Page 31 of Play Along

“Getting resized,” Isaiah says without missing a beat.

I exhale a laugh and quickly cover it with a cough, hoping to God that Mr. Remington’s eyesight is too poor to realize we’re both wearing plastic wedding bands in the picture on his computer screen.

Isaiah squeezes my hand and for the first time since that night in Vegas, I feel like we’re in this together.

“You’d be making a mistake, Mr. Remington. Kennedy is not only great at her job, but the entire team loves having her on staff. Nothing has changed. The only difference between today and last season is that now I get to call her my wife.”

How is he so good at this? Thinking on his feet with an answer for everything. He’s so convincing that even I almost believe him.

“Miss Kay, is this true?”

Is this true? Hell no, this isn’t true. For years, this man at my side has driven me nuts with how impulsively he lives his life, doing whatever sounds fun to him that day. It’s vastly different from the way I’ve been allowed to spend my last thirty years.

Only now, his impulsiveness is what’s saving my job.

As the owner of the team waits for my answer, the only thing I can think of is the position waiting for me at the end of the season. How badly I want to prove to Dr. Fredrick that he made a mistake all those years ago by not allowing me to work at my full potential simply because of my gender. I want to prove to myself that I can do it. I want to prove to all the other girls out there that want to work in sports that there’s room for us too.

It’s what has me looking up from my lap, making eye contact with the man who holds my future in his hands and correcting him. “Mrs. Rhodes, actually.” The words taste like acid. “Yes, it’s true. This thing between Isaiah and me has been going on for years.”

Not a complete lie. This thing could mean a lot of different things.

For example, we have this thing where he blatantly hits on me, and I ignore him.

Mr. Remington’s face is frozen in shock.

Would we be liable if our lie caused a seventy-six-year-old man to go into cardiac arrest? I should ask the family lawyer today when we meet with him.

“Okay,” Mr. Remington relents. “Okay. Well, I think it’s safe to say that I did not imagine this outcome when this article came across my desk this morning.”

Isaiah’s thumb runs along the skin of mine and while Mr. Remington isn’t paying attention, I pull my hand away and tuck them both between my legs.

“There will be some rules, however. You must stay professional while at work. You two are an athlete and a member of the medical staff while here at the field. On the road, I understand that’s a lot of time together. I don’t expect you to keep your hands to yourselves for ten to fourteen days at a time.” He chuckles heartily. “That’d be a long time, especially while in the honeymoon phase. So, we’ll make the same rule for you two as we did for the Hendersons when they worked for us. During baseball hours, you are trainer and athlete, and during your off hours, you’re free to be husband and wife.”

There will be no difference in the way Isaiah and I interact during baseball and non-baseball hours on the road, and at Mr. Remington’s age, he can no longer physically keep up with the team’s travel schedule, so he’ll never know the difference.

“If,” he continues, “heaven forbid, something happens and you two no longer find yourselves in a relationship, I don’t see how it’d work to keep you both employed here. Not to put pressure on you two, but I don’t see any outcome, other than having to let one of you go.”

“We understand, sir.” Isaiah speaks for us while I’m still mulling over those words.

If this doesn’t work, someone is getting fired.

I’m getting fired.

But do I even want this to work? I can hardly think straight right now. Too much is happening too quickly.

“All right, you two. Well, thanks for coming in. I’ll see you both around the clubhouse. Exciting week, huh? Baseball is back.” He finishes with a playful fist hitting his desk.

With that, we both offer him placating smiles, do the same to Denise on our way out, before closing the door and leaving ourselves alone in the hallway.

“What the hell just happened?” is all I can manage to say.

Isaiah puts his hand on my back, at a completely respectful height to usher me away, but still, I jerk away at the unexpected contact.

“Sorry.” He quickly takes his hand away. “But I think we should talk about this away from the offices.”

He moves, giving me space to walk by him, and follows behind until we’re far enough away.

“I can’t do this,” I admit to both him and myself. “I can’t pretend that what we did this weekend wasn’t just one big, drunken mistake.”

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