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“Yellow,” he repeats. “Good color. My favorite color, in fact.”
His smile is warm as he looks down at me, and maybe that’s exactly what my coldness needs.
Chapter 11
Isaiah
“Kenny,” I whine in my typical way. “Come on. Please.”
“No. I’m busy.”
Trav peeks over his shoulder and smirks at me as he lays on the training table while my wife loosens up his hamstring.
“Ask Sanderson if he’s free.” She nods in his direction.
I find Sanderson on the other side of the visitors’ training room, wrapping an ankle for one of our outfielders. He’s almost done, but I’m not going to tell Kennedy that.
“He’s busy. Really busy.”
She shoots me a look because, as always, she knows when I’m full of shit. Ignoring me, she continues to work on our catcher, so I step closer so only the two of them can hear.
“My shoulder is fucked up because of you, wifey.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You made me sleep on the floor. The least you can do is rub it out.”
“Can you please not say ‘rub it out’ as if you’re trying to proposition me for more than a shoulder massage?”
I don’t hold back my knowing smirk. That’s exactly what I was trying to do.
Travis laughs into the table. “Kennedy, you made him sleep on the floor? You two are getting pretty damn good at acting like a real married couple.”
“I didn’t make him sleep on the floor.” She looks around, lowering her voice. “I offered to sleep on the floor so he could have the bed, and he’s the one who refused.”
“Trav, she was so comfortable. Out like a light. Snoring like you wouldn’t believe. All the while I was just trying to get a couple of hours of sleep on the cold, hard floor.”
“Travis,” she says, ignoring me. “How exactly did you make the very poor decision to become his friend?”
“Probably the same way you decided to become his wife.”
“Too much tequila?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, as fun as it is to hear you two discuss how grateful you are to be in my life, Kenny, I really do need my shoulder worked on.”
She must notice the serious tone in my voice.
“All right. Travis, is that feeling looser?”
He works his leg around before hopping off the table and crouching into his catcher’s stance. “Much better. Thanks, Ken.”
Kennedy pats her now free table. “Take your shirt off.”
“Damn. No foreplay?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve said the same thing to about twelve different guys today.”
