are you feeling okay?”

Boys, I tell you. Clueless sometimes.

I take control of the situation, slipping my hand in his, lacing our fingers together right there in front of the entire team and staff.

Isaiah softens, his mouth turning up in a smile as he looks down at me. His thumb dusts over the back of my hand before he brings it to his lips, placing a quick kiss there. “Hi,” he says before placing another one.

It’s sweet, sure, but this is all for show and I’m not sure he’s picking up on that.