Page 136 of Play the Game

Shutter purrs from somewhere that feels like the top of my head. I peek one eye open, and his tail flicks me in the face.

“Really?” I groan. “Good morning to you too.”

I turn toward Emory, but instead of seeing him lying there, a box is in his place.

Sitting up in my groggy state, I slowly reach out and pull it onto my lap. I laugh softly when I see tiny teeth marks on the side from Shutter. “Did you think this was for you?” I ask, giving him a look.

He sighs and turns his head, like he’s upset that it isn’t.

After pulling the top of the box open, I freeze.

There’s a piece of torn notebook paper with Emory’s messy handwriting.

This battery should last longer than twenty minutes.

Good luck today.

My eyes gloss over.

He got me a new camera?

Without even thinking, I grab my phone and call him.

“Morning, Biscotti.”

He’s out of breath from conditioning, yet he still answered.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

My phone makes a noise, and I roll my eyes when I see he’s trying to switch it to FaceTime. I quickly run my fingers through my hair and blink a few times so he can’t see my teary eyes. As soon as his face fills the screen, my stomach fills with butterflies.

“Dead serious,” he says.

“Emory. This is too much.”

But I love it.

He takes the back of his hand and wipes his face after chugging water. Sweat drips over his cheek, and it’s insanely hot. “Considering what I want to do? It isn’t.”

He’s referring to paying the legal fees off right now instead of following through on our terms. But I made him promise, and he isn’t one to break promises.

I give him a look, and the only thing it does is deepen his grin. It drives me wild, and suddenly, I find myself smiling too.

“Look at that,” he coaxes. “My wife is smiling in our bed with nothing but that thin T-shirt on.”

Heat coils in my stomach, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip.

“Stay right there.” Emory moves through the weight room, and I watch in silence as he enters the quiet locker room, away from his teammates. “I’m coming home.”

I laugh. “Stop it.”

He pauses. “You stop it.”

“Stop what?” I ask, laughing again.

Emory’s flirtiness fades. My heart beats harder when he opens his mouth, but then he closes it before opening it one more time. “Stop making me fall in love with you.”

I drop the phone.

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