Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)

If you would have told me a year ago that Isaiah Rhodes, of all people, would be walking down the Vegas strip by my side, I would’ve assumed you were out of your mind.

And if you would’ve told me the reason I’m in Vegas to begin with is that I’m attending my stepsister’s bachelorette party, I would’ve laughed in your face.

And if you would’ve told me that the man she’s marrying is my ex-fiancé, I would’ve looked into having you committed.

Because for my entire adult life, Connor Danforth and I knew we were marrying each other.

And my stepsister and I have never been close enough to invite the other to our personal events.

And I can’t stand Isaiah Rhodes most of the time.

But here I am, all three of those things being my current reality.

Isaiah closes the back door to the club as we step outside, the pounding music dulling to a low vibration and easing the panic I was experiencing in there.

What the hell was I doing agreeing to leave with him? I was desperate to get out of there, that’s what. And though I’ll never admit it aloud, there’s an understanding between Isaiah and me that no one else knows about.

But the man is carefree, cocky, even downright childish at times and it drives me insane. I’m far too type A for him and when the brisk Nevada air hits me in the face, it clears my brain fog and reminds me of just that.

“I’m staying two hotels over. I’m going to call it a night.” I raise my hand to hail the closest cab, but just as quickly, Isaiah pulls it down.

“One drink, Ken.”

“No.”

He tosses his head from side to side. “Let’s try that answer again. I liked it a whole lot better when you gave me those doe eyes inside and whispered ‘please.’ ”

“Fine. Please stop talking. You’re annoying.”

A grin tilts. “Stop flirting with me, Kenny.”

“I’m going back to my hotel.” I start in that direction, but between the heels and my much shorter legs, Isaiah catches up to me, strutting backward so I have to face him as I walk.

As much as I hate to admit it, Isaiah Rhodes is kind of hot. I noticed it on the first day I started working for the Windy City Warriors, back when I thought he was a charming stranger willing to talk me through my employment problems and not one of the players on the team.

He’s in all black tonight, all the way down to his shoes. It’s strange. I’m used to seeing him in all different colors, and they typically don’t coordinate.

Tonight, his light brown hair seems perfectly styled, but I’m certain he simply ran his fingers through it and got it to stay that way. The guy’s got good hair.

Pretty face and stunning body too, and boy, does he know it.

“So, what’s up with you and your stepsister?” he asks.

“I’m far too sober to talk about that right now.”

He smirks, that little birthmark under his right eye drawing my attention to the mischief sparkling in them. “That can be fixed.”

I stop walking, right there on the Vegas strip. “Isaiah, I’m cold and my feet hurt. This weekend sucked. All I want to do is crawl into bed and fly home to Chicago tomorrow.”

“One drink, Kennedy. I’ve got you outside of work for the first time ever. One drink and I promise I’ll get you back to your hotel.”

I’ve never had a drink with one of the players. Never even been outside of work with one of them besides the innocent sleepover I had at Isaiah’s brother’s house last year because I drank too much with Kai’s girlfriend and couldn’t drive home.

Isaiah has asked me to join countless times and I’ve always turned him down. But tonight . . . tonight I’m feeling desperate and uneasy. Tonight, I’m feeling reckless for the first time in my life.

I shouldn’t even be in this city, shouldn’t have had to attend the bachelorette party of the woman who is marrying my ex-fiancé, so fuck it. One drink won’t hurt anything.

“You’re buying.”

That devilish smile is back. “With pleasure. But first . . .” He scans the area. “Come with me.”

Isaiah extends his elbow out for me to grab, but instead, I cross my arms over my chest to keep the warmth in. He huffs a laugh, tucks his hands in his pockets, and gestures for me to follow him.

“Did you forget about that whole part about my feet hurting? I’m wearing four-inch heels, Rhodes.”

“I know. You’re almost eye to eye with my chest now.”

“Funny,” I deadpan, speed walking to try to match his single stride with two of mine as we cross the street. “And my hotel is that way. Don’t you think we should at least start in that direction? Grab one quick drink on the way?”

Isaiah stops in the middle of the street and I almost smack into the back of him before he turns to face me, uncaring that the light just turned green  and cars are waiting for us to move.

“Kenny, I’m going to need you to go with the flow, here. I just left my teammates, and don’t get me wrong, I’m stoked to be in this position right now, but we’re going to do things my way tonight. And I never said anything about this one drink being quick.”

A car honks at us, but still Isaiah doesn’t budge.

“We need to move.”

“I’m not moving.”

I exhale, a strand of hair billowing around my face. “I don’t know how to go with the flow.”

“I know. Give me one night and let me see if I can teach you. Trust me, my way is a lot of fun.”

The car honks again, this time laying on the horn.

“I only agreed to one drink.”

“You never indicated how fast I have to drink it. Could take me all night, really.”

“Can we get out of the road? Jesus, we’re going to get run over.”

“Only if you agree to do things my way tonight.”

“Isaiah . . .”

“Kenny . . .”

The car honks again before the driver swerves around us, flipping us his middle finger.

“Fine,” I agree. “Can we please get out of the middle of the road?”

Isaiah finally moves, continuing to the other side of the street. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“What?”

“Shoe size.”

“Six and a half.” The statement comes out sounding more like a question. “Why?”

He takes a sharp left, holding the door open for me to a shopping mall attached to one of the hotels. Even after midnight, stores are open and busy.

Isaiah doesn’t slow down, walking right into the Vans store and finding the women’s section.

He grabs a pair off the wall. “You like red, right? You’re always wearing the red team gear.”

“Those aren’t red. Those are hot pink.”

“Really?” He cocks his head, looking at the shoes in his hand before setting them back on the wall. “Do you like checkered? Max has checkered Vans.”

Max—his two-year-old nephew that he’s in love with.

“I don’t really—”

“Nah, checkered isn’t you.” He scans the wall again before zeroing in on a pair of black high tops with a single white stripe and a platform base. “These ones. Do you like these ones?”

I won’t lie, they are cute. I don’t wear much other than neutrals, unless I’m in the team colors of red and royal blue. And the platform will give me some height. Being 5’3” isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it’s a little difficult when you work with a bunch of giant men and already feel like your boss is looking down on you.

Metaphorically that is, but still.

“I like those.”

Isaiah holds them up to the cashier. “Can we get these in a six and a half?”

“What are you doing?”

“Buying you shoes. Your feet hurt.”

I pull my credit card out of my clutch, but Isaiah snags it, slipping it into his back pocket without looking at it or me. He simply continues to peruse the aisle, pulling a pair of socks off the rack by the register before unhooking the hanger of a denim jacket and holding it up for my approval.

“I can pay for my own shoes.”

“And I said I was buying you a drink.”

“This isn’t a drink.”

“This is part of the drink. This is my one shot, and if you’re uncomfortable the whole time you’re never going to want to have a drink with me again and I can’t blow my one shot because it’s cold and your feet hurt.”

“Isaiah, this isn’t your shot. It’s just a drink.”

He completely ignores me as the cashier comes back to the register with the shoebox in his hand.

Isaiah hands him over his credit card, keeping mine slipped into his back pocket as he pays for my socks, shoes, and new denim jacket before handing them off to me. “Get rid of those heels, Kenny, and let’s go have a drink.”

The light bounces off the crystal chandelier in the center of the room, sparkling with pinks and purples thanks to the curtains draping the walls. I guess the entire room is the chandelier, hence the name of the luxe bar located in the center of the Cosmopolitan.

Weaving through the crowd, I follow closely behind as Isaiah cuts a path for us to the bar. He holds his hand behind him slightly in case I need to grab it to keep us from getting separated, but I don’t. Regardless of all the bodies I have to plow through to keep up with him, I’ve never been one for casual touching.

When we make it to the bar and find the only two unoccupied stools, Isaiah pulls one out for me with his free hand. The other is busy carrying my white Louboutin heels I exchanged for sneakers.

“One drink,” I remind him as I climb up on the seat.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

Settling into my chair, my feet dangle, unable to reach the resting bar, and Isaiah’s eyes fall south before letting out a low chuckle.

“Have I told you lately how much I dislike you?”

“Mmm,” he hums. “I should warn you, Ken, I like it when you’re mean. It does something to me.”

“So that’s why you haven’t left me alone all these years? I should’ve been nice to you all this time, I guess.”

“I probably would’ve proposed a handful of times by now if you were. Nice. Mean. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

As he takes the seat next to me, Isaiah’s attention drifts to my left hand, where a very bare ring finger rests against the bar top.

Even though I haven’t worn my old engagement ring in over a year, my finger still feels too light. Too empty. I guess that’s what happens after wearing a gaudy eight-carat diamond ring around every day for four years.

The guy sitting in the stool on the other side of me drops back in drunken laughter, falling and resting on my shoulder. It isn’t until I shrug out from under him that he realizes.

“Oops, sorry,” he apologizes, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my bare legs as he does.

I close my new denim jacket around me and catch the warning glare Isaiah shoots at him, causing the guy to shift his attention back to his own friends.

“He needs to keep his eyes to himself,” Isaiah mutters as he reaches down between us, using the leg of the chair to pull me as close to him as possible.

I can’t help but laugh. “Kind of like how you are right now?”

Isaiah blatantly checks me out, and in contrast, I don’t feel the need to hide every inch of my body this time. It must be this weird trust thing I’ve got going with him.

His smile is cheeky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I grab the cocktail list from the counter. “What are we drinking?”

“We? Jesus, Kenny, this is a first date. I didn’t realize we were a ‘we’ already.”

“At what point in the night do you become less obnoxious?”

He shrugs, eyes on the drink list. “I’ve been told it’s about three or four drinks in. So, what are we having?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Never? Not even in college?”

“Not exactly. I was a little too busy studying for my MCATs to be throwing up keg stands.”

I was also a bit too busy trying to be perfect, but that’s a story for a different day.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a little smile gracing his lips. “Do you want me to order a drink for you?”

“Are you going to order the most annoyingly oversized drink that will take me hours to get through since I’m only having one with you?”

“Nope. I’m going to order you a normal drink that I think you’ll like and by the end of it, if you still want to go back to your hotel, we’ll call it a night.”

I lift a brow in surprise. “Giving in already, Rhodes?”

“I’ve got faith that you’ll want to hang out with me a little longer than one.”

“How very cocky of you.”

“Self-assured,” he corrects.

Isaiah Rhodes is self-assured, but in this goofy, annoyingly charismatic manner that doesn’t feel too suffocating. He’s laid-back and easygoing in a way I can’t relate to.

But the years of being around him remind me that he’s also reckless and sometimes too carefree. He’s been the life of the party for as long as I’ve known him. He doesn’t think too far into the future or wonder about the consequences to his actions. He’s got this freedom about him, this ease and approachability that probably comes with being the younger brother of someone who always took on the responsibilities.

I can be honest and say I don’t know much more than that about him, but I would imagine that Isaiah Rhodes makes smart girls do stupid things. Which is why I’ve never given into or even thought about the constant flirting and the years of pickup lines he’s spewed my way.

He simply wants something he can’t have, and if I were to ever change my mind and give in, his thrill of the chase would be over.

“How do you feel about tequila?” he asks.

“I feel like it causes me to make poor decisions.”

“Perfect.” That signature smile is back before he turns towards the bartender and orders two of the same drink.

Isaiah keeps my high heels in his lap, his long legs open around my chair as he faces me. “When are you going to tell Dr. Fredrick to promote you?”

I exhale a startled laugh. “How long have you been waiting to ask me that?”

He looks at the watch on his wrist, his jaw ticking for some reason when he reads the time is a bit after midnight. “Three years as of today.”

“Three years?”

“We met on this day, three years ago, and I’ve wanted you to tell Dr. Fredrick to promote you every day since. You’re overqualified, Kenny, and I’m the only one who knows. You’re taping ankles and wrapping ice packs when you’re a literal fucking doctor.”

“You remember the exact date we met?” Because what the hell? I knew Isaiah had a superficial crush on me, but I’ve always kind of assumed it was simply an ongoing joke between him and his teammates.

The only woman on the staff? Oh, I for sure want to bang her. You know, that kind of thing.

“Kennedy, focus. The season is starting next week, and I think it’s time you say something. Hell, I want to say something. Fredrick has been giving you the worst shifts and the least amount of responsibility. Aren’t you over it?”

He remembers the day we met? Why? There was nothing significant about that day other than I got a new job. A job that I have come to love in a way, regardless that I don’t feel like I’m living up to my full potential. Yes, my boss is the worst, but I love the stakes of professional sports. The travel. The fans. The postseason high.

“I’m not going to say anything, and neither are you.”

“Ken—”

“I’m up for a promotion.”

He rears back slightly. “You are?”

“Not with the Warriors, but yes.”

Isaiah’s brown eyes roll as the bartender puts our drinks in front of us. “Let me guess. Atlanta wants to hire you.”

My stepbrother plays second baseman for Atlanta and while he’s one of my closest friends, Isaiah and Dean grew up in the same town and have a long-standing rivalry. Dean and I became family at the end of high school and didn’t become close until college, so I never knew about their history until my stepbrother showed up at Family Day in Chicago last season, only for the two of them to connect the dots.

“No, not Atlanta. San Francisco.”

Isaiah pauses with his drink partway to his lips. “California? But that’s . . . on the other side of the country.”

“Yes. But the weather is wonderful, and their team doctor is retiring after this season. Their second doctor doesn’t want the promotion so they’re looking for a replacement and my mentor, who I did a fellowship under, recommended me for the job.”

I can feel the excitement in my voice with every word. It’s my dream job, the job I spent my entire twenties preparing for, and I’m one of three final candidates for the position. I simply have to finish on a strong note with the Warriors this year, interview well when the time comes, and it could be mine.

“California,” Isaiah repeats, eyes searching my face.

I take a long swig of my drink, nodding enthusiastically at both the prospect of what next year could look like and how good this drink is. You can’t even taste the tequila.

“I’d be the first female lead doctor in the MLB.”

Isaiah’s lips curve at that. “As you should be. That’s amazing, Kenny. You deserve all the good things.”

I’m still trying to convince myself of that.

“But just so we’re clear,” he continues. “We’re not telling Dr. Fredrick he’s a misogynist piece of shit or that his view on women in sports is probably why his wife left him last year?”

A laugh bubbles out of me, the way it wants to most of the time I’m around Isaiah, though I typically don’t let it. “Not until I sign my new contract and I’m two thousand miles away.”

Isaiah sighs in resignation, sinking back into his seat. “California, huh? Did you know that’s my least favorite place?”

“And when did you decide that?”

“About two minutes ago.”

He finishes his drink in a few swigs, setting the glass back on the bar top. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel whenever you’re ready to go.”

Huh?

“That’s it? You buy me comfortable shoes and a warm jacket just for one drink that took more time to be prepared than it did for you to consume it?”

“You said one drink.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

Isaiah’s brows lift in surprise, his posture straightening from the defeated slump. “Are you saying you want to stay and have another drink with me, Kenny?”

I’ve never been one to be impulsive like him. Never been one to blur the line between work and fun, but there’s a comfortableness with Isaiah. A comfortableness I don’t let anyone else know about when I’m at work. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person in Chicago who knows about my secret and now, he’s the only one I can share this exciting news with.

Maybe it’s because the finish line is so close. I’m one season away from my dream job. So yeah, maybe I want to have a little fun. Maybe I want to turn off the perfectionist in me and be a little reckless after this weekend of hell.

“Yes.” I swallow down the rest of my cocktail. “I want to have another drink with you.”