Page 17

Chapter fifteen

Isabelle

“You’re going to need a manicure if you keep chewing on those nails.”

I drop my thumb to my lap, switching off the screen on my phone with my other hand as my mom walks over and sits next to me on the couch.

“Everything okay, honey?”

“Yup, totally fine.”

She gives me a smile, but I can tell she suspects I’m not being totally honest. I want to tell her everything about Kai. About our history as more than friends, and about how he makes me feel now.

But then I see her talking to Tony on the phone, or laughing and hugging him in the kitchen, and I worry that telling her would only ruin everything.

She’s so happy with him. Telling her I used to date her new husband’s star pitcher would probably be okay.

Telling her I kissed him a week ago, and that I can’t stop thinking about doing it again, would probably not be alright.

To say nothing of the likelihood that she’d use it as yet another reason I should abandon my life in Italy and stay here.

“Maybe I could try to get us an appointment for tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” I blink up at her, my brain taking a second to catch up and realize she’s still talking about our nails. “Oh, sure, that sounds great.”

She pats my leg. “Wonderful. I’ll get us booked for the afternoon, we could do lunch first? Then go to the game after the appointment.”

I nod. “Perfect.”

Right. The game. Where Kai will be. Kai, who I’ve been kind of avoiding. They got back from their away series a few days ago, and I’ve managed to find a reason not to get together with him the two times he’s asked.

Kai, who apparently knows I’m thinking about him, as my phone lights up with another message.

I’m not fast enough, and Mom spies it.

“Is that Kai Yamaki? As in, from the Tridents?”

I snatch up my phone, thinking quickly on what to say. “Yeah. We knew each other in college, remember?”

“Honey, I think it’s cool you’re reconnecting.” She gives my leg a squeeze, then stands up. “He’s a good guy from what Tony said. And selfishly, I’m thrilled you’ll have another reason to come back and visit me here.”

“Mom, you’re reason enough, I promise.” I stand up and pull her in for a hug.

“Oh Belles.” She squeezes me tightly. “I’m so happy we’re getting this time together.”

“Me too,” I mumble into her shoulder.

She pulls back and kisses my forehead. “Alright, I need to get going. Are you sure you don’t want to come to yoga with me?”

I don’t disguise my shudder. “Very sure. Yoga is not my thing, Mom.”

She laughs and moves toward the front door. “Fine. Oh, don’t forget Tony and I are going out tonight. You’ll be okay on your own?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m twenty-eight. I can manage just fine,” I reply dryly. She laughs again, giving me a wave as she leaves.

“See you, honey.”

I don’t open my phone until she’s gone.

KAI: Hey. If we’re doing this friends thing, you can’t avoid me forever. Wanna come over and watch a movie? We’ve got the night off.

KAI: And no this isn’t me asking you to cook. But if you want to, I wouldn’t say no.

I stare at his invitation for several minutes. The truth is, I’ve been annoying myself with how I keep flip-flopping around on what to do with these pesky feelings. It’s time to put my big girl panties on. Like he said, we’re friends. Friends spend time together. Friends don’t avoid each other.

Suck it up, buttercup. Go hang out with the man. Just don’t kiss him. Or, you know, do…

ISABELLE: Yes to hanging out, no to cooking.

KAI: Damn it. I mean, great. See you soon.

ISABELLE: Oh I see. You don’t want me, you just want my cooking skills.

KAI: No no no! I want you.

KAI: I want to see you.

KAI: Fucking hell, Iz. Just come and hang out. I’ll order sushi.

That at least makes me snort with laughter. I can just picture him rolling his eyes at himself.

ISABELLE: Yeah yeah. See you soon. Don’t forget my toro sashimi

It takes me less than an hour to have a quick shower and definitely not agonize over what to wear.

To say nothing of the verbal debate I had with myself on the drive over about whether I should bring up the kiss or wait to see if he does.

He might have done it the first time, but that was in a text message the next morning, and I was not opening that can of worms over text when he needed to focus on his games.

In the end, I decide not to say anything, but follow his lead on whether we talk about it or not.

Then the elevator opens on Kai’s floor, and he’s leaning against his door frame with a smirk, waiting for me. A smirk I really want to wipe off his face with my lips.

Nope. Stay strong, Isabelle. Wait for him to say something.

“Took you long enough,” he comments.

I ignore the bulge of his biceps, courtesy of his arms folded across his chest. Just like I ignore the grey sweatpants he’s wearing. And the delicious way he smells as I brush past him.

“I didn’t realize there was a set time I needed to arrive for a casual dinner between friends,” I reply, setting my keys and phone down and turning to face him. His smirk grows as he swaggers across the space toward me.

“There wasn’t.”

“Then why are you giving me a hard time?”

He leans in. Close. So close. “Because it’s fun.

” I can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks and my eyes close against my own volition.

I hate that my reaction to him is so obvious.

Like always, he sees right through me, because when I open my eyes, he’s leaned back, and his eyes are full of amusement and something suspiciously like desire.

He steps back and says casually, “Dinner will be here soon.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, mentally shaking my head clear of the Kai-induced fuzz. The look he tosses over his shoulder from where he’s now standing by the fridge makes it clear he knows exactly what he’s doing. That jerk. Getting me hot and bothered, while still not mentioning the kiss.

Thank God, there’s a knock on the door before I do anything stupid like go against my intentions of following his lead and beg him to kiss me again.

“Sushi’s here,” I blurt out, hoping — and assuming — I’m right.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, echoing my earlier sound of acknowledgment as he moves to the door.

I stand back as Kai accepts the bags of food from the delivery man and brings it into the apartment, setting everything down on the large table. “You wanna grab plates?” he asks over his shoulder as he starts to unpack containers of food.

Grateful for something to do instead of standing around stewing in embarrassment, I start opening cupboards in his kitchen.

I locate the plates quickly and grab two.

Setting those on the table, I go back and fill two glasses with water.

By the time I’m done, Kai’s got two dishes of soy sauce prepared, one with ginger and one with wasabi.

“There better not be green devil paste in mine,” I say, taking a seat and surveying the assortment of rolls in front of me.

“Nah.” He chuckles. “I know better than to do that.”

We smile fondly at each other, no doubt both remembering the time I mistakenly dipped a roll in his dish of soy sauce and promptly spat the food right back out when my mouth caught on fire.

“Dig in. I think I remembered all your favourites.” He says it so casually.

As if remembering so much of what I like and dislike, after all this time, is normal.

But it can’t be, can it? This easy way we’ve fallen back into each other, the deep sense of knowing and comfort that exists. It can’t be normal.

We eat, and soon, all that’s left on the table are empty containers. “I still can’t believe how much food you pack away,” I tease as I stand, picking up our plates and carrying them to the kitchen. “It defies the laws of…of something.”

Kai laughs, following me with the containers that he rinses and puts in a bin to be recycled. “I’d say I’m a growing boy, but that’s a lie.”

We move to the living room and sit down side by side on the couch.

For a moment, neither one of us says anything.

Then Kai shifts, turning his body to face me and lifting his arm up, I assume to place it along the back of the couch.

Only he doesn’t get there before wincing, pain etched across his features.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning forward.

He rotates the shoulder slowly, moving back to face forward. “Nothing bad, I promise. Just a little tight from the last few games. The trainers are taking care of it.”

I chew on my lip, suddenly flooded with worry. It’s his pitching arm that’s hurting, and that’s not a good thing. Not at all.

“Do you want me to massage it?” I ask quietly.

His gaze flashes up to meet mine. “Iz, you don’t have to.”

But I saw the relief in his eyes at my offer. And I’m already moving into place on the back of the couch, behind him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me help.”

He watches me for a second longer before giving me a grateful smile. “That would be fucking incredible. You always gave the best massages.”

I snort as he moves into position. “You’re just saying that because it would lead to sex.” I wince as soon as I say it. So much for letting him take the lead. Why did I say that?

“Listen. Those happy endings were awesome and all, but no. Your hands just, I dunno, felt better than anyone else’s.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see my expression, sitting in front of me the way he is. Because I’m certain I’m bright red, and all the emotions I’ve been trying to ignore are likely written across my face.

Instead, I turn my attention to his muscular shoulders.

He’s bigger than I remember. Stronger, but still so familiar.

As I start to dig my thumbs in, immediately finding the knots that lie beneath his skin, I think about the last time I did this for him.

The night before my flight to Italy. He’d just played a game and was exhausted, but insisted on coming over and spending the night so he could drive me to the airport early the next morning.

The shoulder massage definitely had a happy ending that night. More than one, if I remember right.

“Oh damn, Iz,” he groans, dropping his head forward as I smooth my hands over his deltoid. “So good.”

The sounds he makes go straight through me, blazing a path of heat and longing down my spine. The sexual attraction between us is alive and well, and doesn’t give a damn about eight years of pain and heartache.

Heated tension thrums in the air. I won’t make the first move. I can’t. I’m too scared of getting in too deep, and then both of us being hurt when I leave again. But the pull toward him is undeniable. And irresistible.

“Will you take your shirt off?” I murmur, running my hands down his spine to the hem. He stills, then nods before yanking it off, revealing all that expanse of smooth, pale skin.

“I’ve got some oil in the bathroom,” he says hoarsely.

I don’t want to think about why he has massage oil. About who might have been using it on him instead of me. But it’s as if Kai can read my mind.

“Evie gave it to me for Christmas. It’s got muscle-relaxing essential oils in it. I’ve never opened it.”

“Okay,” I whisper, sliding my hands off his shoulders. He stands up and moves quickly to the bathroom. But on his way back, he comes to a stop in the entry to the living room. He stares at me intently, indecision warring on his face.

When he returns and sits in front of me, wordlessly handing me the bottle and a towel that I drape on my lap, I’m curious but I don’t dare ask what he was debating.

Opening the oil, I pour a small amount into my hands and get back to work.

It’s just a massage, Isabelle. Just. A. Massage.

“Fuck,” he grunts when I hit one particular spot. Then he moans as I feel the knot melt under my touch.

I can’t help but smile. It feels good to know I’m helping him. After a while, my thumbs are getting tired, and I give him one final rub up and down his spine before sitting back.

“There. I hope that helps.”

Kai slumps back between my legs, his head landing on the towel. “So. Fucking. Good.”

I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I simply clench them at my sides and say quietly, “I’m glad it helped.” His eyes are closed, his head still in my lap. My fingers long to run through his hair, but I don’t.

The longer I stare at him, the harder it gets to keep my hands to myself. My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. Is his thermostat on the fritz or did it just get a lot hotter in here? Maybe I ate some wasabi by mistake and I’m having a delayed reaction.

Then, finally, Kai’s eyes open, locking on mine. He moves slowly, shifting to his knees so he’s facing me, his hands coming to the tops of my thighs. His large palms span the top of them.

“Kai,” I whisper. I have to know what he’s thinking. I can’t wait any longer for him to bring it up.

“Isabelle.”

“We kissed last week.”

He gives me a crooked grin. “We did. It was a good kiss.”

“What…what does it mean? What are we doing?” I bite my lower lip, but he reaches up and frees it with his thumb.

His head tilts to the side as he studies me with his dark gaze, his thumb still stroking along my jawline. Seconds pass by so slowly, I feel like I may explode out of my skin if he doesn’t say something. Then he does, only his answer leaves me even more unsure of what to do than before.

“Do we need to define it? Or can it just be whatever feels good for us both?”

I don’t know what to say.

Can it?