Page 54 of Play the Game

Scottie glances down at the black cat in her arms and begins to talk to him like he’s a human. “Did you hear that, Shutter? He called you an outside cat. The audacity.”

“I’m serious, Scottie,” I say. “Outside. Now.”

She rolls her eyes, but for once, they’re actually soft and playful. I may even go as far as to say there’s a spark of happiness in them.

All over a dumpster cat.

“Fine,” she drags out the word as she passes by me. Her elbow skims my chest with Shutter cradled in her arms. She places him on the porch and looks down at him. “One second.”

I stand back and watch her rush down the hallway. I hear her clanking around in the kitchen, and my eyebrows rise as she comes back with two bowls. One is empty, and the other has water in it. She places them down in front of Shutter, who’s waiting patiently on the porch, and gives him a pet in between the ears. Then she turns and walks back through the door with a tiny smile on her face.

The air around her shifts. It’s like this cat took away her hard exterior and replaced it with a version of her that I've yet to see.

After I give Shutter one more scathing look, I shut the door and head for wherever Scottie ran off to. She sits on the couch with her blanket and the mug Ford got me for Christmas that reads,I banged your sister,acting as if I don’t exist. She stares at the blank wall, like it’s better to look at or something.

“Are you purposefully acting like I don’t exist?”

She turns to me. “Hmm?”

My lips flatten, and I sigh. I cut right to the chase. “I have a game tomorrow.”

Steam floats in front of her face from the mug. “I’m well aware.” Her lips fall to the rim, and she gently sucks whatever liquid is inside.

Is she fucking with me?

I sigh loudly. “I expect you to be there.” My gaze falls to her naked finger. “With your ring on.”

She peeks at me from atop the rim and gives me a subtle nod.

“You have a box seat, next to the other wives.”

That gets her attention. Scottie’s shoulders tense, and she places the mug on the coffee table. “What? Why? I can’t just sit in the stands and enjoy the game?”

I leave her for a second and head to my bag. “You’re Mrs. Olson now,” I call over my shoulder. “That means you sit with the rest of the wives.”

There’s an argument waiting to be had, but instead of putting up a fight, Scottie leans back into the couch cushions and gives me a sharp nod. “You’re right.”

My extra jersey flies through the living room and lands on her lap. Her fingers graze the blue material slowly. “That’s what you’ll wear instead of that worn shirt you love so much.”

Scottie’s finger trails the letters of my last name with her lip trapped in between her teeth.

“Do you remember our backstory?” I ask.

Her gulp echoes around the room before she pins me with a determined look. “Yes.”

I shift uncomfortably. “I was…busy in college.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Busy?”

Why do I feel guilty all of a sudden?

I flex my jaw and cut right to the chase. “I fucked a lot of women.”

Her mouth flies open. “Oh.”

This is uncomfortable. “We can just chalk it up to me trying to…get over you?”

She nods, and her face softens. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do what I need to do to make us believable.”

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