Play Along(92)

Not to mention, the reminder of what she said back at the field sits heavy on my mind. That she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to be so comfortable with someone else. It doesn’t change the fact that she wants to be. That’s what we’re doing here, after all.

Staying married so she can get a job on the other side of the country. Playing a game I wish was real. Teaching her things that she doesn’t need to learn, because she’s a fucking natural at them when she’s doing them because she wants to.

And I’m in so fucking deep there’s no way up.

This disappointment I’ve avoided my entire adult life is compounding into one person that I let myself truly fall for. That I let myself truly believe I could have a shot with. It doesn’t matter that our marriage is fake. The heartbreak is going to be so fucking real.

The door to my bedroom opens, and my groan is involuntary. “You’re joking.”

She stands there in the threshold, wearing one of my tees that may as well be a dress on her, and then she slightly lifts the hem, revealing the pair of my boxer briefs she’s planning to sleep in.

“What’s yours is mine,” she teases. “Isn’t that how this whole marriage thing works?”

“You can have literally whatever you want as long as you’re wearing that when you ask.”

“So, you’ll have sex with me then?”

“Ken—”

“Kidding.” She nudges her head towards my bedroom. “C’mon. I started the shower for you.”

My dragging feet carry me to my room, where Kennedy ushers me to sit on the edge of the bed. Standing between my spread legs, she removes my tie and unbuttons my shirt.

“I can do it.” My statement is hardly a protest and I make no move to stop her.

“So can I.”

“Kenny—”

“Let me take care of you for once. You’re always doing things for me. It’s time I return the favor.”

God, and it feels good to let her. My head lolls as she slips her hands beneath the fabric of my shirt, pushing it over my shoulders, and once it’s off me and draped on the bed, I drop my forehead to her stomach.

“I’m sorry for taking it out on you tonight, everything I was feeling. None of it was your fault.”

She slides her fingers into my hair, holding me to her. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“But I do.” I glide my fingertips to the back of her thigh, gently tracing the soft skin there. “I just . . . It’s been a rough day, and I’m not used to showing people my rough days. So, thank you for coming back to find me.”

“Always.”

My head lifts at that. I want to believe that she truly means always, but the fact of the matter is, tomorrow, she’s leaving for an interview she’s waited for her entire career.

“Always” has a very limited time frame for us.

She takes her time undressing me, and it’s a real humbling moment when she crouches to remove my shoes, followed by my pants. I watch as she goes to my dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers for me to wear post shower.

She turns to leave, but I grab her hand, pulling her back to stand between my spread legs and finding her mouth with a soft kiss.

“Can I steal some toothpaste?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I kiss her again. “You need it.”

She scoffs in faux horror, smacking me in the chest. “If you’re telling me I have bad breath, you can take full responsibility for that. I did have your dick in my mouth, after all.”

“Oh, hell yeah, you did.” I pull her down and kiss her again. Harder this time. “I changed my mind. Don’t brush your teeth. I like knowing my cock was the last thing in there.”

Her head falls back in an easy laugh, and God, is it fucking beautiful.

“Mmm. And you still taste like my pussy.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ken. I already came in my pants once tonight. Can you not say ‘pussy’ so casually like that without any warning?”

She’s off and sauntering her way into my bathroom, but not before she looks over her shoulder and mouths the word pussy as she disappears.

A burst of energy hits me and I’m off the bed and following her.

“Don’t brush your teeth until I’m done with my shower.”

“What?” she asks with a laugh. “Why?”

I drop my boxer briefs to the floor and my smile beams like a fucking glowstick from the way her eyes follow me.

“Because,” I say, stark-ass naked, “it sounds like something domestic as hell I’d like to do with my wife.”

My shower is quick, just a rinse to get the day off me, but I watch her watch me through the glass the entire time. I’m out, toweled off, and in my fresh pair of boxers in less than five minutes, because apparently, I’ve gotten to the lovesick phase where even a glass wall is too much distance to put between us.

That’s probably going to be a big fucking problem for me when she flies out to California tomorrow.

She grabs my toothpaste from the cup by the sink, her opposite index finger stretched out as if she were going to use it as a makeshift toothbrush.

“Hold up,” I tell her, rifling through a few of my drawers. Tucked into the back of my second vanity drawer, I pull out the toothbrush I bought for her weeks ago. “This is for you.”