Page 92 of Play the Game

Thirty-Nine

SCOTTIE

I feel like a child,which is fitting because I’m acting like one too.

“Turn around, Biscotti.”

The sound of my foot stomping on the dressing room floor causes Emory’s lip to hitch. I dart my gaze behind his large frame, and he takes a step forward.

“There’s no way out, so just turn around and get this over with.”

He’s right.

I’d have to dart around him and run like the wind if I truly wanted to evade trying on one of these high-end, costly dresses, so I give up and spin around. I catch his eye in the mirror and roll mine at the triumphant look on his face. He reaches forward, but I rip my shirt off before he has a chance to do it.

“I don’t need your help.”

I zero in on his face. His blue eyes are wilder than normal. “Funny, you did last night,” he mutters.

My entire body floods with heat. I turn around in nothing but my jeans and bra. “We arenottalking about last night.”

Emory leans against the wall and crosses his arms. He is so hot I have to look away. I’ve purposefully kept the image of himin the shower out of my head, but with him sharing the small space with me, it’s all I can think about.

“Good, because I don’t think words could describe last night.”

Oh god.

I bite the inside of my cheek and unbutton my jeans, pretending that his sultry gaze following my every move doesn’t make a difference.

Last night was a short blip in time where I momentarily lost my footing. The fact that he got me a biscotti, took my car to get serviced, and secretly paid the remainder of my lease is nice and all, but it doesn’t change anything.

“Try that one first.” Emory nods to the bright-red dress, so I make sure to grab a different one.

I hear his deep chuckle when I toss the hanger on the floor, just to make a point. When I glance at him through the mirror while stepping into the silky dress, my stomach flips. His kissable lips are slightly parted as he stares at me from behind. My heart skips, which is never a good sign. I quickly try to pull the dress up past my hips, but by the end of trying to get the dress on, I’m a shaky, scrambling mess.

Emory stays glued to the wall, watching me, and I knowI look like a disaster. I’m chaos, while he stands there, completely relaxed in harmony.

I reach behind myself and attempt to pull the zipper up and pray to God I can do it on my own, but after I almost snap my elbow, Emory pushes off the wall and slides up behind me. His presence is heavy. The smell of his cologne fills the small dressing room, and I suddenly feel like I’m in a daze.

Focus, Scottie.

Our eyes snag in the mirror. The energy buzzing between us is undeniable. My body is seconds from betraying me, even with my pragmatic ability to deny that anything is happeningbetween us. I have a sudden need to back up against him just to feel his body heat mingle with mine, but I don’t.

I stay completely still and try to smooth my features so he doesn’t know that ever since he kissed me in that club, weeks ago, I haven’t quite been the same.

His finger brushes against my spine as he pulls the zipper higher, and I stop breathing. Why do his touches suddenly feel seductive?

Last night was a mistake.

That much is clear by the fact that I can’t breathe properly with him behind me.

The sound of my bra unclasping catches my ear, and I snap to attention.

“You can’t wear a bra with this.”

He’s right, but a warning would have been nice.

Maybe then I could tell my nipples to stop rearing their pebbled heads, giving me away.

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