Page 65 of Play the Game

“Don’t remind me,” she mumbles, following me toward the door.

When we make it outside, something hits me in the back. I turn and catch my balled-up hoodie before it hits the ground.

“Put a shirt on!” Scottie zooms past me after petting Shutter between the ears. “And you get one question a day, so choose wisely.”

I smile to myself and follow after her, knowing I’ve won.

Twenty-Nine

SCOTTIE

Did you sleep last night?

I nuzzle Shutter’shead with my chin as he snuggles in closer. His purring is almost louder than my phone’s text tone. Rubbing my hand down his silky black fur, I type a quick text to Emory while smiling to myself.

Is that your question for the day?

He texts back within seconds, which is surprising because he’s about to climb on the ice for a game. I already have it ready to go on my phone because, for the life of me, I can’t find a TV in his house. What man doesn’t own a TV? I’m afraid to snoop around, fearful there are cameras somewhere, so I have the app downloaded and will watch it that way.

No.

I wait because I know he’ll fire his real question off in a matter of seconds. He stuck true to his word and has only asked me one question per day since dropping me off at my car andfollowing closely behind until we got back to his house, which was when he asked a question that made my cheeks burn with humiliation. He didn’t believe me that I’d never had a boyfriend and assumed I was lying. I had to explain to him that, although I have dated before, I’ve never been in the type of relationship where chocolates, movie dates, and early morning cuddles were involved. The only time I see those things in my future is if I plan for them in order to keep our show of a happy marriage believable.

Shutter lets out a loud sigh when Emory texts again, clearly agitated that my phone is interrupting his slumber.

This is my question, and answer quickly because I’m about to head out for warm-ups.

Are you letting the demon inside the house while I’m away?

My body stills. I search around the room for cameras with a pounding heart. I bounce my attention to every corner of the living room while I lie on the couch with a rigid spine.

Shit, how does he know?

I’ll know if you’re lying.

Being my typical snarky self with my new husband, I quietly snap a photo of Shutter on my chest and send it to him.

I send another text and roll my lips together while I wait for his response. It’s been a very long time since I’ve texted back and forth with anyone that wasn’t related to work or William. I almost don’t know what to do with the jitters I feel in my stomach, eagerly waiting for a message.

Instead of a text coming through, a call comes.

I panic with my finger hovering over the answer button.

The defiance I have when it comes to Emory lingers, but I answer the phone anyway because my curiosity gets the best of me.

“Hello?” I answer quietly.

Emory’s face appears because he switches it to a video call at the last second. I smooth my features so I don’t give anything away, but imagine my shock when I see the background of a locker room behind his seemingly stern face.

“Really?” he says, sending me a look. “Get that psycho thing out of m—” He pauses, and something flickers across his face. “Our house.”

Our house.

As much as I want to poke him further, I don’t, because not only is he about to go play a game against one of the best teams in the league right now, but I’m his wife. The snarkiness has to stay behind closed doors, and the flirtiness has to emerge.

“Our house is warmer,” I say, nuzzling Shutter again.

“He’s a cat. He’ll be fine. Put him back outside.”

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