Page 79 of Play the Game

It’s the cleaning personnel.

I silently thank them for stepping in and giving me a reason to kiss my fake wife, becausefuck,it felt so damn good, and I can’t find it in myself to regret it.

“Sorry about that,” I say to them, not sorry at all. “I thought we were alone.”

The man holding a mop nods, and the women all blush.

Scottie steps away immediately but not before her eyes drop down to see my hard length.

Looks like I can’t hide my attraction after all.

Her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink, and she quickly spins. “I’ll see you at home.”

She rushes past the cleaning personnel and sends them an apology before disappearing altogether.

While I finish getting dressed and fill my bag with my gear, I grin to myself.

You can run, Scottie, but you can’t hide.

I look down at my boner.

Apparently, neither can he.

The house isdark when I get home. I suppress a laugh while I jog up the front steps, ignoring Shutter and his angry glower in my direction.

I make no attempt at being quiet when I enter through the front door, knowing very fucking well that she isn’t actually asleep. My phone goes off for the fiftieth time since leaving the arena—apparently it isn’t only Ford who found my interview funny.

It’s all over social media.

Even my former teammates from college are sending me texts.

Ford started a group chat with Theo and Aasher, and they continue to create memes of my interview that I know will show up on the internet.

I’m used to being in the spotlight, but this is the first time it’s for a reason other than my jail time or a rendezvous that never happened, so I’m not mad about it.

That was the entire point of this whole thing anyway. Having Scottie by my side was to silence the negative things in the media, and so far, it’s working.

“I know you aren’t asleep.”

I chuckle under my breath when the lump on the couch makes no movement.

It’s probably a good thing she’s pretending to be asleep and avoiding me.

I’m not sure I trust myself at this particular moment, so instead of poking her any further, I go upstairs to my room. I leave the door cracked, which is something I started doing after she had that crazy nightmare, just in case something happens while she’s downstairs on herbed.

I meant to tell her about the spare bed, but I’ve still yet to actually do it.

I like to think it’s because I’m stubborn, but after looking down at my still semi-hard dick, I know that’s not the reason.I want her in my bed.

I step into the shower and try my hardest to ignore the feeling of her tongue moving against mine while in the locker room. I shove away the mental image of her peeking at me through her long lashes, showing off lustful eyes that are too captivating not to notice.

I lean my head against the shower wall. Both of my hands press into the hard stone while I try to clear my head.

Stop thinking about her.

I pretend I'm back in the game, blocking pucks. I go over the plays and visualize my teammates as they fly over the ice, but then pops in Scottie, yelling my name in the stands with my jersey on, and I’m suddenly gripping my dick.

Fuck. Go away.

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