Page 34 of Play the Game

Maybe a bit of both.

Instead of answering her, I bend down and scoop her into my arms. Naturally, she protests and slaps my chest. Ignoring her again, I carry her through the open apartment door, and it takes everything in me not to let my jaw fall.

This is where she lives?

Fuck, no wonder she needs money.

There are cracks in the walls, mismatched kitchen chairs at a small table, one measly tattered couch, and don’t even get me started on the “bed.”

I stop in my tracks when I see a random pot on her mattress.

“You do know that’s not a stove, right?”

She huffs. “Put me down.”

I set her on the kitchen counter. It’s not big, but neither is she, so she fits just fine.

“Let me see it,” I demand.

Scottie’s soft lips purse, and to no surprise, she keeps her legs dangling and refuses to show me her ankle. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought it was obvious.” I gesture to her chaotic state. “You clearly need help moving into my house, and what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t show up?”

Scottie shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe the fake one that you are…”

A deep laugh leaves me. “There’s nothing fake about it. Papers are signed.”

That seems to shut her up. She breaks our eye contact and looks off to the side, as if she’s rethinking our scheme. I take it as an opportunity to slip her shoe off and look at her injured ankle.

Blue-painted toes stare back at me. I ignore the softness of her leg as I grip her by the calf and examine the red spot forming on the outside of her ankle. “Do you have ice?” I look around while still keeping her leg in my hand. I eye the small refrigerator.

“I’m fine.” Scottie tries to pull her leg away, but I tighten my fingers and stop her. The kitchen is such a small space that I can reach over and open the freezer while keeping her trapped.

It’s completely empty.

No ice.

No frozen pizzas.

Nothing.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She's looking in the complete other direction. Her plump bottom lip is trapped between her teeth as she nibbles on the flesh like it’s her only source of food.

With a bad feeling in my gut, I shut the freezer and open the fridge.

Jesus.

There’s one near-empty package of cheese slices, some off-brand hazelnut coffee creamer, a few oranges, and…a half-eaten biscotti? It’s worse than a poor college student trying to save money.

This is just…sad.

I slowly shut the refrigerator and quickly run my gaze down her slim frame. It’s clear to me that she doesn’t eat out much—not to mention, she obviously doesn’t have the finances for it. My curiosity piques even further, but I stuff the little tidbit of information in the back of my mind and get on with it.

“Well,” I sigh, “I guess we can ice it at my place after we get married.” Which I guess is her place too.

Scottie catches my eye, and it only takes looking into her baby blues for a split second to know she has a wealth of fuckery trapped somewhere behind them. I suddenly want to know everything there is to know about her. Where is her family? Why does she live in a shithole? How did a girl like her end up working at the Cat House?

Slowly, I drop her leg and let it dangle beside the other one. My heart thumps harder than it should when I take a step closer. My hands suddenly have a mind of their own as they creep up her legs and move to land on her hips.

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