Page 52 of Play Along

“Here,” he says, passing it over to me. “Red. You like red, right?”

“This is orange.”

“Oh.” His cheeks tinge pink. “My bad.”

Taking it back, he hooks the toothbrush on the wall, before immediately tucking his hands into his pockets as if he were embarrassed.

He did this in Vegas, grabbing a pair of shoes he thought were red, but weren’t.

I don’t ask for an explanation, but still, he decides to give one.

“That color kind of looks like your hair and Trav once told me your hair was red. I know it’s not just red. It’s auburn. Kennedy Kay Auburn, in fact.”

Travis had to tell him my hair was red?

The mismatched clothes. Choosing the wrong colors. Having to ask what color my hair is.

“Isaiah, are you colorblind?”

His smile is sheepish as he rocks back on his heels. “Yeah.”

How did I not know or catch on to this before? Did I pass by this on his medical chart?

But it makes so much sense. His mis-paired socks. His uncoordinated outfits. A pang of guilt rattles through me for the shit I gave him for dressing like he didn’t care, when in reality, he just didn’t know when things didn’t go together.

“It’s not like everything is black and white,” he continues. “It’s called protanopia. I have trouble with reds. They’re all just green to me. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

Of course I know what protanopia color blindness is. It means his long-wavelength cones are missing or defective, essentially making him unable to see shades of red.

Oranges and warm browns would also appear to be shades of green or blue to him.

“You memorized my hair color?”

“Yeah,” he laughs to himself. It’s a self-conscious sound I’ve never heard come from the cocky shortstop. “That day we met in the bathroom, I couldn’t classify it. For the most part, I’ve gotten blonde and brunette figured out, so I asked Cody what color your hair was and he told me it was auburn. Kennedy Kay Auburn.” His eyes follow my hair falling past my shoulder until he gently twirls a piece around his finger. “Nothing else has ever been Kennedy Kay Auburn.”

That’s not true in the slightest, but I’d be lying if my supposedly cold heart didn’t warm a bit at that.

Looking up, I watch him, this man who smiles too much and memorizes the color of my hair.

He’s not at all what I was expecting.

His hand moves from the end of my hair to cup around my elbow.

I involuntarily flinch, but only because he’s warm and it was unexpected, not because I disliked it, but still, he instantly pulls his hand away.

“Sorry.”

Great.

He’ll quickly realize, just as Connor did, that there’s something very, very wrong with me.

Cheeks flaming, I return my attention to the wall of toothbrushes, hoping I can hide them.

“Kenny, can I ask you something?”

No.

“I like soft bristles. Do you see the soft bristled ones?”

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