Kennedy
“So you were in an arranged marriage.”
They’re the first words Isaiah has spoken to me since leaving the restaurant. After I asked him to teach me, he stood in shocked silence, mouth slightly agape. I swear minutes passed where he simply stared at me in disbelief before saying, “I need you to start from the beginning.” Then ushered me out to my waiting car, where we’re currently sitting in the back seat.
“We never got to the marriage part, but yeah. You could call it that, I guess.”
He rests his head back against the seat. “All these years, I thought you were engaged to someone you were in love with. I would’ve tried a little harder if I knew.”
“You tried plenty hard. Trust me.”
His lips tilt in a knowing smile. “I’m just saying. I would have pursued you a little more seriously, been a little more focused, than just blatantly hitting on you like an idiot because I knew I didn’t really have a chance anyway.”
It wouldn’t have mattered.
Partly because Isaiah isn’t someone I’d go for, but mostly because my eyes have never been open in that way. I knew from a young enough age that I’d be marrying for financial or business gain. There was no part of me that romanticized the notion of dating, falling in love, and marrying a person of my choosing.
That freedom was never on the table for me until now.
“So will you?” I ask Isaiah again, turning in the back seat to face him. “Teach me?”
“Fuck, Kenny,” he exhales, palm running down his face. “I’m too malnourished to have this conversation right now. Who in their right mind thinks it’s okay to charge those prices for two bites of food? Does anyone actually get full from eating at that fancy of a restaurant?”
“If they say they do, they’re lying.”
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.”
Yes, fuck Connor, but he wasn’t entirely off base.
“Isaiah,” I exhale, needing him to understand. “I’ve spent my whole life believing I was never going to have this opportunity, and I don’t want to blow it simply because I’m lacking life experience. If a man who was going to inherit an entire hotel franchise, simply by being with me, couldn’t even handle my intimacy issues, then I can’t expect a new, random guy with nothing to gain would be able to either.”
His jaw hardens, the tendons in his neck flexing. “If you stop worrying about unworthy men, maybe you’ll begin to realize that you’re not the problem.”
“It’s not really about anyone else,” I tell him. “I want to do this for me.”
I assume it’s the perfectionist in me that feels the need to excel before I’m put to the test, but I refuse to start an entirely new life in San Francisco, working my dream job but floundering in my personal life.
“Let me get this straight.” He links his fingers on the tabletop, mirroring me. “You want to practice on me in order to be better at dating other people.”
“Exactly!”
His eyes widen.
“Shit. That sounds bad.”
“Not exactly my favorite thing to hear.” He exhales a defeated sigh. “But you didn’t ask to be in another unwanted marriage. Well . . .” He bobs his head from side to side. “You definitely did ask. Multiple times. Begged me, really.”
I stifle a laugh. “Shut up.”
His lips lift in a smirk at the sound. Like he’s proud of himself for making me laugh.
Isaiah leans back in the booth, his button-up shirt pulled taut over his biceps, perfect hair finger-combed without any need for product. You’d have to be blind not to find my husband attractive, but more importantly, he’s experienced.
Very experienced.
Experienced in a way that I know his little crush on me isn’t anything serious. I’ve simply told him no too many times and that intrigues him. He wants something he can’t have. He’ll eventually get bored of waiting for me to view him differently or he’ll spend so much time with me that his fantasy
of sleeping with the only female on staff will fade. He’ll move on soon enough.
That’s all perfectly fine, but what I really need is his experience.
Isaiah is confident in ways that I’m not. He has no problem with physical affection. He doesn’t overthink his words before they come out of his mouth. That’s what I need. I need him to lay it all on me, so that when I start dating someone else, someone with an average level of self-confidence and swagger, it’ll be a breeze to navigate in comparison to my current husband.
I’m a scientist. This is research. Trial and error. “So what do you want me to do, Kennedy?”
My eyes flick over our surroundings, making sure no other patrons are sitting in the listening range of our conversation, but still I keep my volume to a whisper. “I want you to touch me.”
Isaiah’s gaze heats.
“But also,” I continue, “I want to touch you.” “You want to touch me?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I think I could live with that.” Propping an elbow on the table, he runs his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyes. “But in what context are you wanting to touch me? Publicly or privately?”
That’s a great question.
Chips and salsa get delivered to our table, so I snag a chip and chew, giving me time to mull it over.
After seeing Connor with Mallory and the way their hands easily found each other tonight, it hit me like a freight train that I may never be so comfortable in public. Hence the idea was born that Isaiah, the man I’m married to, might be able to help me get there.
There’s a huge part of me that longs for the romantic parts of life. To be grabbed and kissed. For my hand to be held like someone’s lifeline. To be flaunted because someone loves me for me, and not for the monetary gain that comes with me.
But privately, I’m no different.
I’m not entirely shocked Connor cheated on me. It’s not out of the ordinary for relationships in our world to be strictly for appearances as most
unions are based on business arrangements. But I tried. I really did try to hold his attention.
Isaiah doesn’t touch the chips, just sits and waits for my answer.
I swallow a sip of my iced tea, unable to look at him when I say, “Both.” “Jesus,” he exhales, falling back into the booth once again.
“I mean that in private, maybe we could be the same as we are in public. I’m doing this for myself so I can learn. We’re already trying to convince others of our fake marriage, so I don’t see why it would need to stop behind closed doors.”
I don’t really know what I’m asking of him. I don’t know where the line should be drawn. Kissing. Cuddling. Exploring. I’ll let him create his own conclusions and boundaries on that.
And then he does. “Are you asking me to fuck you, Kenny?” Oh.
“Because I don’t know if I can handle that. Fucking you so you’re better prepared to fuck someone else.”
Isaiah’s brows are furrowed as if he hurt his feelings simply from his own conclusion. Sure, there was a part of me that thought the cocky playboy would jump at the chance if I asked him to fuck me. One and done, out of his system so he could move on from his little crush, but he seems almost hurt by the idea.
“I’m . . . I don’t know how to answer that. I haven’t thought that far, I guess.”
He runs a hand over his face. “Is this all because of Connor? I saw the way you were looking at him tonight.”
“This has nothing to do with Connor. Sure, there’s a part of me that’s hurt over the whole thing. He left me for someone who was physically what he wanted and who could touch him without overthinking it, but there’s a bigger part of me that’s thankful he ended things. He gave me the freedom to have the life that I want. And I wasn’t watching him. I was watching them. Together. I want to be comfortable and confident like that. I’ve never experienced intimacy. Communication. Exploring someone’s body and them exploring mine. Touching someone that I want to touch.”
Isaiah’s eyes soften with sympathy, a soft exhale leaving his lips. “Kenny, have you ever thought that maybe you’re not the problem? That maybe the
issue is no one has ever let you feel safe and that’s why you’re not affectionate?”
Oh.
“I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t had the chance to test that theory.”
He swallows hard. “Why, of all people, do you want to test that theory on me?”
There’s a heavy pause between us in the crowded restaurant. “Because I trust you. I think I always have.”
A soft grin lifts on his lips as his eyes appraise me from across the booth. “I’ve always trusted you too. You did catch me crying in the women’s restroom on day one and haven’t mentioned it since.”
I chuckle. “You ever going to tell me what that was about?”
His leg brushes mine under the table. It’s light, but intentional, and I don’t move away.
“Maybe someday.”
He wraps his foot around my high heel, his calf rubbing the skin of my exposed leg. I lean into the touch, playing footsies with my husband under the table at the local Chili’s.
“I’ll do this if it’s really what you want, Ken.”
The server drops off our food, both of us ordering burgers. His with fries, but mine with a side of loaded mashed potatoes because they sounded good, and I’ve never been to a restaurant where you could order loaded mashed potatoes with your burger.
Isaiah doesn’t untangle his leg from mine as we begin eating. “It’s what I want.”
“Okay.” He takes a massive bite and smiles over at me with a mouth full of his burger.
I do the same, and mumble with my mouth full, “Okay.” Reaching across the table, I steal a handful of his fries. “Excuse me.”
“What?” I ask. “We’re married. What’s yours is mine.”
He playfully scoffs. “I want to share my life with you, Kenny, not my food.” With that, he reaches over and steals a forkful of my mashed potatoes.
I strategically arrange my fries under the bun as he watches with horror on his face.
“What? It gives it some crunch. Leave me alone.” “Remind me again why I married you.”
I take another bite and while wearing a twenty-seven-hundred-dollar cocktail dress, I speak with my mouth full of a greasy burger. “Because you’re obsessed with me. Remember?”
I know our wedding song is playing on a loop in his mind the way it is in mine. That becomes evident thanks to the knowing smile he wears as he watches me scarf down my food.
“You’ve never been hotter than you are right now, just so you know.” “Thank you.” My tongue darts out to lick off the drop of ketchup
lingering on my lips.
He tracks the whole thing. “Fuck.”
The rest of the night continues like that. His legs wrapped around mine as we inhale our food. Dinner is greasy and filling and delicious, and the conversation is teasing and light with no more mentions about my intimacy issues I’m hoping to correct.
Thankfully, the material of my dress is stretchy because Isaiah orders a molten chocolate cake for dessert that disappears at an embarrassingly quick rate, but it’s the ending to the best dinner I’ve had in a long time.
The food, sure, but mostly the company.
