Isaiah
The ride to my apartment is silent.
I offered to swing by her place tonight, let her change and grab her suitcase for tomorrow, but she assured me she would have time before her flight and would rather we just get home.
Yes, home. As if it were both of ours and not just mine. As if she doesn’t have her own penthouse apartment eight blocks away. Ridiculous fantasies were playing on a loop after she threw that word out, and I had to quickly shut them down.
I’m driving with my left hand on the wheel, my right one resting on her thigh, stroking a repeated pattern with my thumb. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Like a silent apology she says she doesn’t need.
I hated every word that came out of my mouth in that hallway, regardless that they were true. I never wanted to admit to her that I knew she wasn’t interested, simply because I wasn’t ready for her to agree.
If it were any other day, maybe I could’ve laughed it off, let her explain to me how some guy hit on her while I held in my bitterness towards our fucked-up situation. Maybe I wouldn’t have shown how much it hurts to not only know she’s going to move on after me but have to physically see it happen before my eyes.
She barely entertained him, simply spoke to him enough to not be rude. But he looked like he could’ve been another rich asshole her parents would’ve forced her to marry, and I snapped.
Today I’m fucking wrecked, emotionally wrung out from the realization that next season, I will once again be alone. Kennedy flies out for her interview tomorrow, and sure, Kai will still be living in Chicago, but it’s
different knowing that he won’t be on the field with me ever again. I didn’t expect his retirement to come so soon.
And I took it out on her.
Because she’s leaving me too. We all know she’s getting that job, and I’m tired of people I care about not sticking around. I play it safe, hoping if I’m enough of a laugh, if they have a good enough time around me, they’ll stay. It never works. Kennedy’s leaving anyway, so I guess I thought she may as well see all the facets of me I’m too scared to show everyone else before she goes.
Jaded, and bitter, and really fucking tired. God, I’m so fucking tired.
When I park in my spot outside of my apartment, I kill the engine and sit. Too exhausted to move and too ashamed of how I was with her to say anything.
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes until Kennedy gets out of the car and rounds the hood to open my door.
“Come on,” she says, standing there in that pretty white dress.
“I was going to open the door for you. You didn’t give me a chance.”
A knowing smile lifts on her lips. “You were going to fall asleep if you sat there any longer.”
She holds her hand out for mine and leads me into my apartment building, as if she’s been here countless times before and knows her way around.
I like it far too much.
She chuckles to herself when she sees the Bless this Mess doormat, and when she goes inside, she doesn’t hesitate to kick her heels off by the couch and turn her back to me, holding her hair up with both hands.
Crossing the room, I take my time undoing the top buttons of her dress, fully expecting her to use a hand on her chest to hold the fabric up.
She doesn’t.
She continues to hold her hair, letting the dress fold over her waist.
And when I slowly unzip the part that connects just above her ass, I practically choke when she lets the entire thing fall and pool at her feet.
My wife stands there, butt-ass naked in the middle of my living room.
The only thing on her body is her jewelry.
Hands dropping, her auburn hair falls over her back as she walks right to my room, moving slowly and allowing me to watch, done in a way that her heart-shaped ass sways with each step.
Fucking mesmerizing, seeing Kennedy Kay walk her naked self into my bedroom.
“I thought you wanted me to go to bed,” I call out.
“You are. But I thought I’d give you a little reminder that you told me you wouldn’t have sex with me tonight.”
“You’re not a nice woman. I’m not sure if anyone has told you that.”
She shoots me a devastating smile over her shoulder, and when she reaches the door to my bedroom, she taps her fingers on the “live, laugh, love” sign. That grin instantly turns cute and teasing before she slips into my room.
I want to follow her, toss her on the bed, and change my mind about not fucking her tonight. Maybe see if the lesson she wants to learn next is how to ride my cock.
But I’m not wrong here. It was an emotional night and I don’t think I could survive if Kennedy woke up tomorrow and looked at me with regret.
Not to mention, the reminder of what she said back at the field sits heavy on my mind. That she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to be so comfortable with someone else. It doesn’t change the fact that she wants to be. That’s what we’re doing here, after all.
Staying married so she can get a job on the other side of the country. Playing a game I wish was real. Teaching her things that she doesn’t need to learn, because she’s a fucking natural at them when she’s doing them because she wants to.
And I’m in so fucking deep there’s no way up.
This disappointment I’ve avoided my entire adult life is compounding into one person that I let myself truly fall for. That I let myself truly believe I could have a shot with. It doesn’t matter that our marriage is fake. The heartbreak is going to be so fucking real.
The door to my bedroom opens, and my groan is involuntary. “You’re joking.”
She stands there in the threshold, wearing one of my tees that may as well be a dress on her, and then she slightly lifts the hem, revealing the pair of my boxer briefs she’s planning to sleep in.
“What’s yours is mine,” she teases. “Isn’t that how this whole marriage thing works?”
“You can have literally whatever you want as long as you’re wearing that when you ask.”
“So, you’ll have sex with me then?” “Ken—”
“Kidding.” She nudges her head towards my bedroom. “C’mon. I started the shower for you.”
My dragging feet carry me to my room, where Kennedy ushers me to sit on the edge of the bed. Standing between my spread legs, she removes my tie and unbuttons my shirt.
“I can do it.” My statement is hardly a protest and I make no move to stop her.
“So can I.”
“Kenny—”
“Let me take care of you for once. You’re always doing things for me.
It’s time I return the favor.”
God, and it feels good to let her. My head lolls as she slips her hands beneath the fabric of my shirt, pushing it over my shoulders, and once it’s off me and draped on the bed, I drop my forehead to her stomach.
“I’m sorry for taking it out on you tonight, everything I was feeling.
None of it was your fault.”
She slides her fingers into my hair, holding me to her. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”
“But I do.” I glide my fingertips to the back of her thigh, gently tracing the soft skin there. “I just . . . It’s been a rough day, and I’m not used to showing people my rough days. So, thank you for coming back to find me.”
“Always.”
My head lifts at that. I want to believe that she truly means always, but the fact of the matter is, tomorrow, she’s leaving for an interview she’s waited for her entire career.
“Always” has a very limited time frame for us.
She takes her time undressing me, and it’s a real humbling moment when she crouches to remove my shoes, followed by my pants. I watch as she goes to my dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers for me to wear post shower.
She turns to leave, but I grab her hand, pulling her back to stand between my spread legs and finding her mouth with a soft kiss.
“Can I steal some toothpaste?” she asks. “Yeah.” I kiss her again. “You need it.”
She scoffs in faux horror, smacking me in the chest. “If you’re telling me I have bad breath, you can take full responsibility for that. I did have your dick in my mouth, after all.”
“Oh, hell yeah, you did.” I pull her down and kiss her again. Harder this time. “I changed my mind. Don’t brush your teeth. I like knowing my cock was the last thing in there.”
Her head falls back in an easy laugh, and God, is it fucking beautiful. “Mmm. And you still taste like my pussy.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ken. I already came in my pants once tonight. Can you not say ‘pussy’ so casually like that without any warning?”
She’s off and sauntering her way into my bathroom, but not before she looks over her shoulder and mouths the word pussy as she disappears.
A burst of energy hits me and I’m off the bed and following her. “Don’t brush your teeth until I’m done with my shower.” “What?” she asks with a laugh. “Why?”
I drop my boxer briefs to the floor and my smile beams like a fucking glowstick from the way her eyes follow me.
“Because,” I say, stark-ass naked, “it sounds like something domestic as hell I’d like to do with my wife.”
My shower is quick, just a rinse to get the day off me, but I watch her watch me through the glass the entire time. I’m out, toweled off, and in my fresh pair of boxers in less than five minutes, because apparently, I’ve gotten to the lovesick phase where even a glass wall is too much distance to put between us.
That’s probably going to be a big fucking problem for me when she flies out to California tomorrow.
She grabs my toothpaste from the cup by the sink, her opposite index finger stretched out as if she were going to use it as a makeshift toothbrush.
“Hold up,” I tell her, rifling through a few of my drawers. Tucked into the back of my second vanity drawer, I pull out the toothbrush I bought for her weeks ago. “This is for you.”
She freezes with the still packaged toothbrush in her hand.
“Is that the right one?”
From what I remember, it’s the exact one I bought her the first night we shared a hotel room. Soft bristles. Purple handle. Well, at least, the cashier told me it was the purple-handled one.
“How long have you had this in there?”
Pulling my toothbrush out of the cup, I attempt the whole nonchalant thing when I say, “I bought it when we got home from that trip. After we went to dinner and you asked me to teach you some things, I thought there might be a night where you would stay over here.” I find her reflection in the mirror. “I had hoped, at least.”
Her expression completely melts, the sometimes-cold Kennedy not even attempting to hide how she feels. “I should’ve stayed the last time I was here.”
I pop my shoulders. “I followed you home anyway.” “What?” She bursts a laugh. “You did not, you stalker.”
“You really thought I was going to let you leave my house in the middle of the night without making sure you got home safely? I drove by, watched you get inside, before I came back here to deal with my three drunk friends. All the while, my mind couldn’t get rid of the memory of how hard you made me come and how much I liked seeing you in those little lace panties and matching bra.”
She opens her new toothbrush and I squeeze a line of toothpaste on it before doing the same to mine. We both face the mirror, her standing in front of me as we brush our teeth.
“A little sexier than this outfit, huh?” she asks over a mouth full of suds. “Oh fuck no. This . . .” I circle my finger in her direction. “This is going
in the spank bank reserve.”
She giggles with her mouth full, and I swear to God, if I could bottle that sound, I would.
The rest of the two minutes is silent. Us brushing our teeth like the domestic, married couple we’re pretending to be.
She smiles up at me anytime she catches me watching her in the reflection.
I hold her hair when she goes to spit into the sink, then bend over her and do the same.
I want this. These simple, normal moments that couples have, but I only want them with her and I want them to be real.
“Let’s go to bed,” she says, putting her toothbrush in the cup next to mine. “You’re exhausted.”
I didn’t want to assume, but I was so fucking hopeful on the drive over here that when she asked to sleep at my house tonight, she meant for me to sleep next to her.
The martyr in me would offer to take the couch. Wait until she clearly states she wants me to sleep in the bed with her, but I’m too fucking tired to act the martyr tonight.
I want to sleep in my bed with my wife.
I follow her out, turning off the lights behind me. Kennedy slips under the covers to the same side she used the last time she was here, and I round the bed to mine, standing there.
There’s a part of me that’s waiting for her to change her mind. After all these weeks of me sleeping on the floor, I’m anticipating her to tell me to do the same tonight.
“What are you waiting for?” She’s got this playful smile on her lips. “Aren’t you going to teach me how to cuddle or something like that?”
“You’re a dork. You know that?” I slip under the covers with her. “You love it.”
She’s got the sheets held up to her chin, beaming grin on her mouth, like she’s far too giddy about this sleepover, and honestly, so am I.
“Yeah,” I exhale, sinking into my pillow and facing her. “I do.”
“Thanks for letting me stay over. After sharing the same room with you on the road, my apartment has felt a bit lonely lately.”
“You can stay here anytime, Ken. You know that.” “Okay.”
I scoot closer to her, my feet wrapping over hers under the sheet. “Okay.”
Her hand slips out from under the blanket, cupping my cheek, her thumb dusting over the bone there. “You’re tired.”
I nod, leaning into her touch. “Are you going to be okay?”
Her eyes bounce over my face, searching for my answer.
“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. “But I’m feeling good right now.”
A soft tilt lifts her lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lover boy?”
With a chuckle, I shift, laying my head on her shoulder, and in equal time, she wraps both arms around me while mine goes around her middle.
“I don’t think anyone else has seen that side of me much, but yeah. You have no idea.”
Leaning down, her lips meet my hair. “I think I’m starting to figure it out.”
A few silent minutes pass between us and I’m close to sleep, this overwhelming calmness washing over me that in this moment I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted.
But that’s the problem, my anxiety screams. It’s only in this moment.
“Kenny,” I whisper. “Will you still be here when I wake up?” “Of course.” Her voice is sleepy. “I’m not going anywhere.”
