Page 77 of Play Your Part

Kennedy pulled her head back to look into my face. “Maybe I’ll tell you more at the recovery party.”

“You’ve already sold me, Cole,” I said, sliding my arm around her shoulder, nudging her to walk in front of me. “Lead the way.”

That was how I planned to spend this last month with Kennedy—following her, for as long as she would let me.

32

KENNEDY

“HowdoIlook?”Zach’s high-energy voice reverberated off the walls as he scampered down the steps two at a time.

My dad and I didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving last year, at least not in any traditional sense. We stayed home, as we had for most of the two months since my mom died, and soundlessly ate a ready-to-cook meal in front of the TV, barely absorbing anything on it.

This year, I expected a more traditional affair with catered food and elegant tablecloths and china, especially since we’d invited guests.

Zach stood at the foot of the steps, looking expectantly in my direction. He looked dressed for game day in a gray checker-patterned suit with a maroon tie. His usually floppy, light brown hair was slicked back, not one strand out of place.

“You know we’re only going to my house, right?”

He surveyed my outfit. “You’re wearing a dress.”

I didn’t need to look to confirm it, but I did anyway. Stupid habit. My dark gray sweater dress hugged my curves. Without my polka dot stockings or gold chunky necklace, it would have looked plain, but it looked fancy compared to the casual clothes Zach usually saw me in.

“This is the only dress I put on,” I argued. “You’ve changed your suit three times. Each time, you looked fine. And no offense, but my dad won’t care.”

“So I can put on something more comfortable?” Alexei appeared halfway down the steps, knocking the breath straight out of my chest. He wore a maroon suit, expertly tailored to fit snugly across his broad shoulders, with a gray cotton shirt beneath the jacket. No tie. His hair looked the same as always, a bit of a swaggled mess, strands falling onto his forehead that he hadn’t, and likely wouldn’t, brush aside.

Zach groaned. “If Volk changes, I’m changing.”

“And they say women have a hard time leaving the house.” I rolled my eyes.

Alexei fiddled with his cuffs as he made his way over to me. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against my cheek. “You look…” He lost his words as his gaze skimmed over my face, down my chest to where my dress met sheer stockings, to the black boots below my knee. The heat simmering in his eyes caused my mouth to go dry.

Friends, Kennedy, dammit.Although it would have taken every bit of strength not to be affected by the way Alexei looked at me.

Zach made a gagging sound. “Come on, guys. I need to be able to eat in an hour.”

Our petulant guest would keep Alexei and me from blurring any lines. We’d decided on friends, and I was resolved to keep us squarely in that zone. No sliding into his lap. No resting my face against his punishingly strong chest. And definitely no kissing.

Lingering looks. Cutesy banter. Shared smiles. That was the line, even when we had an audience. Anything more than that was too confusing, at least for me.

“Someone’s got a weak stomach.”

Zach responded by sticking his tongue out at me. Petulant child, indeed.

Alexei drove the familiar route to my father’s house in his flashy sports car. Zach rolled down the back window, sticking his head out like a dog. The choppy wind and the blast of music Zach played kept our drive otherwise silent.

Part of me wanted to ask Alexei about what to expect when I met his mother, but that was something a real girlfriend would ask. Instead, in my head, I nervously practiced possible answers to questions she might ask.How did you meet? What do you do for work? What are your intentions? Howdoyou feel about my son?I stumbled over the last two but kept running through possible answers in my head, resolved not to miss a beat.

Alexei parked his car in our cobblestone driveway behind a small gray rental. “My mom beat us here,” he said, confirming my suspicions. He glanced at me, head cocked to the side. “Ready?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Zach popped his head in between us. “Aw, Kenzie Wenzie, are you nervous?”

“Nevercall me that again, Zachary,” I ordered.

“It’s Zach, Briggsy, Ten, or hot-ass rookie to you.”

Alexei stifled a laugh. “No one calls you hot-ass rookie.”

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