Page 158 of Play Along

The summer sun is beginning to set in the distance, casting a warm glow over the property. I don’t know how else to explain it other than it feels good to be out here. Like a goddamn hug, which tracks how welcomed I felt the last time I met these people.

Isaiah parks his car next to the handful of others and kills the engine.

“So, this is called Family Dinner?” I ask, undoing my seat belt.

“Yep. Happens every Sunday night at the Shay house.”

“Do you come every week?”

“If we don’t have a game, yes. I’ve been coming every week since last summer. There’s a core group that’s consistently here. Sometimes, the other guys will bring their teammates. Sometimes, Cody and Travis will tag along. I’ve been wanting to bring you ever since we went to your family dinner.” Reaching across the center console, he squeezes my leg. “They shouldn’t be like that. You should feel good afterward. You’ll feel good after this.”

Leaning back against the headrest, I smile over at him. “I’ve been enjoying doing things that make me feel good.”

“Does that mean you’ve been enjoying doing me?”

“Very much so.”

He huffs a laugh as he hops out of his side of the car and rounds the hood to the passenger door, opening it.

“You look so good tonight, Kenny.”

I’ve got an oversized blazer on, a tight white tee and a pair of well-fitted denim. It’s casual but structured and couldn’t be more different than what he’s seen me in all week. Which is either my work polo or my birthday suit.

I lean forward and quickly press my lips to his as a silent thank you before climbing out of his car.

It’s been days since I’ve been home from California, and we’ve barely spent a moment apart.

We go to and from work together.

We pick up clothes from my apartment before bringing them to his, where I’ve slept next to him each night.

Every morning, he asks me to pick out his outfits to ensure they match.

We cook together, and Isaiah has yet to let up on the whole feeding me thing.

We fuck. A lot.

And we spend at least an hour talking in bed each night before we fall asleep, entirely avoiding any topic surrounding my interview.

I had no idea it could be like this. Perfectly imperfect, and the perfectionist in me doesn’t mind the flaws and quirks that make us work.

The biggest quirk being that I feel like I’m dating my husband.

Hand on my lower back, he guides me to the house, but before we make it to the front porch steps, I reach behind me, slipping my hand into his.

Isaiah glances down to our intertwined fingers, and it’s the first time he doesn’t look around for someone from the team to invalidate what’s happening.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Perfect.” He gives it a squeeze. “I like holding your hand in public.” He doesn’t even try to lower his voice when he adds, “And I like holding your throat in private.”

I smack him in the chest with a laugh. “Perv.”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely. You should see all the dirty things floating in my head that I have planned.” He holds the door open for me, switching to a complete gentleman. “After you, wifey.”

But then that gentleman façade flies right out the window when he smacks my ass on my way inside.

“Back here!” someone calls.

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