Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

SCOTTIE

Did you sleep last night?

I nuzzle Shutter's head with my chin as he snuggles in closer. His purring is almost louder than my phone's text tone. Rubbing my hand down his silky black fur, I type a quick text to Emory while smiling to myself.

Is that your question for the day?

He texts back within seconds, which is surprising because he's about to climb on the ice for a game. I already have it ready to go on my phone because, for the life of me, I can't find a TV in his house. What man doesn't own a TV? I'm afraid to snoop around, fearful there are cameras somewhere, so I have the app downloaded and will watch it that way.

No.

I wait because I know he'll fire his real question off in a matter of seconds. He stuck true to his word and has only asked me one question per day since dropping me off at my car and following closely behind until we got back to his house, which was when he asked a question that made my cheeks burn with humiliation. He didn't believe me that I'd never had a boyfriend and assumed I was lying. I had to explain to him that, although I have dated before, I've never been in the type of relationship where chocolates, movie dates, and early morning cuddles were involved. The only time I see those things in my future is if I plan for them in order to keep our show of a happy marriage believable.

Shutter lets out a loud sigh when Emory texts again, clearly agitated that my phone is interrupting his slumber.

This is my question, and answer quickly because I'm about to head out for warm-ups.

Are you letting the demon inside the house while I'm away?

My body stills. I search around the room for cameras with a pounding heart. I bounce my attention to every corner of the living room while I lie on the couch with a rigid spine.

Shit, how does he know?

I'll know if you're lying.

Being my typical snarky self with my new husband, I quietly snap a photo of Shutter on my chest and send it to him.

I send another text and roll my lips together while I wait for his response. It's been a very long time since I've texted back and forth with anyone that wasn't related to work or William. I almost don't know what to do with the jitters I feel in my stomach, eagerly waiting for a message.

Instead of a text coming through, a call comes.

I panic with my finger hovering over the answer button.

The defiance I have when it comes to Emory lingers, but I answer the phone anyway because my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Hello?" I answer quietly.

Emory's face appears because he switches it to a video call at the last second. I smooth my features so I don't give anything away, but imagine my shock when I see the background of a locker room behind his seemingly stern face.

"Really?" he says, sending me a look. "Get that psycho thing out of m—" He pauses, and something flickers across his face. "Our house."

Our house.

As much as I want to poke him further, I don't, because not only is he about to go play a game against one of the best teams in the league right now, but I'm his wife. The snarkiness has to stay behind closed doors, and the flirtiness has to emerge.

"Our house is warmer," I say, nuzzling Shutter again.

"He's a cat. He'll be fine. Put him back outside."

Emory's eye twitches when I smile deviously. His head tilts, throwing his sandy hair over his forehead. His good looks annoy me so much that I can't help but play with fire. "Make me."

I squint and try to tell him something with my eyes. Everyone has some misconception about goalies being stupid and a little bit crazy, but in my educated opinion, goalies are the complete opposite. They're always on guard, observing the ice and knowing which direction the puck will go well before it even does. They know when to engage and when to sit back and watch, which is exactly why Emory catches on to my flirty tone right away.

His lip lifts into a dangerous grin that digs right into my chest. My heart beats harder, and Shutter stretches on top of me, probably sensing what I won't admit.

"You temptin' me?" Emory asks, voice full of mirth.

I shrug shyly, and my cotton jacket falls a little off my shoulder, showing off my bare skin. Emory glances at it briefly before moving back to my face.

"Sounds like a challenge," someone calls from the locker room.

Emory grunts, which sort of sounds like a laugh.

"The real challenge is getting your grumpy goalie to soften a little for this sweet little kitty." I kiss Shutter on the head. "Maybe after you win the game?" I say, playing my part a little too well.

A flash of uncertainty crosses Emory's face, and I smile at him with a little slip of my breath. Kane's face takes over the camera screen, and I quickly move my jacket back up to cover my skin. "You rootin' us on, Wifey?"

"Wifey?" I hear the distaste in Emory's voice and almost roll my eyes.

Stellar acting skills.

"She isn't your wife," Emory snarls, obviously trying to cover up his tracks.

Kane ignores my broody goalie. "You watching us?"

I nod. Of course I'm watching them. I watched them well before I ever met Emory. "I'm counting on you guys to win, but the Bears are tough. They're predicted to win." I become serious. "Their offensive line is rock solid, so make sure you watch out for number eleven."

Kane cranes his neck and looks at Emory with confusion. "Where did you find her? I want one."

Emory snatches the phone out of his hand, and his expression is completely unreadable. He blinks a few times before Coach Jacobs' voice booms throughout the locker room. "Let's go, Devils. Get the fuck on the ice."

I snort at his choice of language.

I move the camera down so Emory can see Shutter on my chest. "Shutter says good luck."

He scoffs and does a quick scan of the locker room before looking highly uncomfortable.

Is he nervous for the game?

Wait, why do I even care?

"I'll call you after the game," he says hesitantly.

"Okay…" My eyebrows crowd, and I know he notices my confusion.

"I…"

Why does he look like he's in pain? And again, why do I care?

"I love you."

My mouth opens. The thoughts that come with hearing those three little words send me into a frenzy. I'm confused when I feel the tinge of anger. That's probably something a therapist should dive into, but that costs money, so I'll put that little feeling in the back of my head and hide from it.

I snap out of it when Emory clears his throat. My skin is hot to the touch, but I force the proper response out. "I love you too."

We stare at one another for a second too long before he hangs up.

I breathe heavily for a few seconds while holding the phone in the exact same spot, and that's when the exhaustion hits me. I know I can't force myself to stay awake tonight, because my body is protesting, but when my phone buzzes, I'm suddenly wide awake again.

TV is in my room.

Oh.

But that cat better not be caught dead in my bed, Rogue.

I slowly stand with Shutter in my arms and head for the stairs. Another text pops up.

Stop right where you are and put him outside.

My feet freeze dead center on the first stair. I turn slowly and shift my attention around the living room again. Emory is either highly attentive and knows me much better than I think, or he's being a complete stalker and watching me.

Although, can he really be considered a stalker if it's his house?

Are you watching me?

You're the one who told me to get cameras, remember?

That's right. I did. But that was before I thought he'd be watching me!

Don't do anything you wouldn't want me to know about while you're in my bed.

Heat trickles down my spine at the thought.

You're so cocky that you think I'd actually be turned on from just being in your bed? ??

I don't think, sweetheart. I know.

His response irritates me so much that I might do something in his bed just to spite him.