Page 49 of Play the Game

A tight breath gets lodged in my throat when I reach for her wrist. I turn her hand so her palm is facing me, and I drop the new phone into it before curling her fingers around the device and shoving it into her chest. Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, and it takes just about every ounce of restraint for me not to free it from the nervous habit.

I dip my head. My mouth is right beside her ear. “It’s non-negotiable.”

She turns, and our lips are so close I can feel her warm breath mingle with mine. I raise an eyebrow, ready for her to become combative with me.

“I don’t remember seeing it in the contract.” She raises the same eyebrow.

“If I’m paying for it, what does it matter?” I lean away from her because the longer I breathe her in, the higher I feel. “Not to mention, the contract says I’m responsible for paying the bills.”

“It’s my bill. Not yours.”

I snort. “You’re on my plan now, baby. So, itismy bill.”

Something flashes across her face, and she takes a step away, but not before she looks at my mouth for a quick second. She snaps her baby blues back to me and sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

Feeling victorious from winning, I head for the fridge to prepare one of my ready-to-eat dinners, that I have been living off since college, with a pep in my step. The meals are full of protein, and although they’re pricey, it beats trying to cook for myself on the schedule that I’m on during the season.

Shit.

With my back turned to Scottie, I realize that I have nothing for her to eat unless she wants to eat one of these, which is highly unlikely.

I continue preparing the meal and pop it into the microwave. She’s moved to the couch in the living room, and she looks so tiny in between the large cushions. A laptop that looks like it’s been through the wringer is perched on her criss-crossed legs, and there are small, black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose as she stares intently at the screen.

The glow of the computer paints her cheekbones with a bluish light, and it’s really disturbing that I feel a twist in my lower stomach the longer I look at her.

She’s pretty.

Especially when she isn’t putting up a front, acting all tough and independent.

When the microwave goes off, Scottie doesn’t even move. All of her concentration is on her computer.

The entire time I eat my food, I watch her.

She either has no idea, or she’sthatfocused on whatever she’s doing on her computer.

Maybe she’s in college? That’d be a reason to need money.

I clear my throat when I’m finished with my dinner and stand to go upstairs.

Long gone are the days where I’d go out with the guys, get shitfaced, end up in some girl’s bed, and stay up until the wee hours of the night. Now, it’s an early bedtime and morning workouts before the sun rises.

I go back and forth over whether or not to leave Scottie to fend for herself. She’ll find something to eat if she’s hungry, right? She has her blanket and pillow perched on the end of the couch, all nice and tidy-like.

She’s fine.

Like a stealthy creep, I walk behind the couch and head for the stairs—but not before I glance at the computer screen.

I almost fall when I catch a glimpse of the photos she’s editing. My feet refuse to go forward. Instead of moving, I stand there and watch as she zooms in on my hand on her face with our mouths almost touching. She blurs the background of my bedroom so all the focus is on us, and I have to admit, the photo looks damn good.

We look…real.

“Wow.”

Scottie jumps and slams the computer shut, like she’s watching porn instead of editing our wedding photos. “God, make a noise next time!”

“I’m not sure you’d hear it if I did.” I chuckle. “That was some pretty intense concentration. I made a meal and ate it, all while watching you, and you didn’t notice.”

Her eyes grow large. “You were watching me?”

---