Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
EMORY
The scent of cleaning supplies mixed with bacon creeps underneath my closed door, and I lie in my bed, trying to figure out what the hell Scottie is up to downstairs. The sun has yet to rise, and that means it's just too fucking early.
After tossing and turning three more times, my curiosity gets the best of me. I fling the covers over my sore muscles and pull on some sweatpants. I forgo the shirt because it's my house, whether Scottie is living here or not, and honestly, I feel like I need to level the playing field a little bit.
The kiss.
The fucking kiss that was born from a rivalry and the need to establish my dominance. Last night, we found ourselves in some twisted competition over who has the most power, and after I felt her open up for me to deepen the kiss, I'm not sure I have any power when it comes to her.
I'm irritated by it. It left me wanting more, which was not the plan.
I descend the stairs one by one, counting on the little bit of light from the early morning sun to guide my way. The smell of breakfast gets stronger with each step I take toward the kitchen, and my mouth waters. It smells damn good.
When my feet touch the floor, I stare at the glossy streaks of wood beneath me. I scan the living room, wondering if my mom made a surprise trip, because the last time my house was this clean, it was because of her.
Scottie's bed, also known as my couch, is untouched.
Her pillow and blanket are still folded nicely at the end of the cushion, and it looks like she may have even vacuumed them at some point.
My brow furrows. I run my hand through my messy hair and walk farther into the living room, landing at the large opening in the kitchen.
There's a quick hitch in my breath when I spot her standing there with her back to me. She's leaning up on her tiptoes, reaching for the plates that are just out of reach. Part of me wants to stand back and see what she plans to do, but I find myself moving forward. I round the island and silently creep up behind her. Her ass, in those tiny little sleep shorts, grazes against the front of my sweatpants. I clench my abs and reach beside her, grabbing onto the plates that she's desperate for.
Scottie's shriek slices through the sizzling of bacon, and it takes everything in me to stay impassive. There will not be a reaction coming from me over how I'm just now noticing the perfect shape of her lips. And those smooth legs peeking out from her sleep shorts? Couldn't care less. Pristine, perky breasts edging the top of her little tank? Nothing to see there.
"Need a hand?" I grunt, scattering every last desire I have from our close proximity.
Scottie's eyelashes flutter several times before she swallows. The longer we stare at each other with nothing but the sizzling bacon in the background, the more I lose my hold on my irritation from her waking me up with the smell of a freshly cleaned house and breakfast cooking on the stove.
"Ow, shit!" Scottie jumps back, ramming her ass into my dick again.
My stomach drops, but I quickly move her aside and grab the greasy pan from the stovetop and turn the gas off, eliminating the large flame. When I turn back to look at my little arsonist, she's inspecting her arm. Little red dots appear on her skin.
"Are you trying to burn the house down?" I ask, grabbing the dish towel.
I wet it with cool water and lightly press it against Scottie's arm, ignoring the tug of her independence. My grip tightens on her bicep as I keep the rag pressed onto her slightly burnt skin.
"No," she finally answers, looking away. It's as if she can't stand the fact that I'm taking care of her arm. "I was just…"
"Making me breakfast?" I raise an eyebrow before removing the rag and inspecting her arm.
She huffs. "Who said this was for you?"
I briefly eye the stack of pancakes off to the side. "Unless you plan to eat your entire body weight in pancakes, I'd say there's plenty for us to share."
After seeing that her arm is fine, I let it go and watch her busy herself with pulling the bacon off the pan. With her back to me, she throws a ridiculous statement over her shoulder. "I was making breakfast for Shutter and myself. Not you."
I snort while grabbing a plate. With three slabs of bacon and five pancakes stacked on top of one another, I drag a stool out and take a seat. In between each bite of food, I survey the kitchen and the rest of the house.
The math isn't mathing, and I'm damn good at math.
"Did you sleep?" I shove another bite of food in my mouth while observing her very closely.
Despite the dark bags underneath her eyes and messy bun on the top of her head, she still resembles a little ray of sunshine—but now with lack of sleep.
Scottie pauses with the carton of oat milk in her hand. Is she lactose intolerant? Her gaze briefly dips to my bare torso before she mumbles, "Umm…" She shrugs and quickly turns toward the fridge to continue putting away all the ingredients she used.
"You didn't, did you?" I push again, not letting her get out of answering me. "You cleaned my entire house." I pause, waiting for some type of reaction from her, but I get nothing. "And you made me breakfast?"
She spins, and I refuse to give her another chance to deny it, because there's no way she made this for a damn cat.
"Why?" I ask.
"I didn't do it for you."
I stand with my empty plate and walk over to the sink. She doesn't stay next to me. Instead, she rounds the island and sits in the same seat I was just in. "No. I mean, why didn't you sleep?"
Her mouth opens, and I can't keep myself from staring at it when I hear her soft voice. "I don't know. I just…couldn't sleep."
Forcing myself to look away, I sigh. "Maybe if you stop being stubborn and sleep in the actual bed, you'd be able to sleep."
She laughs, and it takes me by surprise. Mid-wash, hands sudsy with soap, I crane my neck to watch the giggle float out of her mouth. "Trust me, it has nothing to do with a bed."
I arch an eyebrow, expecting more of a response than that.
"Oh, wait. I forgot…you don't trust me." Her lips flatten before she takes another bite of food, wrapping her lips around the fork. My mouth waters, and I'm blaming it on the taste of pancakes lingering on my tongue. "I can sleep practically anywhere," she adds. "I slept on the floor for years before I got a bed."
I stand there, washing the same dish for far too long, repeating her words in my head.
"What do you mean?" I finally ask.
Scottie seems so unaware of how outlandish her response is. She just shrugs and repeats herself.
"You slept on the floor?"
She nods slowly this time. A pinkish tint creeps onto her cheeks, and I kind of hate that I feel sorry for her. I'd usually choose this time to poke at her so I can watch her nose scrunch with annoyance, but I can't bring myself to do it. Instead, I finish cleaning my plate and the rest of the kitchen when she slips outside onto the porch, knowing she's done plenty over the last several hours while I was asleep.
After Scottie comes back inside, having had a full conversation with the damn stoop cat that hisses at me every single time I leave the house, she places her hands on her hips and gives me a look. I'm not sure if Shutter had a pep talk with her, but the pink tinge of embarrassment on her cheeks has left the party, and my sassy wife is back in action. "Are you ready to take me to get my car?"
I narrow my gaze. "You think it's safe to drive when you've been up for twenty-four hours?"
Her angry huff sends something exciting into my bloodstream. I dip my eyes down to her mouth again before I berate myself and pull my attention back to her jutted lip.
"I'm fine," she argues with a little stomp of her foot. "Plus, I just made you breakfast."
"Oh, so it was a bribe?"
She shrugs casually and leans her hip against the island. "It can be."
I laugh under my breath at her ability to seem so sweet one second but clever the next. I swear, she's tempting me. Tempting me to do what? I have no idea. But my new wife is stirring something up inside of me that I have never felt in my life.
We stare at each other from across the island. The entire time we're at an impasse, I don't allow myself to look at her mouth. My jaw tightens when I place my hands face down on the counter. I try to press into the stone to give me some sort of stability so I don't become complacent to the way she's looking at me.
"Let's make a deal."
Fuck, what?
"We already have a deal," she counters. "I play the role of your wife, and you pay me, remember?"
"Right. Except, I know nothing about you, and you know everything about me."
Scottie eyes me suspiciously, but she doesn't put up a fight yet, so I keep going.
"I'll take you to get your car?—"
"And you won't buy me a new one," she interrupts me.
For fuck's sake.
I reword my statement. "I'll take you to get your car…and I won't buy you a new one…as long as you start answering questions."
Scottie's face is made of stone, but her eyes tell a completely different story. The fear inside of them, over me asking her some questions, is all the more reason to ask them.
"What'll it be?"
"I can just call an Uber to get my car."
Ever so slowly, I glance at her purse sitting on the end of the counter. Knowing her better than she thinks, I race her to it, which isn't hard to do because three of my steps are five of hers. At the last second, I lift her keys up in the air and watch with amusement as she tries to reach them by jumping.
I lean down to her level. "Too slow, baby."
She pouts, and her warm, angry, pancake-scented breath hits me in the face.
God damn, that smells sweet.
"You're a dick."
I slip her keys into my pocket and throw her words from the night before right back at her. "You married me."
"Don't remind me," she mumbles, following me toward the door.
When we make it outside, something hits me in the back. I turn and catch my balled-up hoodie before it hits the ground.
"Put a shirt on!" Scottie zooms past me after petting Shutter between the ears. "And you get one question a day, so choose wisely."
I smile to myself and follow after her, knowing I've won.