Kennedy

It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

I didn’t know it could be like that. I wasn’t aware my brain could quiet itself, or that my body knew exactly what to do when the moment presented itself.

Kissing Isaiah wasn’t supposed to be like that.

He was supposed to teach me how to be comfortable dating other people, not ruin my every waking thought because all I can do is replay that moment. How good his hands felt in my hair. How eager I was to have my leg slung over his lap.

This was supposed to be an innocent experiment. Get the awkwardness out of the way with someone I don’t see a future with. We’re technically married so what’s the harm in adding a little physical contact into the equation? A little kissing. A little hand holding.

Well, I’ll tell you what the problem is. The problem is I want more, and that can’t happen. It shouldn’t. After all these years of him blatantly hitting on me, I can’t crumble because of one freaking kiss.

It’s been days. Days since we’ve been back in Chicago, and I can’t get him out of my head. That night in St. Louis, for the first time, I didn’t invite Isaiah to sleep in the bed. He’s refused every night prior, most likely realizing my offer is made purely out of guilt. But after that kiss, I didn’t even give him the option.

I needed space to organize my thoughts.

Rationally thinking, he’s just the first. Not my first kiss, by any means. Just the first time a kiss felt intimate. That’s all it is. He’s the first guy I’ve allowed myself to be open with, and I’m sure it’ll feel just as good when I open myself up to other people.

So, yeah, things are fine. I’m fine, and this experiment is working exactly how I need it to. Sure, I’ve completely avoided him since we’ve been home, but yeah, things are going just fine.

The training room has been busy all morning thanks to our afternoon game today. My thumbs throb in pain from rubbing sore muscles and ripping athletic tape to secure uneasy joints. I haven’t had a spare moment for food or even a sip of water, but I couldn’t care less.

I love this.

I love game days and I love my job.

I love working on athletes and the one benefit of being an athletic trainer over a team doctor is that I get to work on them every single day.

Will, our second doctor, does a good amount of therapy too, but I couldn’t tell you the last time Dr. Fredrick was hands-on in the training room. As Head of the Health and Wellness Department, he’s too busy working on schedules, overseeing the nutritionists and strength training coaches, and being the department’s face.

The only time he has any real involvement is when one of the players has a serious injury or surgery and we have to run our rehabilitation plans through him.

That’s it. That’s the only thing he does that we can’t.

It’s something I’ll have to look into if I get the position with San Francisco. I don’t want to be stuck at a desk doing paperwork. I want to do exactly what I’m doing now, but with the title of Lead Doctor.

And judging by that call I got a few days ago, I might be having that conversation sooner rather than later.

“You’re all set, Cody.” I toss his specific tape aside as our first baseman flexes his hand, making sure his mobility is still there, regardless of his taped fingers.

“Thanks, Ken. Where are you working today?” “Clubhouse.”

“Again?” Cody’s brows furrow in confusion.

I’ve been stuck covering the clubhouse for the past five games. The medical staffer who is left to cover the clubhouse is essentially a floater. We’re there to help out if extra hands are needed in either the visitor or home training rooms. We watch the game on one of the four giant

televisions hung in the center of the room, but most of the time, we simply sit and wait for the game to be over.

But it’s not hydration, so I’m not complaining. Dr. Fredrick hasn’t made that mistake again after Reese put him in his place for assigning me as the water girl on Opening Day.

“I don’t mind,” I assure him.

“What the hell did you do to piss off Dr. Fredrick so badly?” “I married your best friend.”

Cody’s eyes twinkle. “A fact you seemed perfectly okay with while we were in St. Louis.”

I wave him off. “I had too much to drink, thanks to you.” “You had one drink thanks to me.”

“Well, then we can call it a fleeting moment of weakness.”

“You call it whatever you want if it’ll make you feel better, but you don’t need to justify it to me. I get it.”

“You get it, huh?” My lips tilt in amusement. “You got a thing for my husband, Cody?”

“Isaiah?” He barks a laugh. “Fuck no. Isaiah is too pretty for my tastes. I like them a little more rugged. I meant that I understand if your opinion of him has changed now that you’re getting to know him. He’s my best friend for a reason. On the surface, he comes off like this arrogant little shit, but deep down, he has a heart of gold and maybe you’re starting to see that.”

I have seen it. The protectiveness while we were at dinner with my family. The lack of judgment when I explained my inexperience in the dating world.

I ignore the rest of Cody’s statement. “He is pretty, isn’t he?” “Who’s pretty?”

My attention snaps up to find Isaiah standing behind Cody, only wearing a backwards hat and a pair of shorts, holding a paper cup in his hand.

I try to keep my eyes on that pretty face instead of that pretty chest, those pretty abs, or those stupidly pretty arms.

Cody covers for me. “This guy I went out with last night. I was just showing Kennedy a picture.” He hops off the training table. “See you guys later. Thanks for the tape job, Kenny!”

“Excuse me?” Isaiah whirls in his direction. “What did you just call her?”

There’s absolutely no confusion on Cody’s smirking face as he walks backwards towards the exit. “What? I called her Kenny. Isn’t that what you call her?”

“And in what fucking world does that mean you get to call her that?”

Cody’s head falls back in laughter, muttering “Lovesick motherfucker” as he leaves the training room.

“Shithead.” Isaiah’s scowl turns into a smile as he turns back to face me. “There’s the Mrs.”

“Do you lay awake at night thinking of names you know will annoy the shit out of me or what?”

He sits on the now vacant training table, making us almost eye to eye. “No.” He takes a sip of whatever is in his cup. “I lay awake at night

thinking about those noises you made while I was kissing you and wondering how much louder you’d be if instead of your mouth, my tongue was on your—”

“Isaiah Rhodes!”

He gasps. “Kennedy Rhodes!” His smile is all mischief as he hooks a foot around my calf, pulling me to stand between his legs. “Hi.”

I shoot him a glare. “Hi.” “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I don’t see how that’s physically possible when you’ve already come to see me four times today, trying to feed me.”

Without thought, my hands land on his thighs in front of me. Isaiah looks down and I catch the suppressed smile on his lips. “Well, you need to eat.”

“I don’t have time.”

He rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his drink, but now that he’s closer to my height, I can tell it’s a smoothie of some kind. Berry, if I had to guess.

“Go ahead and admit that you’ve been avoiding me since we got home because you can’t stop thinking about that kiss and in turn, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

I scoff a laugh. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Welcome to the club, Ken. It’s distracting when all I can think about is you. Now you get it.”

I place the back of my hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay? You seem to have a bad case of delusion, and I would know. I’m a doctor, after all.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, nodding towards my feet where I’m wearing the shoes we got married in. “Nice shoes.”

I motion to his bare chest. “Nice shirt.” “Nice ass.”

I don’t have a retort for him, and Isaiah’s sneaky smile screams how proud of himself he is for taking the win. “Where are you working today?”

“I’m covering the clubhouse.”

Isaiah whips his head around, glaring through the glass windows of Dr.

Fredrick’s office, but he doesn’t notice.

“It’s fine.” I step away from him, taking the opportunity of a rarely quiet training room to reorganize my equipment.

“It’s not fine, Ken. The guy treats you like you’re incapable of doing your job when the entire team agrees you’re the best member on the medical staff. You should be on the bench with us.”

“Isaiah, it’s fine. I might not be here much longer anyway.” The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back.

I was going to tell Isaiah, but for some reason, it felt like a conversation that should’ve been planned in private, not a public declaration.

He knows this is the plan. It’s always been the plan, but still, he should hear it first and maybe not in the middle of the training room right before he’s about to play a game.

I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face, but I continue to clean, trying to ignore his attention.

“Kennedy . . .”

My eyes cautiously move to his direction. “What does that mean, ‘not much longer’?”

Looking around, I keep my voice quiet as I step back into his space. My smile nervously blooms. “I got called for a final interview in San Francisco.”

Isaiah’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“They called me a couple of days ago. I’m flying out there next month. If I get the job, they want me to finish the season shadowing their current lead doctor.”

“But . . .” Isaiah shakes his head. “You’re in a contract until the end of the year.”

I can’t quite figure out if he’s referring to my actual contract with the Warriors or the metaphorical one we have between us. Either way, he seems entirely not okay with the prospect of my contract getting cut from six months to three.

“I think we both know that Fredrick would have no problem letting me out of it early.”

“But . . .”

“Isaiah, this is a good thing! This is everything I want.”

“Yeah.” He finds a genuine smile at the same time his hand finds the small of my waist, pulling me into him. “You’re right. That’s great news, Ken. Congratulations.”

My cheeks burn. “Thank you.”

The door to the training room swings open. Monty holds it for Reese to enter first, but it’s fairly obvious that him holding the door open is the only cordial part of their interaction.

Their voices are quiet so no one else can overhear what they have to say, but judging by their facial expressions and body language, they’re getting into it about something.

Monty’s hands go wide as he argues his case, and Reese does nothing to back down from the giant man covered in tattoos. The blonde bombshell holds her ground, with a single hand resting on her popped hip and an unimpressed expression on her pretty face.

She says something in return, keeping complete composure before Monty’s head falls back to gather his frustration. He inhales through his nose, his nostrils flaring, before giving her a single nod in agreement and ending their conversation.

Reese turns in my direction, wearing a body-hugging pencil skirt that shows off every one of her curves. “Kennedy, where are you working today?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Dr. Fredrick bolts out of his office before I have the chance to. “The clubhouse, Miss Remington.” He gestures to me. “Kennedy is covering the clubhouse. I have the intern on hydration as you asked.”

Kiss ass.

“Reese,” she corrects. “As I’ve told you before, you can call me Reese.

And I want Kennedy working the dugout today.” “But Will and I are covering the dugout.”

“As I said, I want Kennedy out there today. You can cover the clubhouse for once, Dr. Fredrick.”

His mouth opens to protest, then closes just as quickly, words evading the doctor who typically has too much to say.

“Of course, Reese.”

She finds me across the room and shoots me a wink before she turns back to the door, but stops just in front of Monty on the way.

“Emmett,” she says, taking her leave. His tone is clipped. “Reese.”

“I like her,” Isaiah declares.

My head whips in his direction, far too quickly and far too startled. But she is a beautiful woman who is only a few years older than us.

“Easy, tiger,” he laughs. “No need to get jealous. I meant that I like that she has your back.”

“I’m not jealous.”

He rolls those glinting brown eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, wifey.”

“I cannot stand that woman.” Monty keeps his voice low for only Isaiah and me to hear as he stands at the edge of the training table. “Who does she think she is?”

Isaiah hesitates. “The new team owner, perhaps?”

“Exactly! She’s going to become the team owner the same year I’m up for a new contract. She’s coming in here, wearing those fucking high heels around my clubhouse, wanting to change everything.” Monty laughs condescendingly. “I don’t think so. I’ve worked under her grandfather for six years and guess what? The guy never once told me how to run my team. There’s no way in hell I’m letting some thirty-four-year-old waltz in here and tell me how to do my job.”

He sets his fists on the table, leaning his weight on them. Bulging forearms and flaring nostrils. Monty could very easily be mistaken as a scary man if you didn’t know what a big teddy bear the guy actually is.

“So, uh . . .” I clear my throat, looking to Isaiah and finding a mirrored, knowing grin. “What do you really think about Reese, Monty?”

“I think she’s going to drive me fucking insane before she even officially takes over.”

The big man stands to his full height, turning on his heel and throwing the training room door open with more force than necessary as he leaves.

“Well, that was interesting.” Isaiah holds his paper cup out for me. “Anyway, you’ve got to try this smoothie I made in the dining hall. It’s the best one I’ve ever created.”

I bring the cup to my lips and Isaiah’s attention is zeroed in as my mouth meets the same part of the rim where his just was.

“Mmm. That’s good.”

“Glad you like it because I made it for you. Drink this before the goddamn game starts, Kennedy.”

I huff a laugh. “Cody’s right. You really are a little shit.”

“Oh, no, baby. That’s where you’re wrong. There’s nothing little about me. Maybe one day you’ll learn exactly what kind of size I’m working with.”

“I’m sorry. He said arrogant little shit.”

He stands from the table, big and overbearing in a way I’m getting far too accustomed to. “You left this on the sink in the women’s restroom.” Reaching behind his back, he pulls out today’s New York Times crossword I’ve been working on in my spare time.

“When are you going to stop using my bathroom?”

He ignores me. “Seven down. I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘Denial.’ Six letters. The act of asserting that something alleged is not true.”

Looking the paper over, I realize he’s right. The “N” and the “L” line up perfectly with my existing answers.

He steps into me, his voice low, close to my ear. “I’m surprised you didn’t get that one, Kenny. You know a thing or two about denial, don’t you? Like how you’re telling yourself you’ve been avoiding me because you’re too busy and not because you can’t stop dreaming about our kiss and thinking about how you want more. I thought the answer might be ‘Kennedy’ but seven letters is too long.”

My pulse races because he’s not wrong. I do want more. But I don’t let him know that.

“Hmm. You’re right. It is ‘Denial’. Six letters. The act of asserting that something alleged is not true. I kept trying to use ‘Isaiah’ and it wasn’t

working. ‘Rhodes’ too. Because you’re wrong. I haven’t thought about that kiss one single time since it happened, and I sure as hell haven’t thought about more.”

The little birthmark by his right eye disappears behind his smile line. “The most beautiful liar I’ve ever met.”

My body hums with his proximity, with his confidence and assertiveness I once found unattractive. Now I know it’s just what I need. The constant permission he gives me to do what feels good.

Isaiah tucks a rogue strand behind my ear, running his palm over my hair until he wraps my ponytail around his fist once. Twice.

He tugs, ensuring I’m looking up and making eye contact with him. “Make sure you keep your eyes on me tonight, wifey. I have a feeling I’m going to have a good night at bat, and I want you to watch.”

“You always want me to watch.”

“Mmm, and I like to watch too, you know.” My mouth goes dry at his insinuation.

“But yes, I do love your attention.” “Because you’re obsessed with me.”

He chuckles close to my ear. “I think that’s the perfect word to describe how I feel about you, Doc.” Isaiah nips my earlobe before soothing it with a soft kiss on my neck.

With that, he takes off towards the exit, shirtless chest, backwards hat, and bare feet. He makes it to the door before turning one-hundred-eighty degrees to jog right back to me.

I have the smoothie in one hand and my crossword puzzle in the other, but Isaiah throws his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug.

It’s foreign yet comforting, and my body holds no protest to his hug. He holds me as if I were important to him, needed in order for him to get through his day. It feels good, so good. He’s so good.

“What are you doing?” I ask into his chest.

“This is why I came in here in the first place, and I almost forgot. Wanted to give you a hug and tell you how much I missed you this week. Stop avoiding me, Kenny. I don’t like it.”

He jogs out of the room with that.

“Aw,” someone coos from the corner of the training room. “You like your husband!”

Turning, I find Miller holding her hands over her heart, wearing her signature overalls with her fiancé’s jersey unbuttoned over the top.

“You little creep,” I laugh. “When the hell did you get in here? And how

did you get in here?”

She throws a thumb over her shoulder, motioning towards the side entrance that’s rarely used. “Just long enough to watch you swoon over the man you married.”

“Gross. I’m not swooning over anyone. Especially Isaiah Rhodes.” “Mm-hmm.”

“So, I assume that you were also here long enough to see your dad lose his shit over Reese.”

She waves me off. “He’s been bitching about her for weeks. Old news. New news, however, is that you, my beautiful sister-in-law, like your husband.” From behind, Miller wraps her arms around me in a hug, just like the day we decided to be friends. “Love that for us.”

I laugh. “Don’t call me that and don’t get your hopes up, Montgomery. If my interview goes well, I’ll be leaving town soon, regardless if my tolerance for Isaiah has changed.”

She scoffs, hopping up on my training table. “Let’s not talk about you moving away please, Ken. I finally land in a permanent spot and my first friend decides to move away?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Doubtful, but you know who definitely won’t be fine? That smitten kitten back there.”

“Isaiah will be more than fine. He gets plenty of attention to keep him occupied.”

Miller’s forehead creases as if she were confused, but I don’t know why. We’re all aware of Isaiah’s reputation. I don’t know what he does with his nights while we’re home in Chicago. It was never a stipulation I set, and it would be awfully unfair of me to insist he not see other women while I’m using him to learn how to date other men.

As much as I hate that idea.

“You do realize I saw you two tongue-fucking in St. Louis, right? And just now.” She motions towards the door. “He’s trying and you like it.”

“He’s . . . helping me with something. That’s all this is.”

She chuckles under her breath. “Well, word of advice, my friend. That boy has chased you for years. If you’re enjoying his help, may I suggest you stop running and give him some kind of sign of approval.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

She shrugs. “He doesn’t always have to be the first to make a move, you know.”

It’s a perfect Friday night for Chicago baseball.

The stadium is sold out, the May air is warm enough that I can get away with only wearing a light jacket while in the dugout, and we already got a man on base during our first at-bat.

The entire team leans against the barrier to watch. Well, everyone except Kai, who’s our starting pitcher tonight, and even though his brother is about to be up at bat, he stays sitting on the bench, keeping his shoulder warm for the second inning.

The guys cheer on Cody as he jogs to first base, thanks to his walk, and Isaiah takes his final practice swing in the on-deck circle before removing his bat weight and dropping it to the dirt.

Then he finds me over his shoulder, sandwiched between two of the players, attempting to watch him through the fence. He smirks, this mischievous and knowing grin lighting up his face when he should be focusing on the game.

At first, I think he’s giving me shit for making sure I’ve got a good view of him in those goddamn baseball pants, but then his new walk-up song begins to play over the stadium’s speakers, and I know exactly what that scheming smile is all about.

Mariah Carey’s “Obsessed” is blaring from all angles around me.

Kai barks a laugh from the bench, but other than him, no one questions his brother’s song choice. Instead, the entire stadium is bursting, singing along with the lyrics while Isaiah’s teammates are joining right in with their own karaoke renditions.

Our wedding song is on full blast as Isaiah makes his way to the plate, but before he gets there, he turns back in my direction. With the entire stadium singing the song I walked down the aisle to, Isaiah extends his bat, points at me, and winks.

He fucking winks.

It’s the moment reality hits me . . . Miller was right. I think I might have a crush on my husband.