Page 86 of Play the Game

Emory’s deep chuckle makes its way in between my legs, and I silently curse. “It’s kinda cute that you think you have a choice.”

My nose scrunches even though I know he’s technically right. These are the types of things I agreed to do when I signed the contract and became his wife.

Emory strides into the kitchen, and I refuse to move out of his way when he gets close. His coffee mug clinks against the counter, and when he raises his eyebrows, I know he’s expecting me to argue.

I open my mouth to do just that, but Emory quickly grips the biscotti in my hand, and it catches me off guard. He shoves it inside my mouth and whispers in my ear, “And no. That's not why I got you a biscotti.” I’m still shocked when he turns and heads for the stairs. He calls over his shoulder before climbing the steps, “I got you a biscotti because I know you love them.”

I want to be annoyed with him.

But with the taste of sweet almonds on my tongue, a good night's rest, and a sated body, I can’t find it in me to snap out an insult.

Instead, I quietly eat my biscotti and sip on my coffee with a genuine smile on my lips that I promise to make sure he doesn’t see.

After researchingdress shops in the area and texting the group chat that Hattie started and figuring out what the other wives are planning on wearing to the event, I’m ready to go. Emory shouted throughout the house that he was leaving for practice, which is something he’s never done before, so I don’t waste my energy on perfecting my scowl while walking toward the foyer.

My first stop will be my old apartment complex to pay the remainder of my lease. I haven’t touched my account since Ibought my $25 wedding dress from the thrift store, but with the first payment sitting in there from Emory and it being the first of the month, I need to make a visit to Gerald.

The last thing I need is for my old landlord to turn me in to collections. He’s probably sitting outside on a lawn chair, waiting for me to pull up so he can torment me and take my money for a shitty apartment that houses cockroaches.

I stare at the little table by the door thatshouldhave my keys on it, but instead, there’s a note with Emory’s keys resting on top.

With dread, I grab the torn notebook paper and read the note.

Scottie Biscotti-

I took your car to practice because I’m getting it serviced.

I’m tired of people ducking when you turn it on.

P.S. Make sure to buy a red dress. I like you in red…it reminds me of your alter ego, Cherry.

Emory’s keys dig into my palm as I huff with irritation. I open the door and look at Shutter.

“People do not duck when I turn my car on,” I mutter, rubbing my hand along his soft fur.

He meows, and I think he may be arguing with me.

“They don’t,” I say, knowing how insane I am for arguing with a cat.

After finally figuring out how to start Emory’s car, I’m surprised at the power I feel vibrating through my fingers from the engine.

Oh, this is nice. Too nice for me to drive.

I settle back into his seat and ignore the crisp scent of his cologne as I put the car into drive.

After a few rough touches of the brake, I smile to myself and weave in and out of traffic, going much faster than my car can manage.

I’m on the highway when Emory’s name flashes on the screen. I answer it with a flick of my finger.

“Yes?” I say, much more bubbly than normal.

“Stop speeding in my car, Biscotti.”

With a roll of my eyes, I push on the gas harder. “I’m not.”

“You are going eighty-two. Slow down.”

How the–

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