Page 22 of Play the Game

I shrug. “It’s a good thing I came. Otherwise, you’d probably be arrested for keying a man or…”

The rest of my sentence disappears with the gust of wind because, whoever that man was, she felt the need to protect herself. There’s an urgent need to press her further, but I refuse to act interested becauseI’m not.

Scottie and I both give our attention to Kane because he pokes his head out of the car, and his drunken gaze lands on her. “Emory. Is this your…girlfriend? Introduce me. She’s hot.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mumble.

It’s like Ford and I never went to opposite sides of the United States. I’m somehow stilldealing with an idiot.

“Just…shut up,” I stress, pushing on his chest to make him sit back in his seat.

His hand lands on my wrist, and I flex it beneath his half grip. “Wait. Is she yourwife? You’re married, aren’t you? I wishI had a wife. Wait, why are there so many rumors about you and other women, then? That doesn’t make sense. Are you cheating on her?”

A rush of something hot flies through my body. Irritation? Embarrassment? Anger? Over my shoulder, I glance at Scottie, and when our gazes crash, I quickly shut the door on Kane and round the front of my car.

Right before I escape to the driver’s seat, I hear her soft voice, free of any anger or attitude. “Thank you.”

The change in my center console rattles when I slam my door. I grind my teeth together.

Kane slurs under his breath. “She seems sweet. I like her. Don’t cheat on her.”

It takes everything in me not to punch him square in the jaw.

It takes everything in me not to punch myself square in the jaw too, because instead of peeling out of the parking lot and leaving Scottie be, I squint through the darkness and watch her walk all the way to her shitty car to make sure she gets there safe.

Eleven

SCOTTIE

Four cups of coffee,a cold shower, and one biscotti later and I’m still exhausted from my nighttime adventure with a scowling goalie who irks me in every way. My hands shake too much to apply the lipstick, so I hand it to Hunter with a sigh.

“Nervous tonight?”

“Nouh,” I try to answer with my mouth forming an O as she smears lipstick on my lips. When she’s finished, I talk normally. “I’m tired, so I drank too much caffeine.”

“You should try speed, girl,” Hunter says.

Kitty pops in to defend me, like usual. “She doesn’t do that stuff, and we all know it. Stop trying to pressure her.”

Hunter rolls her eyes. “It was just a suggestion. Chill.”

“It was a shitty one,” Chastity mumbles from a few mirrors down.

Despite the stigma that strippers have, they aren’t as bad as everyone makes them out to be. We all have our own story and reasons for ending up at the Cat House.Most women hate us—or the idea of us—and the men look at us like we’re their next meal, but it pays the bills.

Kind of.

My bank account is a little less now that I was forced to put more money on William’s books because of my visitor last night.

Chills cover my arms.

I rub at the tiny bumps on my skin and get ready for my shift, trying my best to ignore the pit in my stomach. Fear brews beneath my nerves, and it stays there for the next two hours as I move seductively, getting showered with dollar bills.

My rent is due soon, I’m living on ramen noodles, the water coming from my kitchen sink tastes funky, and I got another notice from the law firm.

“I’m fine,” I quietly mutter to myself. My hands fall to the pole, and I do a back hook spin while watching Chastity disappear with a man with gelled hair and a suit that could pay my rent for the year into one of the private rooms. Envy makes itself known. If I were willing to do that, I’d make so much more money.

But I’d never.

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