Page 101 of Play the Game

I can’t help but chuckle. “No.”

“I can’t sleep,” she admits.

“I can help with that,” I say, completely joking.

“Emory.” My name sounds like a scold, and I smile to myself.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. Wasn’t the orgasm I gave you earlier enough?”

She exhales loudly, and I wish I was closer to feel her breath on my face.

“I’m kidding, Biscotti.” I reach over and poke the side of her torso to lighten the mood. I keep my hands on top of the covers because even though she thinksshecan’t be trusted…it’s really me. I’m the one who can’t be trusted. “What do you typically do when you can’t sleep?” I ask.

I almost choke on the question.

If she says she gets herself off, I’ll have to lock myself in the bathroom.

“You’re going to laugh,” she says with a quiet voice.

A hum vibrates out of my mouth. “Try me.”

“I watch hockey.”

My brow furrows. “You watch hockey to relax?”

“I know it’s weird, but–”

“It’s not weird.” It’s fucking adorable.

Reaching over to my nightstand, I grab the remote, and the room glows with the light from the flatscreen. I find a hockey game and turn to look at her.

Blue lights flicker against her high cheek bones as she sits up a little taller in bed. Her shoulders relax, and there’s a tiny smile on her lips.

I forcefully swallow.

God, she’s…perfect.

Warmth fills my stomach the longer I stare at her. My heart starts to beat a little quicker, and I try to think of a time that I’ve ever felt this way.

There isn’t a person, or even a situation, that comes close.

I never want to leave this bed with her in it.

Her eyes widen when the Hawks score.

She’s engrossed in the game, and I’m engrossed in her.

Which is a huge fucking predicament.

Forty-Three

SCOTTIE

“Look at them,”I chide.

Gloves are off, helmets are thrown to the side, bare fists are clenched tightly.

Emory adjusts himself on the bed, but I keep my sights locked on the TV. “Just another day in the rink. Probably a lot of chirpin’ on the ice. It irks us.”

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