Page 61 of Play the Game

His answer snaps me out of my thoughts. “What point?”

“That you’re mine.”

I open my mouth to argue, because it’s my default, but he takes control so quickly I don’t have time to think.

Emory drags his hand across my hip and pins me against him by gripping my chin with enough force to get my full attention. “I’m going to kiss you.”

My eyes widen.

“Prepare yourself because, remember, everyone in this club thinks I’ve fucked you, Scottie. So act appropriately.”

“Emor—”

Every single thought disappears.

Him.

That’s all I feel.

His mouth falls to mine, and at first, I think it’s a shock to both of us. There’s an electricity buzzing between our bodies, and the tension is so tight my chest constricts. His fingers grip my face tighter as his other hand slowly skims over my curves like he’s touched me a million times before. Just when I think he’s done and he slowly lets up on my mouth, he goes back in for more.

I’m at his mercy.

The warmth of his mouth on mine flows through my limbs freely, and I find myself opening up for him. He kisses me again and again, sweeping his devilish tongue back and forth. He presses his lips harder into mine, like someone is trying to pull us apart, and the smallest little bit of fear slips through at the thought.

When a little noise escapes me—without my permission—it snaps him out of whatever spell we’re both under. He pulls back, and although he doesn’t show it on his face, I feel it in his grip.

He’s just as shocked as I am, even if he was the one in charge.

And I guess that’s what he was trying to tell me this entire time. I’m his, whether I'm being paid or not, and he’s just proved it to anyone who’s watching.

After glancing around the club briefly, I’m pretty sure everyone was watching.

Malaki wiggles his eyebrows, and I’m sweating from the attention.

Emory clears his throat, and I watch him fight through some type of thought. Our eyes meet and, with a grumbly voice, he says, “Since I’ve proven my point, I think it’s time to go.”

His warm palm falls into mine, and we say a brief goodbye to his teammates and the wives. As soon as we’re outside, the cool air coats my heated skin, and I inhale deeply. I feel drunk, and it has nothing to do with the tiny shot I had.

I reach inside my purse for my keys but stumble forward when Emory pulls the bag from my shoulder. “You’re riding with me.”

A little high from the kiss, I’m slow to be combative. I follow after him for a split second before snapping out of it and stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk.

It doesn’t take long for Emory to realize I’m not moving. He turns slightly, looking at my mouth once before moving to my eyes. “Scottie, I’m tired. Let’s go.”

“What about my car?” I ask.

He gawks at me. “What about it?”

I look around at my surroundings. It’s well past business hours, but the city is still very much alive. Replacing sleek vehicles and business men biking to work are Ubers and gangs of drunken college students mixed in with the homeless who are trying to score a buck.

“Someone might break into it or…steal it.”

It might seem silly to be attached to a shitty car like the one I own, but the hunk of metal is a part of me. I saved up for it, and as of late, it’s one of the only things that I consider mine.

I’m proud of it.

Emory’s laughter pisses me off. I cross my arms over the jersey he made me wear. I’m seconds from ripping it off just to irritate him.

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