Isaiah

I have no fucking clue how I got here, having God knows how many drinks with Kennedy Kay. Somewhere along the way we left the Cosmo and made our way through three more bars. Or was it four now?

Fuck if I know.

Kennedy tossed her heels in a trash can on the strip, and I noted the red bottoms on those while I was carrying them, so I made sure to pull them right back out from the bin. Sober her would be pissed she threw away such expensive shoes.

She won a hundred bucks on the penny slots. We found ourselves in a karaoke bar without a single other person under the age of forty. I sang a rendition of Mariah Carey’s “Touch My Body” and we left as soon as the older women started taking the lyrics literally.

I took Kennedy to her first strip club where she promptly distributed all the ones in my wallet, and now we’re both utterly wasted, standing in front of the fountains outside of the Bellagio.

I think.

Fuck if I know where we are, but there’s music and lights and a slight breeze cooling my burning skin. Seriously, I’m on fire. Am I allergic to tequila, or have I just been blushing like a fucking idiot any time Kennedy slightly sways into me or grabs my forearm for support?

Tonight is the best night of my life. “What?” Kennedy asks at my side. Did I say that out loud?

Fuck it.

“I said, tonight is the best night of my life.”

She rolls those pretty eyes, but it’s more dramatic than usual because Kennedy is just as drunk as I am. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” Leaning my forearms down on the gate in front of me, I make myself eye level with her. “Kennedy, I have feelings for you.”

“They’ll pass.”

Her glazed eyes stay fixated on the water ahead of her. “I’m serious, Ken. I’ve got a major crush.”

“A crush is just a lack of information.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting the information, and it’s only making me like you more. Let me get to know you. I’ve been trying to for three years now.”

Her attention finally snaps to me, her gaze perusing my face. “Why?” “Because I like you.”

“You like everyone.”

Ouch.

She’s not wrong. At least, from what she knows about me. What she doesn’t know is that I haven’t even looked at another woman since the day I realized she stopped wearing her engagement ring.

So no, I don’t like everyone. I like her.

She must note how that hit landed because she turns her body slightly, facing me. “Fine.” It’s a bit slurred. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did being at your stepsister’s bachelorette party make you so uncomfortable?”

She rolls her eyes again, and I can’t help but smile.

“My mother, she’s married to Mallory and Dean’s dad. Mallory, she’s my stepsister and you know Dean. You hate Dean. But Dean is my friend.”

Yep, she’s drunk.

“My mother, she insisted I be here. You know, because of how it looks for the family.”

“The family? You sound like you’re in the mafia.”

She ignores me. “And Mallory, she was quick to pick the last weekend I was free before baseball season started so I would have to attend.”

“You really didn’t want to be here.”

“She’s marrying my ex-fiancé, and I’m fairly certain the only reason she wanted me here this weekend was to rub it in my face.”

I must be far more wasted than I assumed because I know I didn’t hear that right. “What did you say?”

“She’s marrying my ex-fiancé.” Her tone holds no inflection. “The guy she only met because I was supposed to marry him, and he always came with me to social obligations. You know, that guy.”

Kennedy throws back the double shot of tequila we each took with us from the last bar.

“And you’re okay with this happening?”

She holds up her now-empty cup. “Does it look like I’m okay with this?” “But . . . but what about your parents? They can’t be on board with this.” “Oh, they love Connor.” She waves me off. “They agree he’ll be the perfect candidate to take over the family business, and since I couldn’t pull the trigger in all the years we were engaged, everyone is perfectly happy with my stepsister stepping in and doing so. Well, except Dean. You know

Dean. You hate Dean.” I do hate Dean.

“He’s the only person that’s vocalized how fucked up this whole thing is.”

Okay, well, maybe I hate Dean a fraction less than I did thirty seconds ago, but Kennedy’s stepbrother is still one of my least favorite people, and I’m forced to see the guy a few times a year when we play against Atlanta.

My blurry and tequila-fogged brain has no idea what to say to this fucked-up situation, so the only thing I come up with is, “You should just get married before them.”

She startles with a laugh. “What?”

“Get married before them. You know, really stick it to them by going first. I bet they’d hate that. Especially when you made whatever-his-name-is wait for so long.”

“I don’t even have a boyfriend.” “I’ve offered.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Except now, apparently, what I need is a husband.”

I keep my attention locked on hers.

She pauses for a minute, rolling something over in her mind before her tone turns serious. “Are you still offering?”

“You’re drunk.” “So are you.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I think you are too.”

I’m completely out of my mind because with the way she’s looking at me, little smirk on those lips, brown eyes shining with mischief the way mine usually do, I know in this moment, I’d do just about anything she asked me to.