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“Drinks are on me.” Someone steps up to the bar beside me, not sitting on the stool, but instead standing between the next one over and mine.
A man. Thirties. Objectively attractive.
“It’s an open bar,” I remind him.
A slow smile spreads on his mouth. “Well, then it looks like I’ll have to take you out after this and buy you a real one.”
I huff a laugh. “That was smooth.”
“Vincent.” He holds his hand out and I shake it in greeting.
“Kennedy.”
“Are you a baseball fan, Kennedy?”
“Something like that.”
He scoots a little closer to me. Too close, if I’m being honest, but this is what I’m working on, being okay with physical contact. If I were out in the real world getting hit on at a real bar, it’d be crowded. They’d stand close. This is fine.
I’m fine.
“So what do you do for work, Miss Kennedy?”
Mrs, my brain screams, but I shut it off.
“I’m a... doctor.”
Vincent’s eyes go wide. “Impressive. What kind?”
“Sports medicine.”
“Athletes, huh? Bet they love you. I’ve been an athlete my whole life, you know. Still play occasionally.”
“Oh yeah? Who do you play for?”
“I play pickup at the gym.”
I burst a laugh, but quickly cover it with my hand. “Sorry.”
“It gets heated out there. It’s intense. Some of those guys played in college and really had a chance at going pro if they didn’t injure themselves. That’s what happened to me. I blew out my knee freshman year.” He shakes his head in disbelief as if his high school highlight reel was playing on repeat in his mind. “So, what kind of athletes do you work with?”
“The professional kind. I work here, for the Warriors.”
“Oh shit. Well, I sound like a fucking idiot, trying to impress you when you’re over here working with professional athletes.”
I’m married to one too. It’s the first thing that crosses my mind, but I don’t say it. Because soon enough, I won’t be.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to try to impress me.”
His sly smile grows as he steps even closer.
My skin instantly feels hot, not in a good way, but in an uncomfortable way. His hip grazes my thigh. He leaves it resting there, full, intentional contact, and I hate it. I try to turn away, but there’s a couple on my other side so there’s no room.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve been practicing. I should be getting better at physical contact and casual touching. This is innocent, but I can’t breathe because of how much I despise this simple graze of my thigh. I don’t want him touching me.
And that scares the hell out of me because will I ever want anyone other than Isaiah to touch me? Will he always be the only man I’m comfortable with? And if so, what the hell are we doing with these lessons then? What’s the point of it all if it’s only him?
Holy fuck. Is it only him? Has it always been him?
