Page 91 of Play the Game

She isn’t charmed by money—not in the way one would want to charm her, at least.

If I had to guess, she’s more captivated by small gestures, like a fresh biscotti waiting for her in the morning.

My chest grows tight at the thought because, fuck, was I trying to impress her?

“Come on.” Scottie’s hand grips me harder, but instead of letting her drag me toward the exit, I walk in the opposite direction. A few women shopping for dresses give us the side-eye, and it makes me want to pull Scottie in even further.

Her irritated puff of air hits me from behind as I pull her toward a rack with long dresses. Ford and I tagged alongwith Taytum whenever she went prom dress shopping, so I unfortunately know what I’m doing in a dress shop.

I start to grab a few dresses—all red, just to piss her off. I don’t have to look at her to know what size, because I have every one of her curves memorized.

“Here.” I hold out three different dresses and blink at her, waiting for some sassy remark. Except, she doesn’t react like I expect.

Her arms fall to her sides, and she stands there, looking at the dresses like I’m offering her an organ instead.

“Scottie,” I groan. “They’re just dresses. You let me put a ring on your finger, but you can’t accept a dress?”

“It’s not that!” Her voice rises, and her little jaw clenches.

My fingers dig into the fabric of the dresses with the urge to reach out and move the hair out of her face so I can see her better. Last night really did me in. I’m feeling things that are making it really fucking hard to keep my hands to myself.

And not for the perverted reasons like I’d expect.

I just…want to touch her.

“Then what is it?” I ask, softening my tone. She may think I’m trying to shield my voice to keep our conversation private because the retail worker has popped out a couple of times already, but I know that’s not why.

Scottie stares at her scuffed shoes while she nibbles on her bottom lip. “Why did you pay my lease?”

My forehead furrows. “How do you know about that?”

She finally meets my face, and my stomach tightens with the shiny gloss covering her baby blues. “You think I’m going to let you pay”—she reaches forward and looks at the price of the first dress and scoffs—“eight hundred dollars for a dress when you paid off the rest of my lease off?”

“I paid much more than that for the ring on your finger,” I counter.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s different!” She looks around at the growing number of shoppers before coming in close and whispering, “I’m giving that back.”

The hell she is.

The room shifts with the shocking thought.

I clear my head and grab her hand, dragging her toward the fitting room.

“Emory!” she whines.

I pull back the curtain and take one look at her face before coming to the realization that I can’t trust she’ll actually try any of the dresses on. When she steps in front of me with another annoyed sigh, I follow her in. The curtain rings drag against the rod slowly, and when Scottie turns around, she jumps.

“What are you doing in here?!”

She’s appalled, and I fucking love it.

“Turn around,” I order.

The tone of my voice brims with possession, and with the little flicker of fire in her eye, I think she kind of likes it.

Scottie’s mouth parts. “Are you serious?” she asks. “What are you going to do? Strip me down to my bra and panties and put the dress on me?”

I grin and take a step toward her. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

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