Chapter 26

Twenty-Six

EMORY

My phone buzzes while I'm mid-change, and I expect it to be my parents for their positive after-game message or, as of late, their dismay over my marriage. But instead, it's Scottie and I already know what's coming before I read the text

Really? No warning at all?

I knew she'd be frustrated with me, but in my defense, Corbin pulled me aside seconds before the game and filled me in on what they do after the games and warned me that his wife would likely talk Scottie into going.

I didn't have time to tell you. I was a little busy, in case you didn't notice.

I pull my shirt on and shake out my damp hair. Corbin throws me a nod and tells me he'll see me there. This isn't the norm for after a game, but since Coach Jacobs gave us the day off tomorrow and we have a one-day break, this is apparently a thing . The team is pretty focused on hockey—we all live and breathe the sport, just like with any other pro hockey player I've known. It's our livelihood. But even veteran hockey players have said there has to be a balance in the world of work and play. I'm not sure I really believe that, but it's apparent that my new wife was persuaded by Corbin's wife, so off I go to play another fucking game.

How could I not notice? Your ego took up the entire arena.

I silently laugh at Scottie's insult. Even through the phone, she has a bite to her tone.

And you screaming my name did the same.

Of course I saw her cheering from her box seat. The entire arena did because she was on the jumbo screen more times than I was. I smirk at my text, and something hot moves against my skin. I watch her little bubble pop up, like she's typing. When a message doesn't come through, I take the initiative to drive her mad even further.

Nothing to say back to that? I wonder where your mind went when you read that text.

I highly doubt she had the same dirty thought I did, but I can't help myself. I am already picturing her scrunched-up nose.

My mind is full of other things. Like how I'm going to kill you when I see you.

I'm heading to my car when I pull open my phone to text her back.

I love it when you talk dirty to me.

I wasn't expecting to play husband and wife in front of people so soon. I needed a warning. Or perhaps some practice.

My car starts up, and although I'm tired after the game, there's something brewing in my stomach that is awfully close to excitement. Over the last several months, I haven't felt the itch of a thrill except for when Scottie entered my life, which is worrying.

How hard can it be? Just treat me like your last boyfriend. Act like you're in love with me.

Though you probably don't have to act.

When Scottie texts back, my car plays it over the speaker:

That would be a great idea, except I've never had a boyfriend! And I'm most definitely not in love with you.

I slam on the brakes, and the seatbelt almost chokes me. "What? Never had a boyfriend?"

My car repeats what I said aloud, and I panic. I reach forward and try to hit "don't send," but a second later, I hear: "Message sent."

I grip the steering wheel tightly. Not only is Scottie unprepared, but now, so am I.

"There he is, folks." Applause breaks out when I walk into the club downtown that I've never even heard of. I send the guys a glare. I'm not one to want attention, and I'm really not one to brag to my team. I only brag to Scottie because I know it irritates her.

"A beer for our number one goalie?" Matthew comes over and presses a full cup of ale into my chest. I grip it and begin to search through the strobing lights for Scottie.

This is mostly exclusive to the couples on the team, and in order to keep up the charade of my freshly new marriage, it's something that Scottie and I needed to attend. I'm used to hanging with my teammates from the Coyotes, but that got me in trouble, which in turn has led me to this moment right here.

A few sips of beer and a lengthy conversation about the game later, I finally ask the question I've wanted the answer to since stepping foot in the club.

"So, where exactly is my wife?"

That word is becoming a staple in my vocabulary.

Corbin nods to the stairs. "They're comparing our dick lengths on the dance floor."

Dylan chuckles. "There's no need. Everyone knows who has the biggest dick in the room."

Just then, Malaki, who isn't even in a relationship, sits down next to us, like he's been waiting for the perfect moment to make himself known. "Obviously, we all know it's me."

Of course he'd show up, even though no one invited him.

"The only single guy in the club?" I crack. "That checks out."

The guys laugh, but Malaki scoffs. "I'm not ready to settle down. That has nothing to do with my dick size. My focus is hockey. Not…" He looks down and bounces his disgusted face to all of our ringed fingers.

"Commitment, someone to come home to every day, support…love?" Dylan asks.

Malaki snaps his fingers. "Exactly. No thanks. I only have room for one obsession in my life, and it's hockey."

It's then that I realize I am going to have to pull my shit together, because so far, my new wife and I have done nothing but take a few fake photos together, share some angry texts, and piss each other off. My obsession is hockey too, but now I'm going to have to make it seem like it's her.

Corbin rests his back against the bar. "You just haven't found the right girl, and how could you? Your idea of going out is visiting the strip club every chance you get."

My jaw aches, and I stare directly at Malaki.

Don't.

His lazy gaze skims by, latching onto me for a split second. But then he shrugs. "Nothing wrong with a girl who can dance."

"Speaking of…" Matthew gestures to the dance floor, and after a few seconds of searching, I find her.

An upbeat song is pouring through the speakers. The women are dancing together like they're the only ones in the club. I have a strong feeling that every man in here, single or not, is staring at them. I'm in too much of a trance to notice, though. Scottie is in the middle of the floor, spinning Matthew's fiancée around in a circle with my last name glued to her back. They're both laughing, and God, my wife is beautiful.

With her wavy blonde hair flowing around her flushed face, she's having the time of her life, weaving in and out of the strobing lights. I have never seen her look the way she does right now, and I'm captivated.

Is she tipsy?

For the first time since meeting her, she doesn't seem uptight or too focused to even crack a smile. Instead of stress flowing off her shoulders like it's her entire personality, she's airy. Like a fucking ray of sunshine in the middle of a dark club.

Her laugh catches my attention again, and a gush of warmth flies to my fingertips.

"She's done for now," Corbin muses. "They've fully accepted your girl into their circle."

I say nothing.

Instead, I relax in the barstool and keep my gaze pinned to Scottie who has yet to notice me. Or maybe she has, and she's just avoiding looking in my direction to spite me.

I wonder what she'd do if I went up behind her and wrapped my hands around her waist and took over the role of being her dance partner? She'd have no choice but to play along then, because now, we have a live audience.

Before I can torment her, Hattie, Corbin's wife, drags her by the hand, and they head to the bartender carrying a round of drinks on his tray. I scrutinize her every move, choosing to ignore the men nearby that can't stop looking at her ass in those tight jeans.

There's no need to get jealous.

I know on paper she's mine, but in reality, she isn't.

Hattie's bottom lip pops out when Scottie refuses a shot, which provokes my curiosity. Maybe she knows her limits, or maybe she doesn't drink.

I'm beginning to realize that I don't know my wife very well at all.

The guys are mid-conversation about the game, and I take the opportunity to open my phone to text Scottie.

You don't drink?

Depends on what kind of wife you want me to be.

Without looking at her, I fire off another text.

Not the sloppy drunk kind.

Well, in that case…

I swear the air in the club grows hotter. Like a puppet, I feel a tug on my attention and find her staring at me from across the club. She doesn't take her wild blue eyes from me when she reaches for the shot glass in Hattie's hand and tips it back in one gulp.

My eyebrow cocks, and my breath hitches.

A deep growl vibrates within my chest as I type another text.

You're asking for trouble.

Her eye roll pushes me over the edge.

I can blame it on my sudden exhaustion from the game I just played or the touch of jealousy I recognize when I watch the male bartender eye her for a little too long. Or maybe it's the fact that I've found myself in another club with my teammates, just like before, when I inserted myself into someone else's bullshit and found myself in the back of a police car.

Get over here and act like my wife, Rogue.

Or else the bartender is going to drop every last glass balancing on his tray when I happen to walk over there and calmly tell him to keep his eyes to himself.

Instead of acting like a caveman, I take another sip of beer and try to relax. I have a good head on my shoulders. I'm one to learn from my mistakes, so I move my attention to Scottie again instead of the bartender who is egging me on just by existing.

Her back is to me when I feel another text come in.

I'm not sure I like the way you're bossing me around.

I can't help but chuckle. I'm not sure I have ever had a woman talk to me the way Scottie does. She looks so sweet with her sunshiny appearance. Her light hair and eyes are appealing and soft in ways that draw everyone in a little closer, but that mouth is going to drive me absolutely crazy.

I'm not sure I like the way you're drawing attention from every male in this bar with my last name on your back.

Without giving myself a reason to back out, I stand abruptly and keep my sights directly on her. I may have even gotten up mid-conversation with my teammates, but I can't seem to care.

Scottie laughs at something Georgia says. She places her hands on her shoulders to brace herself. When Georgia makes eye contact with me, I know she's warning her that I'm about to swoop in.

Scottie straightens quickly on the dance floor, but without allowing her to turn or run away, I slip my hands to her waist and steady her.

"Don't run," I whisper down into her ear. "You're my wife, and we're in public. Remember?"

She turns her head slightly and angles her flushed face to meet mine. I raise an eyebrow and whisper in her ear, "There are eyes in here, so it's time to act like my wife."

Too many eyes if you ask me.

"Have you ever heard of asking nicely?" She says it with a sweetness in her tone, but I know her well enough to recognize the sarcasm.

"I thought I was being nice when I didn't turn you into the authorities for trying to blackmail me. I thought I was being nice when I saved you from that classy strip club you were working at too."

Scottie's bony elbow hits me in the ribs. My stomach tightens from the hit, and now I'm irritated.

The music shifts to a different song, and either it's in my head, or it's on the provocative side. "I think I'm the one who's doing the saving, Olson."

There she goes again, using my last name.

"Again. You're asking for trouble, Rogue."

"What are you gonna do? Withhold my pay?" She's acting bold, so I pull her in closer. I take my nose and drag it up her neck, resting right beside her ear. I feel her body go eerily still against mine. I can't pay attention to who's around us because I'm too invested in our war. What was supposed to be a normal celebration of after-game drinks with the team and other wives is turning into yet another quarrel. Scottie makes things complicated, always wanting to argue or defy me, yet I can't keep myself from craving our interactions or provoking her further.

"I have my ways of punishing you that have nothing to do with violating the contract," I rasp.

Scottie's fingers press into my wrist, and I hope she can't feel my pulse thrumming against my skin with every dirty thought that's swarming my head.

She tempts me further when she says, "Like what?"

The thoughts that race through my head are filthy, and it's a shame because I know it's not where her mind is, especially if she was telling the truth about never having a boyfriend.

To the media, I'm a man who is obsessed with hockey and focused on the game more than most in the league, even with my tainted reputation. But after all that is said and done, I'm still a man. One who has sworn off women since a few tarnished the rest with their rumors and scheming ways—the woman pressed against me included. I'm a man who hasn't slept with anyone in what feels like forever, and unfortunately, it's fucking with my head.

Scottie can't be trusted, even if, on paper, it looks like she can. It doesn't matter that we're both wearing rings on our left hands, telling the world and everyone in this club that we are husband and wife.

What we have is an arrangement. There are liabilities at stake, and I refuse to let her teasing words and perfect body that I can't stop picturing naked sway me into falling into a trap that could ruin my reputation further.

So instead of listing ways I'd like to punish her, I go with something else. "Keep acting like you're not being paid to act like my wife, and you'll find out."

I thought it was the easy route. A warning that she'd heed because we both know I'm not forcing her to act like my wife. I'm paying her.

But I was wrong.

Scottie turns all the way around, and the look that flashes across her face stirs up my natural need to win. The only problem is that my idea of winning, at the current moment, is kissing her just to prove a point.