Chapter 38

Thirty-Eight

EMORY

I'm the last to enter the locker room, always waiting for the rest of the team to pile in first. I pull my helmet off as sweat slides down my face and onto the floor. The guys are quiet when I enter, which immediately sets me off-balance.

I find Rhodes standing off to the side, half undressed with a smirk on his face.

I'm on edge.

None of the guys said a single thing about my biscotti nickname from the other night, which is odd. I've been waiting for one of them to let me have it like Ford did, but it's like they didn't even catch the interview.

"What?" I finally snap.

Malaki snorts before I see his shoulders shake. I narrow my gaze and stomp off to my locker—which is exactly when I realize why the entire team is acting like a bunch of idiots.

And there it is .

"Really?" I snap.

There, on the bench, right in front of my locker, is a silver platter with a mound of fucking individually wrapped biscotti on top. I stare at the cookies, and Scottie enters my head for the fifteenth time since I left her this morning.

"You guys think you're hilarious, don't you?" I turn, giving each and every one of them the finger. A rumble of laughter works its way through the locker room like an avalanche. Even the coaches pop out of their office and laugh too.

Usually, I'd be perturbed that I was the team's current target, but with the constant bickering and personal competitions they seem to have on the ice working against one another, this is veering on camaraderie. Sure, they're bonding over making fun of me, but they're connecting nonetheless, and that's a step in the right direction.

"To our benefit, it wasn't our idea." Corbin pulls on a shirt, but as soon as it's over his head, I see his crooked grin.

Malaki laughs. "But damn, it was a good one. I've watched the interview three hundred times since it aired."

I give him a look. "You need a girlfriend to fill your time."

"If only I could find my own Scottie Biscotti."

"Does she taste like a biscotti too?"

Okay, that one isn't funny. I snap my attention to Kane, and he throws his hands out with innocence, but I still recognize his cocky smile. "I'm kidding!"

I curse under my breath and unwrap a biscotti, taking a bite. Scottie's mouth tastes better, but I choose not to acknowledge the thought. "Alright," I say in between bites. "Who is the culprit? Whose idea was it?"

"Well, you see, I got a call." Malaki chuckles.

I know right away.

I pick up my phone and dial Ford.

He picks up after one ring. "Hey, bro."

"You're not fucking funny."

He makes a noise before bursting out in loud laughter. "The laughs I get outweigh all the times you've told me that exact line, so I disagree." My teammates chuckle from behind, but I ignore them and start to undress while Ford continues to talk on speaker phone. "And it was your sister's idea."

"No surprise," I mumble. "She's been with you for too long."

Ford takes no notice of the comment and starts to talk about his upcoming game. The entire time he's talking, there's a pesky thought in the back of my head that has blue eyes and a bratty mouth. I have a sudden need to know where she is.

"Wait, before you go…"

I stare at my phone and wait for Ford to say something stupid.

"What?" I'm impatient.

"Your parents are on their way to your house. K, later."

The call ends, and I stare at it for far too long.

Wait, what?

I call him back, but he declines it because he's an asshole.

Fuck.

I knew it would get to my mom sooner or later that she hasn't met Scottie. I'm a damn fool for thinking I could go an entire year without having her meet my family, but I was willing to try.

I ignore my teammates as they all snatch a cookie from the platter on the bench, and I text Scottie after looking up her location.

Did you find a dress?

No. I hate them all. I'm not going.

I bet she looks good in every single one.

I pull up her location again and furrow my brow.

What store?

….a boutique.

I zoom in on the map, and my shoulders drop.

Scottie, that's a thrift store.

It's a boutique to some.

Why does she make me want to smile?

Meet me here.

I send her the address to a dress shop the internet says is the most popular one in downtown Chicago. I know she'll protest, so I type another quick text.

I have a biscotti with me.

Stop trying to bribe me.

After taking a picture of the leftover biscotti that my team ravished, I send it to her. She texts back right away.

I'll be there in twenty.

I grin and put my phone away. Before I get dressed, I head for the showers with a little bit of adrenaline backing my moves.

I should be frustrated that Scottie and I are going to have to act all lovey-dovey in front of my parents who are attempting to surprise me, but instead, I'm eager.

Which is totally fucked.

The bell chimes when I walk into the store. I shut it quickly, annoyed that I have an audience outside. I am blaming it on Scottie's car and the rumbling of the exhaust that still rings throughout the busy streets despite it being at the mechanic shop all morning.

"Welcome to Bodice and—" My welcome committee trips when she sees me.

Well, that's embarrassing.

Before I can help her, she snaps to a standing position with rosy-red cheeks. "Sorry, I…wasn't expecting a man." Her eyes fall to my left finger, and she shakes out of her stupor. "Are you here to buy your wife a dress or…?"

I stay relaxed when I hear a familiar voice. Her sass is at an all-time high, and I can't help but grin. Not to mention, was she hiding from me?

"No, he isn't." Scottie is so mouthy, and it's addicting.

I ignore my wife and step toward the rack of dresses. "Yes, I'm looking for a red dress. Something that would pair well with a woman who has a streak of defiance in her."

Scottie huffs, and I smirk at the sound.

I hear her ask the young dress seller for a moment alone, and when the girl scurries off, I finally turn and give Scottie my attention.

Her arms are crossed with those perfectly sized breasts pushed out. She blows a strand of blonde hair out of her face and pops a hip, propping her worn Converse off the floor. "This store is way too expensive."

I answer with a question of my own. "Were you hiding from me?" She's standing awfully close to a dress rack, and I'm beginning to think she ducked down below when she saw me enter the building.

"No, you just didn't notice me standing here."

A quick laugh leaves me. "Impossible."

Something flashes across her face before she storms over to me and grabs my arm. I stare down at her small hand before leveling her with a look.

"Let's go," she urges. Her eyebrows rise to her forehead, and I have the urge to smooth out her worry lines again. "I'm not paying six hundred dollars for a dress I'll wear once."

Over the last several weeks, I've gotten used to Scottie's frugal ways. I wasn't born into a family that had endless amounts of money, and I know first-hand what it means to struggle. In fact, just a couple of years ago, my parents almost sold our home to be able to afford Taytum's insulin pump.

It's obvious from Scottie's living arrangements and the fact that she was willing to exploit me that she has some serious hardships when it comes to finances. But for some reason, I find myself wanting to buy her a dress from this high-end dress shop that she seems uncomfortable in.

Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have given a shit where she got a dress, just as long as she got one. Now, my wallet is doing a backflip in my pocket to spend every last dime on her.

Not that she would be impressed by that.

Scottie isn't that type of woman.

She isn't charmed by money—not in the way one would want to charm her, at least.

If I had to guess, she's more captivated by small gestures, like a fresh biscotti waiting for her in the morning.

My chest grows tight at the thought because, fuck, was I trying to impress her?

"Come on." Scottie's hand grips me harder, but instead of letting her drag me toward the exit, I walk in the opposite direction. A few women shopping for dresses give us the side-eye, and it makes me want to pull Scottie in even further.

Her irritated puff of air hits me from behind as I pull her toward a rack with long dresses. Ford and I tagged along with Taytum whenever she went prom dress shopping, so I unfortunately know what I'm doing in a dress shop.

I start to grab a few dresses—all red, just to piss her off. I don't have to look at her to know what size, because I have every one of her curves memorized.

"Here." I hold out three different dresses and blink at her, waiting for some sassy remark. Except, she doesn't react like I expect.

Her arms fall to her sides, and she stands there, looking at the dresses like I'm offering her an organ instead.

"Scottie," I groan. "They're just dresses. You let me put a ring on your finger, but you can't accept a dress?"

"It's not that!" Her voice rises, and her little jaw clenches.

My fingers dig into the fabric of the dresses with the urge to reach out and move the hair out of her face so I can see her better. Last night really did me in. I'm feeling things that are making it really fucking hard to keep my hands to myself.

And not for the perverted reasons like I'd expect.

I just…want to touch her.

"Then what is it?" I ask, softening my tone. She may think I'm trying to shield my voice to keep our conversation private because the retail worker has popped out a couple of times already, but I know that's not why.

Scottie stares at her scuffed shoes while she nibbles on her bottom lip. "Why did you pay my lease?"

My forehead furrows. "How do you know about that?"

She finally meets my face, and my stomach tightens with the shiny gloss covering her baby blues. "You think I'm going to let you pay"—she reaches forward and looks at the price of the first dress and scoffs—"eight hundred dollars for a dress when you paid off the rest of my lease off?"

"I paid much more than that for the ring on your finger," I counter.

She rolls her eyes. "That's different!" She looks around at the growing number of shoppers before coming in close and whispering, "I'm giving that back."

The hell she is.

The room shifts with the shocking thought.

I clear my head and grab her hand, dragging her toward the fitting room.

"Emory!" she whines.

I pull back the curtain and take one look at her face before coming to the realization that I can't trust she'll actually try any of the dresses on. When she steps in front of me with another annoyed sigh, I follow her in. The curtain rings drag against the rod slowly, and when Scottie turns around, she jumps.

"What are you doing in here?!"

She's appalled, and I fucking love it.

"Turn around," I order.

The tone of my voice brims with possession, and with the little flicker of fire in her eye, I think she kind of likes it.

Scottie's mouth parts. "Are you serious?" she asks. "What are you going to do? Strip me down to my bra and panties and put the dress on me?"

I grin and take a step toward her. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."