Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)
Chapter 12

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.

A long wooden table stretches the center of the room. Six people sit on one end, one of whom I assume is Dean’s dad, seeing as his son is the spitting image of him minus thirty years or so.

But now that I think about it, I don’t remember ever seeing him at one of Dean’s games growing up.

I catalog the woman to his left as Kennedy’s mom. Call it intuition, but when I look at her, there’s a burning desire to light her ass up with my words, which would only make sense if she were Kennedy’s mother.

She looks like one of those women who would send her kids off to boarding schools because they’re a nuisance to her. Add that to the fact she’s prim and proper and has a dirty scowl on her face when she replaces my hand connected to her daughter’s.

Kennedy must spot it because she drops my hand immediately, clasping her own in front of her body.

Yep, not a fan of her mother at all.

An older couple sits on one side of the table, and across from them, another couple who couldn’t be anyone other than Kennedy’s ex-fiancé and stepsister.

The guy—Cameron, Conrad, something—smirks this little smirk that doesn’t work for him at all. That kind of smirk only works when you’re not radiating douchebag energy behind it, but he just looks creepy doing it.

His attention drifts down to both Kennedy and me as if he were calculating our body language, and when he spots the twelve inches of space between us, that smirk turns evil and knowing.

It’s then he slides his palm over the woman’s knee who is next to him. Mallory, I think was her name. I vaguely recognize her from the quick moment I saw her the night of her bachelorette party.

She’s tall. Brown hair, tan skin. She looks a lot like Dean and somehow, I think I might like her even less than her brother.

Mallory takes the cue and leans into her fiancé before rubbing her hand over his chest. Her left hand, mind you. Where a diamond ring is on full display for both of us to see.

Yeah, I don’t like these people at all.

There’s so much money and entitlement suffocating this room. Not a single warm smile. No welcome to their family dinner.

The family dinners we have back in Chicago are filled with laughter and friendship. I used to bail on them if I had other plans, but over the last eight months, I’ve looked forward to those family dinners. For Kai and me, coming from a family of two, it’s nice to have our friend community around who has become our new family.

As discreetly as possible, I glance down at my wife, but her attention is locked on the man she was planning to marry and the woman at his side. I give one of her heels a small nudge with my foot, trying to remind her that we’re standing in a silent room with her family who is waiting for her to introduce me.

She doesn’t notice, so I clear my throat. “Sorry I’m late.” Fuck this is awkward, and even more so when I lift my hand and wave like a fucking dork. “I’m Isaiah. Kennedy’s . . .” My words drift off, unsure.

“Husband,” she finishes for me.

Calvin rolls his eyes.

She takes a step into me, her hip resting against my thigh as he watches.

Atta girl. There it is.

I take her hand in mine again.

“Isaiah, this is my mother, Jennifer. Dean’s father, Henry. My stepsister, Mallory, and her . . .” she hesitates. “Her fiancé, Connor.”

Now Mallory is wearing that stupid fucking smirk too.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith are business associates of Henry’s, and lastly—” She turns to the other end of the table. “You know Dean.”

Yes, I know Dean. The idiot who’s sitting by himself and throwing back a shot of amber-colored liquid. Top buttons of his shirt undone. Legs sprawled like he couldn’t care less about being here.

No one stands. No one says hello. It’s simple nods of acknowledgment before returning to their previous conversations. Tonight, Kennedy dropped the bomb that she’s married and no one seems to give a fuck.

Well, no one but Connor, who I spot watching us out of the corner of his eye as we take our seats. So I make sure to drop a chaste kiss to the back of Kennedy’s freckled hand before I let it go.

His jaw works.

I fucking love it.

This is going to be fun.

The conversation continues at the other end of the table. Something about hotels, expansions, and franchising. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that Kennedy’s family owns a hotel chain. A big one that most everyone has heard of and one I’ve stayed at on multiple occasions.

All those zeros listed on our post-nuptial agreement make a whole lot of sense now.

Henry constantly pulls Connor into the conversation. They tag team kissing the Smiths’ asses. Apparently, they’re trying to buy an inn that the Smiths own in Midtown and convert it to a high-rise.

Mr. Smith doesn’t seem ready to make any decisions, so Connor orders a bottle of red wine for the table.

A two thousand-dollar bottle of red.

Dean orders another Macallan single malt neat and shoots it back as if it were Jack or Jim and not a seventeen-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch.

“What?” he asks when he spots me watching him. “Want one or something?”

“That’s like a two-hundred-dollar shot.”

“Three hundred, but Daddy’s paying so go ahead and order one.”

Henry shoots Dean a dirty look from the other end of the table. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out those two don’t get along.

He’s always harped on my lack of family but I’d take Kai any day over whatever the fuck you’d call the group in this room.

“Go ahead, Rhodes. It’ll impress his clients. Show them how much money he has to throw around.”

“Dean,” Jennifer scolds from the other end of the table. She then sends that same dirty glare in Kennedy’s direction for no reason, as if silently reminding the two of them that they’re the family’s biggest disappointments.

One is a fucking doctor and the other is a professional baseball player, which only speaks volumes to the priorities this family has. If you’re not in the family business, or contributing to the family business through marriage, you’re not important.

“I’m good,” I say quietly to Dean before checking in on the redhead at my side, who is very much not doing well.

No one else has spoken to her or her stepbrother.

Dean, I understand because he fucking sucks, but Kennedy . . . I can’t imagine not having all my attention on her.

She sits primly at my side. Listening intently to the conversation in case she’s needed. The perfect daughter. She nods and smiles, but no one has noticed her.

Mallory has, I guess. Connor too. Why else would they suddenly be all handsy with each other, as if they’re giving her a show to tell her what she’s missing out on.

The smallest entrée I’ve ever seen is served on the plate in front of me, and I catch Kennedy watching them throughout the course. Each bite is accompanied by a subtle glance to her stepsister, tracing the way her fingers toy with the ends of Connor’s hair. The way Connor turns and whispers into Mallory’s ear, earning an overacted laugh. The way he runs his palm up and down her leg.

Kennedy’s stare is full of . . . longing.

Is she jealous?

Does she miss him?

I can’t imagine when she was blackout drunk and asking me to marry her that she thought about this current reality—her sitting with me and having to watch them together.

Kennedy bends over to take a bite of her food, and I watch Connor glance down her dress from across the table. Mallory doesn’t notice her fiancé checking out his ex, but I sure as fuck do.

My blood instantly heats.

He doesn’t get to sit here and put on some public show with his new fiancée while still checking out his old.

Especially when his old fiancée is my new wife.

“Kenny,” I whisper.

She sits up, looking in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the tick of Connor’s jaw before I use a single finger to push the auburn hair away from her ear.

I lean down and whisper, so only she can hear. “Can I touch you?”

Goose bumps erupt along the skin of her neck, and I can’t help but smile at that.

“What do you mean?” Her words are too loud, and not at all intimate.

“Nope,” I whisper. “Curl into me, put your cheek against mine while you’re talking to me right now.”

She hesitates, so I slide my palm over her throat and up along her jaw, fingers intertwining her hair as I pull her in to speak with me quietly.

“Why?” she whispers.

“Because he’s watching and I want him to know that you’re mine.”

“He’s watching?”

I hate that her tone holds hope.

“Yeah,” I swallow. “So, tell me, Ken. Can I touch you?”

She squirms in her seat before nodding against me. “Okay.”

“A little more enthusiasm would be appreciated here.”

She chuckles. “Yes, Isaiah. You can touch me.”

Fuck me if I don’t get half hard just from those words alone.

“Just kick me under the table or something if it’s too much or you don’t like it.”

“I have no problem doing that.”

“Brat.”

She hums against me, and I’m fairly certain that was involuntary. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you want, I guess. Whatever would sell this.”

“Mmm.” This time it’s me purring at her words. “Such an agreeable wife.”

Her laugh is louder, but it’s genuine, no part of it for show.

I fucking love it.

She pulls away, a suppressed grin attempting to fight through when she returns her attention to her plate. I fix her hair, back to the way it was before I swept it behind her ear.

Eyes are on us right now, I can feel them, and I’ll let Kennedy believe this is all for show, but in truth, I’ve been dying for her to let me touch her for years. Been dying to have her attention. Been dying to simply sit and eat dinner next to the girl.

Wouldn’t mind if she caught up on that same need, but I’ll let her believe faking it is enough for now.

Henry and Jennifer are busy speaking with the Smiths so Mallory turns her attention to us. “I was wondering where you went off to the night of my bachelorette party.” Her eyes zero in on the ring on Kennedy’s finger—my mom’s ring. “I guess now we know.”

Kennedy is stiff in her seat next to me so I gently drape my arm on the back of her chair, fingertips toying with the strap of her dress.

She doesn’t flinch.

Mallory continues, still staring at Kennedy’s left hand. “Quite a downgrade if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” my wife shoots back.

Her body is tense, and not from my touch, so I try to distract her by brushing my fingertips along the top of her shoulder, dusting the back of her neck.

Connor tracks the whole thing.

“I’m just saying,” Mallory continues. “Compared to your last ring, this one is—”

“Something I actually like.” Kennedy reaches over the table to clasp my other hand. “If you’re so obsessed with my previous engagement ring, Mallory, why don’t you ask for it from the man who gave it to me.”

Mallory’s lips thin. “I don’t want it. I love mine.” Her fingers wiggle to show off the diamond that is much smaller and more subtle than the one Kennedy used to wear.

To be frank, it looks much more like Kennedy’s style than her previous ring.

I lean in close, running a soothing palm down her arm. “You good still?”

She nods, a small but proud smile on her face. Maybe for putting her stepsister in place. Maybe for not recoiling at my touch.

I decide to test the theory by moving my palm to her upper leg, under the table, fingers curling on the inside of her thigh.

Her hand that’s holding mine on the table grips tighter.

I lean down to whisper, “Tell me to stop.”

She shakes her head no.

With a knowing grin on my lips, I inch my hand higher.

Words are spoken, but I’m not paying attention.

I’m only watching Kennedy, noting the quickening of her pulse as I run my hand over her thigh.

She bites her lip and it reads as if she were nervous.

I give her leg a squeeze. “Kick my foot under the table.”

“No,” she breathes.

Fuck.

Instead, Kennedy slightly widens her knees, giving me another couple of inches I could travel north, and I swear to God, I’m on the brink of losing it thanks to her permission.

“Connor will be taking over the company when I retire,” Henry tells his guests. “My son, Dean, over there wanted no part of the family business. He wanted to play a game as his career, so we’re lucky that my soon-to-be son-in-law has the business sense that he does.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath.

I trace my fingertips on the inside of Kennedy’s thigh, thankful for the black material of her dress acting as a barrier to stop me because I’m fairly certain I’d die a quick death if she ever let me touch her properly.

“How long have you two been engaged?” Mr. Smith asks Connor as Mallory runs her hand over his suit jacket. She’s practically on top of him already, but still she tries to get closer.

“What is it, babe?” Mallory asks Connor. “Eight months already?”

Her stepsister shows off her engagement ring again, but I don’t think Kennedy is even paying attention this time. Her eyes are on my traveling hand, her knuckles are white as they grip mine, and she still won’t kick me under the table.

In theory, it’s innocent. A man resting his hand on his wife’s leg, fingertips drawing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. But Kennedy has never been touched, so nothing about this feels fucking innocent.

“Best eight months of my life.” Connor turns and places a kiss on Mallory’s lips.

“More like the best three years of your life,” she corrects.

I freeze my movements.

Kennedy goes still.

The room goes silent, all but Henry’s business guests understanding why.

Kennedy and Connor split just over a year ago.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean says from next to me and maybe for the first time in my life, I agree with the guy.

“Oops,” Mallory laughs, left hand going over her mouth to hide her smile, ring on full fucking display. She looks right at my wife when she says, “Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

Kennedy’s foot nudges mine. It’s not exactly a kick and I’m not sure if it was done on purpose, but I remove my hand from her thigh regardless.

“Why don’t we go have a nightcap on the terrace,” Henry suggests to the Smiths. “I’m told the view is amazing and we can talk more about how incredible it would be to work together.”

It’s evident by the way he ushers the Smiths out of the room and doesn’t make eye contact with his kids that no one other than his wife is welcome to join.

Jennifer is the last to leave the room. But before she goes, she stops next to Kennedy and leans down to hiss, “You don’t get to throw a fit over this. You wouldn’t pick a wedding date. You wouldn’t touch the man in public. You can’t blame him for replaceing that elsewhere so don’t you dare pout in front of Henry’s business guests.”

Pout? She’s sitting here entirely emotionless.

“Excuse me?” I stand from my seat. “Watch your fucking words when you’re speaking to my wife.”

She blanches. “What did you just say to me?”

“I don’t think you need me to repeat myself.”

She scoffs, trying to cover it with a disbelieving laugh. “Kennedy Elizabeth Kay, I suggest you either tame the wild animal you brought with you to dinner or leave him at home next time. This behavior is unacceptable. Know your place.”

Jennifer leaves the room at the same time Kennedy pulls me back down to my seat.

I face her, legs spread as she turns and tucks her knees between mine.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, remembering the last time I tried to stand up for Kennedy.

She shrugs, no smile in sight. “It’s nothing new.”

Unexpressive, her face taking on a cold, almost vacant look. Like everything has been turned off.

“I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic, Kennedy.” Connor sits forward, arms crossed over the table.

I hold my hand up to stop him. “There’s really no need for us to hear your opinion right now.”

There’s literally not a single part of her that’s being dramatic. From the looks of it, she’s barely feeling the hurt she should feel, and even that’s not good enough for them. It’s as if these people won’t allow her to be anything other than exactly what they want her to be.

I feel that way sometimes too. Set by my own precedent, but still.

Connor continues. “You did the same thing. I saw the newspaper article. You two have been together for years, right?” He drapes an arm over Mallory’s. “Well, so have we. We’re even now.”

We’re even now.

Fuck. Him.

Kennedy was never unfaithful. We haven’t been together for years. We’re not even together now.

And she can’t even correct him.

I squint in confusion. “Why are you still talking?”

Dean chuckles under his breath. “Because the guy is obsessed with the sound of his own voice.”

“It’s okay, you know.” He’s still fucking talking to her. “We’re not what each other needed. You needed whatever the hell you found in this guy who can hardly dress himself properly, and I needed someone who could kiss me in public without having a mental breakdown over it.”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“Shut the fuck up, Connor. You pretentious, entitled asshole.” That’s Dean, jinxing my words and ironically calling his brother-in-law a name I’ve used on him once or twice.

“It’s okay.” Kennedy quickly stands, her body still sandwiched between my open legs. “He’s right.”

She’s looking right at me, eyes pleading for permission. Permission for what though, I’m not entirely sure.

“He did need someone who would kiss him in public and we all know that was never going to be me.”

Her small hand reaches up to cradle my cheek, her index finger grazing over the small birthmark by my right eye before she leans down and does the most shocking thing she’s ever done.

She presses her lips to mine.

Soft. Cautious, but warm. Measured and practiced, like she needed to become the perfect kisser before ever trying it for the first time.

Once I catch on, I inhale her scent, her presence, the moment.

Her lower lip nestles into the dip between mine and I’m beyond tempted to suck it into my mouth and see what kind of noises I could pull from her throat.

She’s kissing me.

Kennedy is kissing me.

Her other hand comes to bracket my jaw before her fingers move to the back of my head, cupping my skull and pulling me close. Her body sags into mine, perfectly nestled between my hips as her lips take their time exploring my own.

She works to replace a pace that feels right for her, and I let her lead. I want her to have the moment of taking control when she hasn’t been allowed any.

My palm curves around the back of her thigh, rubbing along her soft skin, and apparently the movement acts as a reality check because she instantly pulls away.

Hands still around my face, her eyes go big and a little bit wild, shocked that she kissed me.

I’m shocked that she kissed me.

“Well, goddamn,” Dean chuckles, throwing back another shot. “Looks like Kennedy found someone she actually wants to kiss in public.”

Utter disbelief is plastered on her face, lips I finally touched now trembling slightly.

She doesn’t take her eyes off me, but she’s drowning. She was brave, trying to prove a point, and now she’s drowning.

I dust the pad of my thumb over her lower lip, forcing my signature smirk to appear as I say, “I think that’s our cue to get out of here, huh?”

She nods against my thumb.

Taking the initiative, I slip my hand into hers and lead her towards the door without giving anyone time to say something shitty to her that’ll just end up pissing me off.

I don’t want to be pissed right after I had the best kiss of my life.

“I’m sorry,” she bursts out as soon as the private dining room door closes. Her hands fly to her mouth. “I cannot believe I just did that. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You can kiss me anytime you want, Kenny. Please kiss me anytime you want.”

“Isaiah.” Her eyes close. “That wasn’t what it—”

“I know what that was. I know you kissed me to prove a point about the shit he was saying. I fucking loved it. You want to use me to shut him up? I’m happy to volunteer.”

She opens her eyes, with a smile that screams “I can’t believe I actually did that” trying to break through.

God, she’s fucking cute when she’s proud of herself.

She dusts a finger over her mouth as if to remember what it felt like when we kissed only moments ago, and I’m over here knowing I’ll never be able to forget.

“What he said though,” she begins, her tone frantic. “He wasn’t wrong. I . . . I don’t know how to be affectionate. The way they were with each other tonight, I want to be like that, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to be the kind of woman that a man would want.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think you’re not exactly the kind of woman a man would want. Just because you’re not comfortable with showing physical affection doesn’t make you any less of a woman, Ken.”

“But I want to be. Comfortable, I mean. With affection.”

“Okay,” I say softly, soothingly. “You’ll get there.”

She chews on her lower lip, eyes nervously replaceing mine, with a voice so quiet I’m certain I mishear her when she says, “Will you teach me?”