Chapter 20

Twenty

EMORY

The team was confused when I showed up to practice with a ring on my finger.

Most of them kept their suspicions to themselves, only giving me the side-eye, but after Malaki wouldn't stop poking around, Rhodes eventually pulled him aside and made him shut his mouth.

After all, he was the one who handed me her gum wrapper note that first night and recognized her right away, even when Kane argued about her hair color. Before I left to head home, I ushered him to my car and slipped him an NDA. He signed it willingly but not before pretending to be wounded that I didn't trust him.

He said something about wanting the same thing as I did—a better reputation for the team—and reiterated that we're all here to do a job.

Apparently, at the moment, mine is playing dress-up with my new wife to pose in front of her camera for our fake wedding photos.

I sigh when I open the front door, hoisting my hockey bag higher onto my shoulder. The house smells…sweet. There's a soft floral scent wafting throughout the open space, and sure, it's a nice smell to come home to after a long day on the ice, but it irks me in the same breath, because I know it's her.

"You're late."

I crane my neck to the living room and almost lose my footing.

My knees buckle, and I'm punched in the gut with her appearance.

What the fuck did I get myself into?

There stands my new wife, bound by a feigned contract, wearing a wedding dress that accentuates every delectable curve of her body and highlights how tragically beautiful she truly is. With bright-blue eyes and high cheekbones that shimmer under the natural light of the room, I'm sort of at a loss for words.

It surprises me. I blink a few times before I finally speak. "Wh–what?" I grip my bag tighter and snap myself out of the trance she's put me under.

"You're late," she repeats.

It's hard to ignore the attitude in her tone, and my eye twitches.

"You've been my wife for twenty-four hours, and you're already getting angry when I'm not home on time?" I grunt and turn my back to her, hating that seeing her in a wedding dress has me all twisted.

The silk of her dress makes a noise that catches my attention as her feet slap against the hardwood floor. No shoes? I refuse to look at her cute feet.

"I need natural light for our photos!" There's an urgency in her tone that pulls me back around. Her hand falls to my forearm, and she slips my bag off my shoulder, letting it fall with a thud to the floor.

My brow furrows as I look at her small palm gripping my arm.

"Let's go!"

"Go where?" I let her pull me through the house over to the stairs because I'm simply confused.

She turns back and peeks over her delicate shoulder. The dress shows off some skin, and I hate that it's so soft looking. I also hate that I remember how she felt in my lap that night I proposed to her…the word propose ostensible in every sense.

"To get dressed!" She lets go of me, and a piece of her pinned-back blonde hair falls into her face. "Go!"

The moment I step in front of her, she pushes me from behind.

"You're bossy," I call over my shoulder.

I catch her with her hip popped out and her arms crossed over her slightly plunged breasts. "Well…takes one to know one."

With a quiet chuckle, I turn and jog up the stairs.

"And shave your face!" she shouts from down below.

I roll my eyes and head straight for the bathroom to grab my razor, per my wife's request.

"Alright. Where do you want me?" I seem irritated and impatient, but I have to admit, it's kind of amusing to watch Scottie observe the space and test her camera, only to step away with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

She shushes me without even looking in my direction. There's a little line in between her eyebrows, and when she sucks her lip into her mouth and pins it with her bright-white teeth, I can't help but stare.

"This isn't going to work!" She huffs and taps her chin with her fingers.

I ignore her little fit and run my eyes down her slender frame. She's small but still has noticeable curves, and the wedding dress looks like it was made for her.

In the midst of Scottie gathering her camera and tripod thing, I blurt out a question that's been bugging me. "Where did you get that dress?"

What if she's been married before?

I think back to the man that was handling her like a ragdoll at the Cat House. My ears burn, and I ask the next question before she can answer the first.

"Have you been married before?"

Scottie stops what she's doing and immediately looks at me. It takes her all of three seconds to burst out in laughter. Something moves in my chest, and my ears cool. I keep my lips flat, but hearing her laugh makes my cheeks twitch.

I feel myself wanting to smile, which is annoying.

"What's so funny?" I ask, following after her as she drags the tripod up the stairs. "And where are we going?"

I grab the equipment from her, and surprisingly, she lets me carry it. It's probably due to her being in a tight wedding dress that likely doesn't allow much movement, but for the first time since meeting her, she isn't drowning me with her independence.

"We're going to your bedroom."

My lip turns up in the corner. "Wow, already? I thought you'd at least hold out for our one-week anniversary."

Scottie stops right in front of me, and next thing I know, I take an elbow to the ribs.

"Ow, fuck. I was kidding." I rub the spot she hit and continue to follow her to my room.

"It wasn't funny," she says, as deadpan as ever.

"But asking you if you've been previously married is?"

Scottie tries to take the tripod from my hands, but I pull it back. I cock an eyebrow, and she sighs.

"No," she answers. "I've never been married. I don't have time to date, let alone find a man willing to marry a poor stripper with enough childhood trauma to weigh down a semi."

Scottie slams her lips together and quickly averts her gaze. I get the feeling she didn't mean to say the second part of that sentence. Before I can comment on it, she snatches the tripod out of my hand, and I watch in silence as she sets it up again and tests the lighting.

"Okay, it's ready. We don't have long before the lighting disappears, so come on." My bride wafts her hand at me, and out of spite, I move extra slow. Her hands fall to her hips when she pouts, and I stare at the finger that should be wearing a ring.

"So did you pawn the ring or..."

Fire burns in her pretty blue eyes. She scoffs and stomps off in her bare feet, only to return a few seconds later with the ring dangling off her pinky. She messes with the camera again and then rushes over to the spot near the window.

"Come stand right here." She gestures beside her.

I stride across my carpeted floor and adjust the navy suit that was lying on the bed when I got out of the shower. I stand inches away and look down at her all dolled up.

She's gorgeous. All glowy and shit. If this weren't a fake marriage, I'd tell her so, but I don't owe her compliments. I owe her a paycheck.

That's all.

"I want you to put the ring on my finger slowly and look down at me the entire time you're doing it."

My shoulders tense. "Alright."

Scottie places her warm hand in mine, and I hold it gently.

"Okay, go," she whispers, taking a step closer.

My heart rams behind my ribs, and it's the only thing I hear in between the shutters of the camera taking numerous photos of me slowly slipping the diamond ring on her slender finger.

A rough swallow works its way down my throat.

This feels…intimate.

Scottie rushes off and checks the camera. Her face lights up with excitement, and then she comes back over to me, sending her soft scent in my direction.

"Now I want you to stand behind me and wrap your hands around my waist."

Ah, shit.

I'm uneasy, and my shoulders lock when she puts herself to my front and backs up so we're flush.

"Like this?" I ask, voice husky.

"Yeah." She's breathless. Her ribcage expands in my grip, and a fire sparks to life in my lower stomach.

It's been months since I've taken a woman to bed, and my body is making that very clear at the moment. My jaw locks when Scottie grabs my ring finger and starts to wiggle the ring past my knuckle. "Do the same to my finger, and act like you're putting my ring on again. We're going to do it at the same time and take a series of photos."

I swallow and do as she says.

The camera clicks, and at the exact same time, like we're synced, we slowly push the rings onto each other's fingers.

My pulse is flying. I look down at her neck and see the little thump beneath her smooth skin, matching the speed of mine.

We're too close, and there isn't a flicker of angry tension between us at the moment.

There are no teasing remarks threatening to come from my mouth, and the air of attitude she usually carries is long gone.

I'm not sure I like this.

Scottie's pinned-back hair rubs against the front of my suit, and our eyes catch.

"Are we done?" The hope in my tone is obvious.

Scottie's lip is trapped beneath her teeth, and she shakes her head.

"Now I need you to act like you're going to kiss me, because two photos of us placing rings on each other's fingers isn't going to be enough if we want the world to believe that this is a real marriage."

My jaw clicks.

With her in my arms, looking up at me with her sparkling blue eyes, it feels awfully fucking real.