Page 42 of Play the Game

I shift on my bare feet, waiting for him to finish looking at the schedule, hoping he’s okay with it. A part of me feels like he’s my boss. It’s a mutual agreement. Our “marriage” is a convenience for both of us, but I can’t help the deeply rooted part inside of me that is constantly trying to please other people.

I learned from my high school counselor, when she urged me to come into her office after hearing of my home life, that childhood neglect will fester into traits like pleasing people, low self-worth, and mistrust in almost every relationship going forward.

Unfortunately, she was right.

Emory finally clicks my phone screen off. “Looks good to me.”

A relieved sigh falls from my mouth. “Good. We will take our wedding photos today.”

There’s a slight rush of excitement at the thought. I haven’t taken photos in so long that my fingers itch to even hold my camera for a few seconds, getting lost in the moment. It may be a fake marriage, but I’m going to capture every feigned moment and make it believable.

Emory snaps me out of my thoughts. “I have practice.”

Right. Pro hockey player…as if I could forget.

“We will do it after, then. Do you have a suit?” I shake my head. Of course he does. He wears them to all the games…not that I’ve noticed.

After placing his container in the trash, Emory rounds the kitchen counter and nods to the stairs. “They’re in the closet.Have your pick.” He pauses next to me, and I turn slowly. With a lazy look in his eye, he scans me from head to toe, and I’m suddenly self-conscious.

I refuse to let him see that he makes me uncomfortable, though, just like I refuse to go down a path of self-consciousness because I’m so used to not being good enough.

When he reaches my eye again, he winks. “See you after practice, wife.”

My stomach flips, and my cheeks burn.

I say nothing because I’m in shock from the way his wink sent a line of fire straight down my spine.

I’m clearly impressionable when it comes to Emory’s blue eyes and flirty smirk. I could easily find myself in a world of disappointment by letting myself believe there is something more than just a contract marriage between the two of us. There is no room for heartbreak in my life, though.

The door opens, and I watch Emory head out of the house, hockey bag in tow.

Right before he disappears, he leans back and catches me staring. “Oh, and don’t even think about pawning that ring for money.”

I gape at him, and his chuckle follows him the rest of the way out the door.

Never mind.

I am not impressionable when it comes to my new husband.

Not at all.

Twenty

EMORY

The team was confusedwhen I showed up to practice with a ring on my finger.

Most of them kept their suspicions to themselves, only giving me the side-eye, but after Malaki wouldn’t stop poking around, Rhodes eventually pulled him aside and made him shut his mouth.

After all, he was the one who handed me her gum wrapper note that first night and recognized her right away, even when Kane argued about her hair color. Before I left to head home, I ushered him to my car and slipped him an NDA. He signed it willingly but not before pretending to be wounded that I didn’t trust him.

He said something about wanting the same thing as I did—a better reputation for the team—and reiterated that we’re all here to do a job.

Apparently, at the moment, mine is playing dress-up with my new wife to pose in front of her camera for our fake wedding photos.

I sigh when I open the front door, hoisting my hockey bag higher onto my shoulder. The house smells…sweet. There’s a soft floral scent wafting throughout the open space, and sure, it’sa nice smell to come home to after a long day on the ice, but it irks me in the same breath, because I know it’sher.

“You’re late.”

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