Page 46 of Play the Game

I thought I knew what bedroom eyes were after looking into the faces of men while I danced on a pole. But I was wrong. Emory looks at me like he wants to devour me and take his time doing it too.

He angles his face, and I mimic him. Our noses rub against each other, and I can almost taste him on my tongue. My body slams into his when he pulls me in closer, and his other hand creeps up each of my curves until it brushes against my neck. He cups my cheek, and our lips brush so gently that I wonder if I imagined it, but after another click of the camera, Emory breaks me out of my daze.

“Are we done?” he asks, voice straining.

“Wh–what?”

“Are we done with the photos?” he repeats.

I blink several times before his hand slowly caresses my face, landing right at my mouth. Heat spreads when his thumb faintly rubs against my bottom lip. “You should take a breath, Scottie.”

At the exact time I inhale, my ringtone goes off. I jump away and almost trip, trying to get to my phone. Boulders of dread fall to my shoulders, and the weightlessness I felt when I was in his arms flees.

I tense when I squint past the cracks on my screen and see the number. “I, uh…have to take this.” I’m flustered, and Emory knows it.

“Not sure how you could even see who’s calling, but I’m assuming that means we’re done with our photo shoot.” Emory turns and heads for his master bath, and I scramble out of the bedroom door as quickly as I can.

After listening to the automated voice from the prison and saying, “I accept,” William's voice hits my ear.

“Scottie?”

“I’m here.” I lean against the wall beside the door and chew on my lip. “How are you doing?”

There’s too much noise in the background of the call to figure out which is what, but the longer William is in that place, the more I worry about his well-being in the long run.

I glance back at the bedroom door.

William is easily influenced, but maybe I am too, because for a second there, I believed that Emory actually wanted to kiss me as badly as I wanted him to.

Though, I’ll deny it until the day I die.

I clench my eyes and wait for William to answer me.

“Everything is…okay.”

I’m not convinced.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

A shout echoes before he answers. “No. I just don’t know anything anymore. I’m confused.”

Here we go.

“Tell me what happened,” I coax, softening my tone.

He sighs but says nothing.

“William.” I’m frustrated and worried at the same time. Part of me is angry with my mom for leaving me to deal with the repercussions of her behavior and the other part is angry with fate for taking my father away, because he was the only stable thing in my life. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt sorry for myself, but I’m just so…fed up.

I look at my wedding dress and have the urge to laugh.

What am I doing?

I’m playing dress-up with a pro hockey player and acting like some housewife for money so I can afford to appeal my brother’s prison sentence, only to have to figure out how to prepare him to succeed in society with a disability that isn’t even documented? It’s just absurd.

“One of the guys asked me to do them a favor, and I did.”

Favors in prison. Nowthat’sabsurd.

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