Chapter 37

Thirty-Seven

SCOTTIE

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee pulls me from the most restful night of sleep I've had since moving into Emory's. My nostrils flare as I breathe in the scent again, and when my eyelashes flutter open, I'm surprised to see the living room bathed in sunlight.

"Someone is sleepy this morning."

I sit up quickly, causing the blanket to fall to my lap. My heart leaps out my chest and lands on the floor with a thud, right beside Emory's annoyingly attractive bare feet. He's standing over me like a creep, and when I crane my neck to see him sipping on coffee, I'm hit with the memory of last night.

Oh, God.

It's no wonder I slept so well.

Embarrassment flies to my cheeks, and in an attempt to hide it, I fling the blanket off my legs and stand. As stubborn as he is, Emory actually takes a step backward and moves out of my way. I stalk to the kitchen on the hunt for coffee because I'm suddenly feeling very peeved.

What was I thinking?

Last night was an out-of-body experience. All I can picture is Emory standing over me with his hand in between my legs, coaxing me to touch myself.

It's like I'm just handing him ammunition to use against me whenever he sees fit.

I have yet to forget his trust issues when it comes to women, just like I have yet to forget his threats before agreeing to become his wife.

Just as I'm about to snap some remark at him about forgetting last night ever happened, I stop in the middle of the kitchen.

Sitting on the middle of the counter is my favorite I-fucked-your-sister mug with steam drifting over top of the rim. Beside it is a white bag with the logo Chicago Bakes stamped on the front.

Did he...?

I pull the warm mug toward me. It's the exact shade of tan that I like, and I have no idea how he managed to pour the right amount of oat milk in it. The white bag crinkles when I hesitantly open it and look inside. My mouth waters when notes of vanilla and almond drift toward my face.

I'm at a loss for words.

My peeved mood disappears as I waver between confusion and satisfaction.

For the life of me, I can't remember the last time someone did something nice for me without there being strings attached.

Aside from William making me PopTarts every morning, despite me telling him I didn't like them, I can't recall a single event when someone made me something to eat or, better yet, poured me a cup of coffee.

My eyes gloss over, and I almost drop my cup.

With a shaky hand, I place the mug back on the counter and smash my lips together until I hear Emory clear his throat.

"Eat up, Scottie Biscotti."

Instead of being angry at the stupid nickname he gave me on national television, the smallest smile falls to my lips.

"You have plans." He sounds too cheerful.

There goes my smile.

I pull the mug back to my chest, letting the warmth seep through my thin cotton shirt. When I slowly turn, I catch Emory's quick glance at my bare legs sticking out from beneath the hem. Butterflies take over my stomach, and I curse every last one.

I clear my throat, just like he did. When he drags his gaze back to my face, he tips his mug backward and chugs the rest of his coffee.

"Plans?" I'm instantly apprehensive. I swear if he mentions last night or something about cleaning his bathroom sink, I am going to throw the biscotti at his head.

"You need a dress."

I pause. "Excuse me?"

"I forgot to mention the charity event you're expected to be at."

My eyebrows rise. "You mean the charity event that you're expected to be at. You're the star hockey player. I'm just?—"

"My wife."

The look of rugged possessiveness that takes over his face is completely uncalled for. What else is uncalled for is the thrill that I feel when I hear him call me his wife in that tone. Is he doing that because I admitted that I liked it?

I hold up the biscotti in my hand and point it at him. "Is this why you got me a biscotti? Are you trying to bribe me into going to a charity event with you?"

Emory's deep chuckle makes its way in between my legs, and I silently curse. "It's kinda cute that you think you have a choice."

My nose scrunches even though I know he's technically right. These are the types of things I agreed to do when I signed the contract and became his wife.

Emory strides into the kitchen, and I refuse to move out of his way when he gets close. His coffee mug clinks against the counter, and when he raises his eyebrows, I know he's expecting me to argue.

I open my mouth to do just that, but Emory quickly grips the biscotti in my hand, and it catches me off guard. He shoves it inside my mouth and whispers in my ear, "And no. That's not why I got you a biscotti." I'm still shocked when he turns and heads for the stairs. He calls over his shoulder before climbing the steps, "I got you a biscotti because I know you love them."

I want to be annoyed with him.

But with the taste of sweet almonds on my tongue, a good night's rest, and a sated body, I can't find it in me to snap out an insult.

Instead, I quietly eat my biscotti and sip on my coffee with a genuine smile on my lips that I promise to make sure he doesn't see.

After researching dress shops in the area and texting the group chat that Hattie started and figuring out what the other wives are planning on wearing to the event, I'm ready to go. Emory shouted throughout the house that he was leaving for practice, which is something he's never done before, so I don't waste my energy on perfecting my scowl while walking toward the foyer.

My first stop will be my old apartment complex to pay the remainder of my lease. I haven't touched my account since I bought my $25 wedding dress from the thrift store, but with the first payment sitting in there from Emory and it being the first of the month, I need to make a visit to Gerald.

The last thing I need is for my old landlord to turn me in to collections. He's probably sitting outside on a lawn chair, waiting for me to pull up so he can torment me and take my money for a shitty apartment that houses cockroaches.

I stare at the little table by the door that should have my keys on it, but instead, there's a note with Emory's keys resting on top.

With dread, I grab the torn notebook paper and read the note.

Scottie Biscotti-

I took your car to practice because I'm getting it serviced.

I'm tired of people ducking when you turn it on.

P.S. Make sure to buy a red dress. I like you in red…it reminds me of your alter ego, Cherry.

Emory's keys dig into my palm as I huff with irritation. I open the door and look at Shutter.

"People do not duck when I turn my car on," I mutter, rubbing my hand along his soft fur.

He meows, and I think he may be arguing with me.

"They don't," I say, knowing how insane I am for arguing with a cat.

After finally figuring out how to start Emory's car, I'm surprised at the power I feel vibrating through my fingers from the engine.

Oh, this is nice. Too nice for me to drive.

I settle back into his seat and ignore the crisp scent of his cologne as I put the car into drive.

After a few rough touches of the brake, I smile to myself and weave in and out of traffic, going much faster than my car can manage.

I'm on the highway when Emory's name flashes on the screen. I answer it with a flick of my finger.

"Yes?" I say, much more bubbly than normal.

"Stop speeding in my car, Biscotti."

With a roll of my eyes, I push on the gas harder. "I'm not."

"You are going eighty-two. Slow down."

How the–

"I have the app." Judging from his tone, I'd say he's annoyed. "It tells me everything about my car, including its current speed."

Of course he does.

"You're the one who left your keys." I slowly back off the gas but probably not enough for his liking.

"I'm well aware. Stop speeding."

A sarcastic noise leaves me. "I don't like the way you're bossing me around."

He sighs loudly. "And I don't like the way you're constantly on my mind. You're distracting me at practice, so stop it."

The car jerks. On his mind?

In a panic, I move to hang up, but I see that he's already ended the call.

I turn up the music to drown out my pounding heartbeat and think of all the ways Emory irritates me instead of all the small gestures that most would call sweet.

Don't lose focus, Scottie.

I grip the steering wheel and continue reprimanding myself.

We may be legally married, but the actual marriage is make-believe. Emory and I are nothing but a fictitious fairy tale, and I can't forget that.

After pulling up to the apartment complex, I'm almost embarrassed to climb out of Emory's car.

How silly it must look to my old neighbors and landlord to see me in something as expensive as this when not even a couple months ago, I was snuggling up on my couch with ramen noodles and throwing shoes at the cockroaches who liked to play hide and seek.

Thankfully, Gerald isn't sitting outside in his lawn chair, but as soon as he sees me enter the building, he hobbles to his feet behind the yellowing plexiglass window.

"What are you doing here?" he snaps.

His upper lip is in a sort of snarl as he looks me up and down with disgust.

"Paying my rent, like I said I would."

The wrinkles along his face deepen with his confusion, and my heart falls.

"You turned me in to collections, didn't you? I told you I would pay, Gerald!" I cross my arms, and my shoulders tense. "I ignored all the problems of this stupid apartment complex that are completely against code and still offered to pay the rest of my lease, and you turn me in to collections?" I shut my eyes and try to breathe through the frustration.

"I didn't turn you in to collections. Pay up," he grunts.

I open my eyes slowly and can see right through his smooth features and calm voice. Two seconds ago, he was looking at me like I'd slapped him, and now he's looking at me like a puppy wanting a treat.

"Quit lyin', you stupid fool," a voice from behind me says.

I turn and see my old neighbor, the only one who offered a kind smile every once in a while. She's too old to be working, but she's still supporting her children and grandchildren, always giving them what's left over from her checks.

Betty holds onto the railing with one hand, and the other is pointing at Gerald. "You know that man came and paid off what she owed. Stop tryin' to get more money out of her."

My heart physically moves inside my chest.

I look all around the grimy building, trying to make sense of what I just heard.

Gerald calls Betty an old hag, and she gives him the finger before turning to go up the stairs. I dash after her, almost tripping on the laces of my Converse.

"Wait, what do you mean?" I step in line with Betty and take her bag to carry it. She stops for a second and rubs her sore shoulder before continuing up to the third floor.

"That one man. The tall one I saw helping you move your things out."

The tall one? I laugh. That's not usually the word most people use to describe Emory, but she isn't wrong. He is tall.

Utterly gorgeous too.

Insanely athletic.

Has an irresistible confidence about him.

Not to mention his world-stopping kissing abilities.

Oh my god. Shut up.

"His name is Emory," I say.

She nods, stopping to take a breather. "He came and paid all your dues a while ago. Shortly after you moved out."

My lips part. The tiniest smile falls to her wrinkled lips, and she pulls her bag out of my hand but not before giving mine a quick squeeze. "If he didn't tell you, that means he's one of the good ones. He didn't do it for any reason other than to take a burden off you."

Betty starts to walk up the stairs again as I try to wrap my head around the fact that Emory came here without my knowledge and paid the remainder of my lease.

"Betty!" I jog up the rest of the stairs after her and pull out some of the money that I was going to put toward my lease. "Here."

Her eyes fall to the cash in my hand, and she starts to shake her head, but I slip it inside her bag anyway. "I like to pay it forward."

I should save it and put it toward the legal fees, but sometimes, you have to take care of people who never expect it.