Chapter 34

Thirty-Four

EMORY

"Scottie Biscotti ?!"

Her jaw drops, and I wish I had a biscotti so I could stuff it in her mouth. I turn my back when I have another thought of sticking something else in her mouth and busy myself with filling my bag with all my gear. The locker room has completely cleared out, which I'm thankful for, considering Scottie stomped her way through the door and followed me to my locker without giving two shits if any of my teammates were in here.

"What? I could have said Cherry. " I shrug sheepishly. "And you like biscotti, don't you?"

Just then, my phone starts to vibrate in my locker, ricocheting off the metal. I grab it and almost hit the decline button. I'd bet my left testicle that Ford is only calling to give me shit for what I just pulled on TV, but with my sister's diabetes diagnosis, I always answer his call.

As soon as I hit the green button, all I hear is laughter.

For fuck's sake.

"Sco–scottie…" More laughter. "Scottie Bisc—I can't even say it."

"Do you need something, or are you just calling to be a dick?" I snap.

"Scottie Biscotti—I… I can't stop laughing . I have never seen you look more panicked than you did at that moment."

I growl and peek at Scottie, who's standing in the middle of the locker room with her arms crossed over her perky chest with obvious annoyance. Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise as if she's saying, "See?!"

"You referred to your wife as a cookie, which is hilarious for so many reasons."

Ford is on my last fucking nerve.

"THANK YOU!" Scottie shouts. "Even he knows how ridiculous it is."

Nope. Nada. I will not have her on good terms with Ford, because despite there still being many months left of our marriage, she is not going to grow close to the people I care about the most.

She cannot insert herself into any more of my life than she already has.

I turn toward her. "You threw me under the bus! So that's what you get, Biscotti."

"I thought you were going to say Rogue!"

There's a loud noise from the phone, and I look down to see my sister's face. Taytum's lips are rolled together, and the very second I hear Ford's hyena-like cackle in the background, Taytum bursts with laughter.

"I have to come visit so I can see you act like a loving husband in real life." There's a twinkle of amusement in my sister's eye, and I'm about to hang up. "I'd pay money to see it firsthand. Watching it on camera isn't enough." She's busting at the seams.

My jaw clenches. "You act like I don't have an affectionate bone in my body."

"Emory," she argues, becoming serious. "Tell me a time when you've been affectionate. I need at least one time where you've been caring or lovey-dovey. Just one. Because what I remember from college is you banging a new girl each weekend."

"I've had a girlfriend before," I grumble, glancing at Scottie again, who's still standing with her arms crossed. It was my junior year of high school, and it lasted all of three weeks, but still.

Taytum laughs. "My question still stands."

My sister is right.

I'm not the type of guy who wants to dote on a woman and act beyond the normal scope of attraction, but I hate that she's right, so I mumble under my breath. "Fuck off."

Scottie snorts sarcastically, and I shoot her a glare.

"I'm hanging up," I say to my sister.

"Wait!" she shouts. There's a devious look on her face that I've seen time and time again. "Let me talk to Biscotti. I want to meet her."

"No–"

All of a sudden, my phone disappears out of my hand, and my wife is walking off with it, talking to my sister and brother-in-law as if she's a part of the family.

Like everyone else, they seem infatuated with Scottie right away, and I'm agitated.

"Give me that." I snatch the phone as I quickly follow her and hit end on the call.

Scottie narrows her pretty eyes with a huff of breath. I ignore her and continue busying myself with my gear. There's a part of me that wants to get back at her for throwing me under the bus in front of the reporter and for acting all friendly with my sister.

Anytime I slip a little and find myself in awe of her or swept away by the smile on her face, I get angry afterward, and the only way I know how to beat it is to level the playing field.

So, with a devil on my shoulder, I turn around and start to strip.

Her brows snap together. "What are you doing?"

I shrug. "Changing."

"In front of me?" Her voice grows squeakier, and I bask in the control I've gained.

"You're my wife…" My lip curves. "Of course."

Scottie gawks at our surroundings. She seems surprised that she's in the locker room, like she followed me in here with one thing on her mind, and that was reprimanding me for the nickname.

After the surprise vanishes from her face, she seemingly falls back into fighter mode. Her arms cross, and she pulls her shoulders back. My smirk deepens, waiting for her next move.

I love messing with her.

"You can drop the act. No one is in here."

She's so tempting when she's angry. The way her nose scrunches and how her chin becomes mighty. I find myself moving closer to her to erase the space between us. I tell myself it's to make her independence waiver a little, but I know better.

This isn't for her.

It's for me.

I want to touch her even if I keep denying it.

In fact, the more I deny it, the worse it gets.

"And what if I told you there was someone in here?" I tease, keeping my voice as level as possible. There's a slight husk to it that I hope she can't hear, because it'll blow my cover. I'm used to taking what I want, and although she's technically mine, I shouldn't go there.

"There isn't," she counters.

I move closer and feel the hesitation coming off of her in waves. Before she can have a second thought, I wrap my arm around her lower back and pull her in close.

I'm shirtless and thankful that I kept my lower half covered, because I'm about to sport something I can't hide.

As if I can summon an angel, I hear something from the hallway. I know we're about to be interrupted by someone, and I take that as my cue to push this a little further.

My heart skyrockets when I skim my hand up her body and grip the side of her face. Excitement rushes through my body when she doesn't pull away.

"What are you doing?" she whispers.

I feel her relax in my grip, and my stomach dips. Her eyelids droop lazily as I stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

Does she like my hands on her?

"Being your husband," I say nonchalantly. The teasing tone I had is gone, and now, I'm sucked in.

The way she peers at me through fluttering eyelashes punches me in the chest. I want to kiss her so badly and for all the wrong reasons.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see the door opening, so I act swiftly.

I kiss her hard, and it's just as blinding as the first time.

I can't breathe, and my heart fucking stops.

My tongue strokes against hers, and I know I'm not imagining it when she mimics the movement. The grip I have on her waist tightens, and I bring our bodies flush.

I should stop, but I can't.

I deepen the kiss and open my eyes to watch. When my teeth sink into her plump bottom lip, her eyes flutter apart, and I can no longer deny the urge I have to make her mine. When I finally let up on her mouth, we both turn to look at our audience.

It's the cleaning personnel.

I silently thank them for stepping in and giving me a reason to kiss my fake wife, because fuck, it felt so damn good, and I can't find it in myself to regret it.

"Sorry about that," I say to them, not sorry at all. "I thought we were alone."

The man holding a mop nods, and the women all blush.

Scottie steps away immediately but not before her eyes drop down to see my hard length.

Looks like I can't hide my attraction after all.

Her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink, and she quickly spins. "I'll see you at home."

She rushes past the cleaning personnel and sends them an apology before disappearing altogether.

While I finish getting dressed and fill my bag with my gear, I grin to myself.

You can run, Scottie, but you can't hide.

I look down at my boner.

Apparently, neither can he.

The house is dark when I get home. I suppress a laugh while I jog up the front steps, ignoring Shutter and his angry glower in my direction.

I make no attempt at being quiet when I enter through the front door, knowing very fucking well that she isn't actually asleep. My phone goes off for the fiftieth time since leaving the arena—apparently it isn't only Ford who found my interview funny.

It's all over social media.

Even my former teammates from college are sending me texts.

Ford started a group chat with Theo and Aasher, and they continue to create memes of my interview that I know will show up on the internet.

I'm used to being in the spotlight, but this is the first time it's for a reason other than my jail time or a rendezvous that never happened, so I'm not mad about it.

That was the entire point of this whole thing anyway. Having Scottie by my side was to silence the negative things in the media, and so far, it's working.

"I know you aren't asleep."

I chuckle under my breath when the lump on the couch makes no movement.

It's probably a good thing she's pretending to be asleep and avoiding me.

I'm not sure I trust myself at this particular moment, so instead of poking her any further, I go upstairs to my room. I leave the door cracked, which is something I started doing after she had that crazy nightmare, just in case something happens while she's downstairs on her bed.

I meant to tell her about the spare bed, but I've still yet to actually do it.

I like to think it's because I'm stubborn, but after looking down at my still semi-hard dick, I know that's not the reason. I want her in my bed.

I step into the shower and try my hardest to ignore the feeling of her tongue moving against mine while in the locker room. I shove away the mental image of her peeking at me through her long lashes, showing off lustful eyes that are too captivating not to notice.

I lean my head against the shower wall. Both of my hands press into the hard stone while I try to clear my head.

Stop thinking about her.

I pretend I'm back in the game, blocking pucks. I go over the plays and visualize my teammates as they fly over the ice, but then pops in Scottie, yelling my name in the stands with my jersey on, and I'm suddenly gripping my dick.

Fuck. Go away.

Moving my hand up and down, I picture her face and the perfect glimpse of her pussy from the other night.

I can't deny that she's irresistible.

It's the kissing.

It's fucking everything up.

And the tiny shorts she wears, or the long T-shirts that make it look like she has nothing on underneath them.

How easy it would be for me to pull the hem up slightly and touch her in between her legs.

My cock is rock solid, and the more I think about her, the faster my hand moves.

If only she were on her knees in front of me and I could tug on those sun-colored strands of hair.

"Damn it," I curse under my breath with water droplets falling off the edge of my nose.

My eyes open, and I turn away from the grip I have on my cock. I try to pull myself together and think of someone other than the one woman who can hardly look me in the eye without scowling.

But that's going to be awfully fucking hard to do considering she's staring at me through slightly fogged-up glass.