Page 69 of Play Along

He checks on me out of the corner of his eye. “You hungry?”

“Starved.”

He grins to himself. “I have this place in mind. Real nice. Might be hard to get a table on a Friday night, but let’s try.”

“Chili’s.” My voice holds no inflection as I slide into the booth across from Isaiah. “The real nice place you had in mind is Chili’s.”

“Look around, Ken. This place is packed. Had to call in a few favors just to get us a table.”

“Well, lucky me, I guess.”

“I thought maybe my rich wife never had the privilege of eating at Chili’s.”

“I haven’t.” I raise a single brow, opening the menu in front of me. “Is this the part where you tell me to order anything I want and it’s on you?”

He scoffs. “Absolutely not. What do you think? That I’m made of money? You can order off the two-for-twenty menu, and if you’re a good girl and eat all your dinner, maybe I’ll splurge and get you a molten chocolate cake for dessert.”

I can’t contain the absolute cackle of a laugh that bursts out of me. The skin around Isaiah’s eyes crinkle with his smile, hiding his birthmark.

It’s dangerous. That smile. That face.

Isaiah makes an ungodly amount of money from his contract with the Warriors, but I decide to go along with it, flipping my menu to the back to select from the discounted selection.

I could not be more out of place in my Chanel dress and Louboutin heels, but I’ve also never felt more comfortable than I do sitting in a booth that’s covered in cracked vinyl, sharing a laugh with my technical husband.

Isaiah is good like that. Always knowing how to soothe the tension or ease an uncomfortable situation with a smile and a joke. Sometimes even at his own expense.

Our food is ordered and our drinks are delivered, when Isaiah finally asks, “So what exactly are you wanting me to teach you?”

His cheeks tinge pink at the question. It’s got to be illegal for cocky Isaiah Rhodes to be this cute when he’s shy.

I shrug. “Everything.”

He immediately chokes on the club soda he’s attempting to swallow.

“Fuck me,” he says, dipping his head. “For my sanity, I need to know if we have different definitions of ‘everything.’”

Swallowing, I cross my legs and straighten in the booth. This conversation would be embarrassing if I were having it with anyone else, but with all the weird things Isaiah and I are already faking, what’s adding one more aspect to our business agreement?

“I want to be normal.”

“You are normal.”

“I mean, I want to be good.” I circle my hand for him to finish my sentence, but he waits for me to elaborate. “At it.”

“Fuck my life.” Head falling back, he eyes the ceiling, Adam’s apple prominent against his throat. I have this insane urge to press my lips to it, maybe lick or bite it, which only solidifies the fact that Isaiah is the right person for this job. I’m undeniably attracted to the man.

That’s good. Even if he’s somehow lousy in bed, at least he’ll look good doing it.

His eyes are heated when they meet mine. “Good at what?”

Sitting forward, I bring my elbows to the tabletop, linking my hands together, as if this were a real-life business proposition. “For the first time in my entire life, I get to date whomever I want. Well, after this...” I motion between us, clarifying. “I want to be good at it. I’ve never gotten to date or flirt with a stranger or whatever else people learn in their twenties. I’m about to be thrust into the dating pool with absolutely no experience.”

He circles his temples with his fingers. “Please don’t say ‘thrust’ right now, Kenny.”

“I just want to feel like a natural at holding someone’s hand or that thing they do in movies when they play footsies under a table. I don’t want someone to ever be able to say the things Connor said tonight.”

“Fuck Connor.”

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