Page 88 of Play the Game

The tall one? I laugh. That’s not usually the word most people use to describe Emory, but she isn’t wrong. He is tall.

Utterly gorgeous too.

Insanely athletic.

Has an irresistible confidence about him.

Not to mention his world-stopping kissing abilities.

Oh my god. Shut up.

“His name is Emory,” I say.

She nods, stopping to take a breather. “He came and paid all your dues a while ago. Shortly after you moved out.”

My lips part. The tiniest smile falls to her wrinkled lips, and she pulls her bag out of my hand but not before giving mine a quick squeeze. “If he didn’t tell you, that means he’s one of the good ones. He didn’t do it for any reason other than to take a burden off you.”

Betty starts to walk up the stairs again as I try to wrap my head around the fact that Emory came here without my knowledge and paid the remainder of my lease.

“Betty!” I jog up the rest of the stairs after her and pull out some of the money that I was going to put toward my lease. “Here.”

Her eyes fall to the cash in my hand, and she starts to shake her head, but I slip it inside her bag anyway. “I like to pay it forward.”

I should save it and put it toward the legal fees, but sometimes, you have to take care of people who never expect it.

Thirty-Eight

EMORY

I’mthe last to enter the locker room, always waiting for the rest of the team to pile in first. I pull my helmet off as sweat slides down my face and onto the floor. The guys are quiet when I enter, which immediately sets me off-balance.

I find Rhodes standing off to the side, half undressed with a smirk on his face.

I’m on edge.

None of the guys said a single thing about my biscotti nickname from the other night, which is odd. I’ve been waiting for one of them to let me have it like Ford did, but it’s like they didn’t even catch the interview.

“What?” I finally snap.

Malaki snorts before I see his shoulders shake. I narrow my gaze and stomp off to my locker—which is exactly when I realize why the entire team is acting like a bunch of idiots.

And there it is.

“Really?” I snap.

There, on the bench, right in front of my locker, is a silver platter with a mound of fucking individually wrapped biscotti on top. I stare at the cookies, and Scottie enters my head for the fifteenth time since I left her this morning.

“You guys think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” I turn, giving each and every one of them the finger. A rumble of laughter works its way through the locker room like an avalanche. Even the coaches pop out of their office and laugh too.

Usually, I’d be perturbed that I was the team’s current target, but with the constant bickering and personal competitions they seem to have on the ice working against one another, this is veering on camaraderie. Sure, they’re bonding over making fun of me, but they’re connecting nonetheless, and that’s a step in the right direction.

“To our benefit, it wasn’t our idea.” Corbin pulls on a shirt, but as soon as it’s over his head, I see his crooked grin.

Malaki laughs. “But damn, it was a good one. I’ve watched the interview three hundred times since it aired.”

I give him a look. “You need a girlfriend to fill your time.”

“If only I could find my own Scottie Biscotti.”

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