Page 47 of Play the Game

“But?”

“But I think I’ve made some people angry.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “William, how many times have I told you that your behavior and choices have consequences? You’re in the position you’re in now because of those choices. You can’t let people talk you into doing things.”

I’m inmyposition because of those choices too.

“I know, but…” There’s more commotion in the background, and William sounds scared. “I’ve gotta go. They’re cutting my time short.”

I panic. “I love y?—”

The phone call ends, and I feel sick.

I cradle my stomach and drop the phone to the floor. It bounces off the soft carpet, and I shut my eyes. Stress hinders me from moving, so I just stay right there, pinned against the wall with my thoughts spiraling.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but when my breathing feels controlled, and my stomach stops turning, I open my eyes and search for my phone on the floor.

I freeze when I see a pair of men’s bare feet in my peripheral vision.

How does someone that works their body to the brink of collapsing daily have such nice feet?

I turn and peer at Emory. He’s leaning against the doorframe with one shoulder, and my phone is in his hand.

It’s painful to look at him.

Embarrassment stains my cheeks, but I dig down to the smallest amount of self-worth that I have and act as if nothing happened.

He watches me with rapt attention as I stand up taller. I cross my arms over the silky, low-cut dress before holding my hand out. “Can I have my phone, please?”

His eyes show a challenge. “No.”

“No?” I question, attempting to pop my hip out.

It didn't work because of my dress, but the attempt was there.

His attention falls to my waist before he creeps his way back to my face.

“Turn.”

“Excuse me?”

Emory stalks toward me with my phone still in his tight grip. His free hand drops to my hip, and he spins me around. “I said turn.”

I can’t breathe, and I have no idea why I’m letting him boss me around. If it were any other man, I’d stomp on his foot and curse him out, but with Emory, it’s different.

The sound of my zipper echoes throughout the long, empty hallway, and my dress loosens around my shoulders. A shiver sweeps through my bloodstream when I feel the faint touch of his knuckles graze my spine. “Go change and meet me in the kitchen.”

I open my mouth with a refusal ready to go, but Emory is already halfway down the hall and heading for the stairs when I turn around, half-holding my dress.

“Are you going to give me my phone back?!” I shout, heading for my bag that’s still unpacked in his bedroom.

Emory ignores me, which is nothing new.

Twenty-Two

EMORY

Her soft footstepscatch my attention, but I am fully aware of her every move, even when she isn’t heading in my direction.

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