Page 69 of Sideline Play

Mapping his fingers along my face and down the side of my neck as if he’s trying to memorize me, he answers, “For beingyou… accepting me… loving me… for never turning me away whenever I reach for you…”

“Remi—”

“No, wait, listen,” he quickly interrupts, cupping my face. “Touch in a relationship is very important to me. I need it in order to feel connected to my partner, to feel her love. And I just want to tell you that I appreciate how welcoming you are of me and how you treat my needs not as an afterthought or a chore for you but a priority. So, thank you.”

“You make loving you far too easy, Remi.”

“As do you, Scar,” he murmurs, kissing me once more. Then standing up, he takes my hand in his and hauls me off the bed, saying, “Come on, let’s go try out that overpriced tub I have.”

“Oh I already have and it’snice.Worth every penny you spent,” I giggle, as he throws me over his shoulder, lightly swatting my butt.

Depositing me in the bathroom, he says, “Then you can get us set up. I’m going to go get the baby. I think I hear her starting to whine at the stairs. How much do you think it would cost to have them remodeled so they’re no longer slatted?”

Shrugging as I start fussing with the knob, I answer, “I don’t know; I'm in charge of decorating.”

“Doesn’t matter. If she won’t use the current ones, I’ll have ‘em renovated after we leave.”

Sitting on the edge, I pout, “I can’t believe we have to go back already.”

“We still have about three weeks and don’t worry, baby girl,” he says, coming back for me and kissing my forehead. “I’ll bring you back whenever you want.

“Besides, the sooner we return to Nashville, the sooner I can have Donny start adding you to the deed here, get you on my titles, accounts, portfolio, life insurance, and whatever else Ihave. I’m already having him put your name on the drafts for the Brentwood house, so I figure may as well get it all done at once.”

“Remi!” I shout as he walks away. “Remington!

“Ugh! He cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I am! What’s mine is yours!” he calls, proving he’s just been ignoring me. “If you don’t believe me, check that ring on your finger!”

THIRTY

SCARLET

Slamming my laptop closed,I snatch my phone and punch in the password, my jabs so heavy it takes several tries before it unlocks. Scrolling through my contacts, I’m surprised I don’t crack the screen as I hit the call button.

“Scar?” Remi asks, taking his wireless earbud out as he hops off the treadmill.

Putting my finger up, I slice it through the air as I snap, “Uh-uh,” his hands immediately going up in surrender as his lips curl in and he steps back. “Pick up, you misogynistic ass-hat,” I growl as the line continues to ring. “You were just logged on in the portal and have to be in class in fifteen minutes.” As Brady’s voicemail clicks on, I let out a frustrated scream, throwing my phone before I can check my anger.

“Shit!” Remi swears, lunging for it, his reflexes lightening quick as he snatches it before it can crash and shatter.

“Give it back so I can call that douche-canoe again,” I order as he pockets it. Standing up from the table, I slam my hands down on the wood top and glare at him, “Remington Hawthorne Tate, you give me back my phoneright now.”

“So you can fastball it again when he doesn’t pick up? I don’t think so. And unless you got my ma’s wooden spoon over there, middle-namin’ me ain’t gonna have me shakin’.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m sure I can find one upstairs.”

“Kinky,” he smirks, making me dart out from around the table. “Oh shit,” he laughs, taking off for the stairs, running up two at a time.

Chasing him up to the main floor, his much longer legs giving him the advantage, he’s already positioned on the opposite side of the island when I skid into the kitchen.

“What’s your plan here, Remi? Bring me to the kitchen where I have my choice of cooking utensils with which to beat you until I get my phone back?”

“I admit, not my best plan but, baby girl, you look nearly homicidal. And though I amsurethat fucker has it comin’, I’m not too keen on the idea of visiting my wife at the Johnson Rehabillitation Center. Conjugal visits just don’t seem like our thing. Plus, you’re way too pretty for prison and youhateorange. At least if I keep your phone, we can get you pleaded down to heat of passion because there won’t be any proof of premeditation.”

Huffing out a breath, I concede, “I do hate orange.”

“Yeah, you do.”

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