Page 59 of Play the Game

Depends on what kind of wife you want me to be.

Without looking at her, I fire off another text.

Not the sloppy drunk kind.

Well, in that case…

I swear the air in the club grows hotter. Like a puppet, I feel a tug on my attention and find her staring at me from across the club. She doesn’t take her wild blue eyes from me when she reaches for the shot glass in Hattie’s hand and tips it back in one gulp.

My eyebrow cocks, and my breath hitches.

A deep growl vibrates within my chest as I type another text.

You’re asking for trouble.

Her eye roll pushes me over the edge.

I can blame it on my sudden exhaustion from the game I just played or the touch of jealousy I recognize when I watch the male bartender eye her for a little too long. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve found myself in another club with my teammates, just like before, when I inserted myself into someone else’s bullshit and found myself in the back of a police car.

Get over here and act like my wife, Rogue.

Or else the bartender is going to drop every last glass balancing on his tray when I happen to walk over there and calmly tell him to keep his eyes to himself.

Instead of acting like a caveman, I take another sip of beer and try to relax. I have a good head on my shoulders. I’m one to learn from my mistakes, so I move my attention to Scottie again instead of the bartender who is egging me on just by existing.

Her back is to me when I feel another text come in.

I’m not sure I like the way you’re bossing me around.

I can’t help but chuckle. I’m not sure I have ever had a woman talk to me the way Scottie does. She looks so sweet with her sunshiny appearance. Her light hair and eyes are appealing and soft in ways that draw everyone in a little closer, but that mouth is going to drive me absolutely crazy.

I’m not sure I like the way you’re drawing attention from every male in this bar with my last name on your back.

Without giving myself a reason to back out, I stand abruptly and keep my sights directly on her. I may have even gotten up mid-conversation with my teammates, but I can’t seem to care.

Scottie laughs at something Georgia says. She places her hands on her shoulders to brace herself. When Georgia makes eye contact with me, I know she's warning her that I’m about to swoop in.

Scottie straightens quickly on the dance floor, but without allowing her to turn or run away, I slip my hands to her waist and steady her.

“Don’t run,” I whisper down into her ear. “You’re my wife, and we’re in public. Remember?”

She turns her head slightly and angles her flushed face to meet mine. I raise an eyebrow and whisper in her ear, “There are eyes in here, so it’s time to act like my wife.”

Too many eyes if you ask me.

“Have you ever heard of asking nicely?” She says it with a sweetness in her tone, but I know her well enough to recognize the sarcasm.

“I thought I was being nice when I didn’t turn you into the authorities for trying to blackmail me. I thought I was being nice when I saved you from that classy strip club you were working at too.”

Scottie’s bony elbow hits me in the ribs. My stomach tightens from the hit, and now I’m irritated.

The music shifts to a different song, and either it’s in my head, or it’s on the provocative side. “I think I’m the one who's doing the saving, Olson.”

There she goes again, using my last name.

“Again. You’re asking for trouble, Rogue.”

“What are you gonna do? Withhold my pay?” She’s acting bold, so I pull her in closer. I take my nose and drag it up her neck, resting right beside her ear. I feel her body go eerily still against mine. I can’t pay attention to who's around us because I’m too invested in our war. What was supposed to be a normal celebration of after-game drinks with the team and other wives is turning into yet another quarrel. Scottie makes things complicated, always wanting to argue or defy me, yet I can’t keep myself from craving our interactions or provoking her further.

---