Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

EMORY

Her soft footsteps catch my attention, but I am fully aware of her every move, even when she isn't heading in my direction.

It's only been a couple of days since she's been my wife and living in my house, yet I already feel her taking up space that isn't necessarily reserved for her.

Not just in my home but my head too.

"Can I please have my phone?" Scottie's arms cross over her worn Blue Devils shirt that's two sizes too big. I drop my gaze to her bare legs, and she's lucky that I get a glimpse of the tight black shorts she's wearing underneath. Otherwise, I'd turn her right around and send her upstairs to demand she put some pants on.

The last thing I need is my fake wife walking around the house without pants.

I spin Scottie's half-broken phone on top of the counter and smirk. "Maybe if you ask me nicely."

Her eye roll excites me.

My new daily goal is to irritate her and watch her blue eyes fill with annoyance.

"Olson, give me my phone." Scottie stomps her bare foot against the tiled floors, and I snicker.

I kind of like it when she calls me by my last name.

"Okay." I sigh.

Scottie's eyebrows furrow with my non-combative response. Her attention falls to the phone I've placed in the center of the island. "That is not my phone."

"It is now." Her old phone is in my hand, and if I wanted to push her to the brink of violence, I'd snap it in half. I limit myself, though. I do need her help, after all.

"What do you mean?" She reaches toward the device.

I notice that the wedding ring is no longer on her finger, but I don't say anything. If she only wants to wear the three-karat ring that I let Rhodes's daughter choose when we're putting on a show, then so be it.

"My wife can't have a phone with a cracked screen like that. So I got you a new one."

Scottie's faint gasp fills the space between us, but I don't acknowledge it.

I rap my knuckle against the counter. "I also switched you to my plan, but you have the same number. I just transferred everything over after forging your name on the release form and explaining that you were my wife. All your photos and contacts are on there too."

Her little jaw slacks in disbelief, but a moment later, she snaps it shut and sends me a glare.

A week ago, it would have pissed me off.

But now, it just amuses me.

"I do not need a new phone!" The device slides against the smooth counter, and I catch it with a quick reflex. Note to self: get her a LifeProof case.

My mouth twitches, and I send it flying back to her. It's like we're playing shuffleboard, and she has to know that I never lose at anything. "Yes, you do."

Angry lines burrow into Scottie's forehead, and her cute mouth puckers with anger. "I can't afford a new phone, Emory." Her cheeks flush.

I blink through the confusion. "Wait, what?"

"If you're taking this out of my pay, I don't want it. I can't afford a new phone. I have other things I need to pay off."

So she needs money because she's in a lot of debt?

Scottie shoves the phone back over to me. I trap it beneath my fingers. The counter that separates us is acting like more of a barrier. Anger and embarrassment flow from her body, and I'm in a spiral of fuckery and curiosity.

Grabbing the phone in a tight grip, I round the corner and invade her space. She doesn't move an inch. The only thing she does is peek at me from the corner of her eye.

"I'm not taking this out of your pay," I say, voice low.

Her shoulders fall, and her head goes next. If I had to guess, she's trying to hide her shame from me.

A tight breath gets lodged in my throat when I reach for her wrist. I turn her hand so her palm is facing me, and I drop the new phone into it before curling her fingers around the device and shoving it into her chest. Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, and it takes just about every ounce of restraint for me not to free it from the nervous habit.

I dip my head. My mouth is right beside her ear. "It's non-negotiable."

She turns, and our lips are so close I can feel her warm breath mingle with mine. I raise an eyebrow, ready for her to become combative with me.

"I don't remember seeing it in the contract." She raises the same eyebrow.

"If I'm paying for it, what does it matter?" I lean away from her because the longer I breathe her in, the higher I feel. "Not to mention, the contract says I'm responsible for paying the bills."

"It's my bill. Not yours."

I snort. "You're on my plan now, baby. So, it is my bill."

Something flashes across her face, and she takes a step away, but not before she looks at my mouth for a quick second. She snaps her baby blues back to me and sighs. "Fine. Whatever."

Feeling victorious from winning, I head for the fridge to prepare one of my ready-to-eat dinners, that I have been living off since college, with a pep in my step. The meals are full of protein, and although they're pricey, it beats trying to cook for myself on the schedule that I'm on during the season.

Shit.

With my back turned to Scottie, I realize that I have nothing for her to eat unless she wants to eat one of these, which is highly unlikely.

I continue preparing the meal and pop it into the microwave. She's moved to the couch in the living room, and she looks so tiny in between the large cushions. A laptop that looks like it's been through the wringer is perched on her criss-crossed legs, and there are small, black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose as she stares intently at the screen.

The glow of the computer paints her cheekbones with a bluish light, and it's really disturbing that I feel a twist in my lower stomach the longer I look at her.

She's pretty.

Especially when she isn't putting up a front, acting all tough and independent.

When the microwave goes off, Scottie doesn't even move. All of her concentration is on her computer.

The entire time I eat my food, I watch her.

She either has no idea, or she's that focused on whatever she's doing on her computer.

Maybe she's in college? That'd be a reason to need money.

I clear my throat when I'm finished with my dinner and stand to go upstairs.

Long gone are the days where I'd go out with the guys, get shitfaced, end up in some girl's bed, and stay up until the wee hours of the night. Now, it's an early bedtime and morning workouts before the sun rises.

I go back and forth over whether or not to leave Scottie to fend for herself. She'll find something to eat if she's hungry, right? She has her blanket and pillow perched on the end of the couch, all nice and tidy-like.

She's fine.

Like a stealthy creep, I walk behind the couch and head for the stairs—but not before I glance at the computer screen.

I almost fall when I catch a glimpse of the photos she's editing. My feet refuse to go forward. Instead of moving, I stand there and watch as she zooms in on my hand on her face with our mouths almost touching. She blurs the background of my bedroom so all the focus is on us, and I have to admit, the photo looks damn good.

We look… real.

"Wow."

Scottie jumps and slams the computer shut, like she's watching porn instead of editing our wedding photos. "God, make a noise next time!"

"I'm not sure you'd hear it if I did." I chuckle. "That was some pretty intense concentration. I made a meal and ate it, all while watching you, and you didn't notice."

Her eyes grow large. "You were watching me?"

"Does that bother you?" I know very well that it does.

She turns away from me. "No."

I snort. "You suck at lying."

Her faint growl reaches my ear, and I smile behind her back.

"Anyway…" I begin to back away, leaving her to her devices. "I'm going to hit the sack."

Scottie's shoulders loosen, and she begins to open her laptop again.

"Are you going to eat dinner?" I ask, backing farther away from her.

"Dinner?" she repeats, looking at the time. "Oh, uh…yeah."

Is she lying?

"What are you going to eat?" I lean against the stairs, waiting to see what she'll come up with.

She shrugs with her back to me. "I'll find something."

"Well, there isn't much. You should probably grab some stuff you like at the store because all I have are prepped meals and protein shakes."

She laughs lightly. "Trust me, I'm used to throwing things together to make a meal. It's fine."

My brows furrow with her response. I don't like the feeling it gives me when I think about her not eating or just throwing things together to make a meal.

With a heavy sigh, I turn and force myself up the stairs.

I'm halfway up them when I hear her say, "Goodnight." I pause for a second but shake my head and go right to my room in an attempt to get her off my mind, because come tomorrow, I know our photo will be posted all over social media, and the gossip will spread like wildfire.

Ready or not, here comes Mr. and Mrs. Olson.