Chapter 42

Forty-Two

EMORY

"This is new." I grab the wet dish from Scottie's soapy hands to dry it.

She tucks a light strand of hair behind her ear and peers up at me. Her nose wrinkles. "What is?"

The corner of my mouth lifts, and I lean in close so my parents can't hear. "Seeing you in the kitchen."

Scottie grimaces at me and begins washing the next dish with a little more aggression than before. "If you want a wife who makes you a home-cooked meal every night and cleans the kitchen afterward, I guess you should have put that in the contract." Her voice is low, but I can hear her perfectly fine.

Without putting much thought into it, I take some of the bubbles from the sink and sweep them over her cheek. "I like my wife the way she is."

Surprise flickers over her features like a lightbulb. She has no idea what to do with my incessant flirting. I've been doing it all evening with my parents as our audience.

Each time Scottie tries to sass me in private, I shut it down quickly with some act of teasing followed by a subtle touch against her skin or a wink. It takes her a moment to recover each time, and I love it.

"So, Scottie…" My dad taps his fingers against the counter while finishing his dessert.

It was no surprise to me that my mom made Scottie and me a home-cooked meal followed by dessert, but Scottie was thoroughly confused when she saw what my mom had managed to do in just a matter of hours.

"Have your parents met Emory? Or are you hiding him from your family, like he was with you?"

I jerk my attention to Scottie, waiting to hear her response. There has been no talk of her family, and I'm sure that's purposeful. When a plate slips out of her hand and into the sink, I reach inside the warm water and give her palm a squeeze.

"I'm never gonna live it down, am I?" I call over my shoulder. "And I wasn't hiding her. Scottie just doesn't like attention, so we were keeping our relationship and marriage under wraps until we felt it was right. If you haven't noticed, I've gained some attention from the press."

Scottie's shoulders visibly relax, and she breathes out a tiny breath. She turns slightly with our hands still joined in the water. When she smiles sweetly at my dad, I zero in on the hickey I'd gave her earlier in the day.

Shit.

I reach out with my other hand and pull her hair forward. The tender act will surprise my parents to the point that they won't question why I did it. Scottie knows, though.

"I sure hope my son asked your father for your hand in marriage." My dad sends me a look, like he'd be disappointed if I didn't.

Newsflash: I didn't.

"Actually…" Scottie drains the water from the sink and busies herself while answering my dad. "My father passed away when I was very young."

I should have known that.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry." My mom sends her a soft look before smacking my dad on the arm.

A sweet burst of laughter leaves Scottie. "It's okay. If I don't talk about him every once in a while, then I'm afraid he'll be forgotten." She shrugs in a sad way, and I don't like it. "He would have liked Emory, though."

Pride swells, and I can't pretend that isn't completely fucked up.

Her pretty eyes linger on my face for a couple of seconds before she moves back to my parents. I start to busy myself with drying dishes and act uninterested, but I'm hanging onto her every word.

"My father was a huge hockey fan. He is the reason I got into hockey, actually. He'd get us season tickets, and we'd go to all the Blue Devils games together. I actually still have his shirt with the old team logo on it."

How did I not know that? I feel like such a dick.

"So he'd be over the moon if he knew I was married to their goalie." She and my parents laugh while I'm left standing there with a knot in my stomach.

"And what about your mother? Has she met Emory?"

Scottie immediately stiffens. It isn't noticeable to my parents, but I feel the way she closes off right away. I'm not sure when that happened, but I somehow just know what she's feeling now.

"Okay, that's enough, you two." I turn around and give my parents a look. "I've got a game tomorrow, so my wife and I are going to bed."

Scottie's head nearly falls off her shoulders.

If her eyes were weapons, I'd be dead.

I can almost hear her silent rebuttal.

My father stands and claps his hands together. "Right, right! Get to bed. I'm here to watch you win, not lose." The way my mom purses her lips at my dad is something I've seen a million times before.

"Everything's the same as you left it in the guest room. Unwashed bedding and all." I chuckle quietly.

My mom places her hands on her hips again. "Emory Olson! I taught you better than that."

I shrug. "You're the only one who sleeps in there. Why wash the bedding after one night of sleep?"

The heat coming from Scottie burns me. I'm prepared for the reprimand as I drag her away, saying a quick goodnight to my parents. They promise to see us in the morning and tell Scottie they can't wait for her to sit with them at the game.

She's so good at acting like my wife that I know they suspect nothing out of sorts.

It isn't until we're halfway up the stairs that I feel the wrath flowing from her tight little body.

"You are such an asshole!" She attempts to hit me in the stomach, but I take the opportunity to quickly scoop her up in my arms and drape her over my shoulder.

Her gasp hits me in the back, and I laugh to myself, climbing the rest of the stairs. The moment I place her down on her feet, she scowls and darts down the hallway like a child.

"What the hell are you doing?" I quietly laugh, going after her.

She pushes the door at the end of the hall open and turns around with her arms crossed. "You had a guest bed this entire time?" She's fuming, and I have to purposefully keep myself from laughing at her expense.

"Yeah, so?"

"I've been sleeping on the couch!" she hisses.

My lip hitches, and she glares before pushing me off to the side to stomp down the hall. I follow her swaying hips all the way into my room. When I turn and shut the door, I hear my bathroom lock click.

"Really?" I say through the door. "You gonna stay in there all night and be angry?" I chuckle under my breath. She is impossible but so goddamn amusing.

"I can't believe you had a guest bed but forced me to sleep on the couch!"

I grip the doorknob and give it a twist. It's locked, but it didn't stop me from trying. I talk through the door. "I didn't force you to do anything. I basically begged you to sleep in the bed with me. Your belongings are already in the closet. Why not just sleep in here too?"

"Well, I can't do that!" she snaps back.

"And why is that?" I tease, knowing very well why. "Is it because you don't trust yourself in bed with me?"

Silence.

I wait a few more minutes, and when it's apparent that Scottie is being her usual stubborn self, I sink down to the floor and rest my back against the door. The shower turns on, and I hate that the door is locked. Reaching up, I give the doorknob another twist just for funsies.

"You're so stubborn," I say, not sure if she can even hear me.

"Well, you married me!" she shouts back.

My chest rumbles with a laugh. I don't think I've ever laughed as much as I do with her around. I stay planted against the door the entire time she showers, hating that all I can picture is her naked in there with water rolling over the curves of her perfect body.

I swear, she takes an extra-long shower, and by the time the water is off, I've forgotten all about our little verbal grapple. I've calmed my dick down long enough to relax on the floor. I pull my legs up and rest my forearms over my knees. "You did good in front of my parents," I say, knowing damn well she's listening just as intently as I am.

"I know."

My lip turns up at the corner.

"Can you hurry up? I have a game tomorrow."

At that exact moment, Scottie whips the door open, and I fly backward.

She peers down at me with a pleased look on her face, and the competitor in me acts fast. I grab her ankles and slide myself farther inside the bathroom, until I'm right between her legs. "What a nice sight," I muse, looking up her towel. She is absolutely perfect in every way, and her pussy is no exception. My mouth waters when she squeals.

"Emory Olson!" Scottie jumps away, and I'm left laughing on the floor with a half-hard cock.

"Scottie Olson!" I echo.

I quickly climb to my feet. "You'll never win when it comes to me, Biscotti."

I have the biggest urge to grab her towel and strip her bare when she stomps past me, but I refrain. Instead, I give her privacy and shut myself behind the bathroom door.

The fact that I have a game tomorrow has crossed my mind several times, and if I don't get my shit together, I might be just as unfocused as I was in practice today.

After quickly rinsing off and brushing my teeth, I step out into my bedroom, expecting to see her in my bed, but she isn't there. Neither are the extra pillows.

Walking a little farther into my room, I pause when I see two adorable feet lying on the floor. I peer over the side of my bed. "Are you serious? You're that stubborn?"

Scottie, dressed in nothing but one of my T-shirts—just to spite me—looks up at me with damp hair and a clean face. She's entirely too beautiful without a speck of makeup on.

I wonder if she knows that.

She pulls the extra blanket up to her chin. "I obviously cannot be trusted with you." She looks away disappointedly, like she's at her wits end with herself. "You're right."

Irritation skips up my spine. I sigh before bending at the knee. I scoop her up and let the blanket fall to the floor. "Emory, I'm serious!" She pushes at my grip, so I throw her onto the bed.

A tiny yelp escapes her, and I shoot her a serious glare. "You are not sleeping on the floor."

Scottie's jaw clenches.

"I won't touch you." I hate what I just promised. "But my wife is not sleeping on the fucking floor."

My tone seems to resonate with her. She remains quiet, but I know she wants to say something.

After swiping a pillow off the floor, I hand it to her. She takes it with a hesitant grip but eventually settles onto the very edge of the bed. If she so much as turns in the middle of the night, she'll fall off, but at least she's on the bed.

After I flip the light off, I climb onto my side without saying a word to her.

I typically go to sleep early on game nights, but I'm wired with her being so close. The constant touching, quick glances, and subtle moments that we've shared in front of my parents are catching up to me.

Not to mention, the dressing room.

The fucking dressing room.

"Are you sleeping?" Her whisper does nothing but make me excited.

"No."

"Okay."

A rush of air leaves me. "Why? Were you gonna sneak out of the bed or something?"

Her soft laugh fills me up to the brim. "No. I just…"

Again, I'm hanging on her every fucking word.

"I just wanted to say thank you."

Her shy tone hits me in all the wrong places. "For?"

"The dress."

I'm surprised, considering she was so against me buying it. But after learning about her father and watching her panic when asked about her mother, I'm beginning to learn that Scottie isn't used to someone taking care of her, or better yet, buying her expensive things.

I clear my throat. "You're welcome."

I want to reach out and grab her in the worst way, but I promised I wouldn't touch her, so instead, I remain unmoving.

We both lie there in silence for what seems like hours.

Thankfully, she's the first to break.

"Are you sleeping now?" she asks in a soft tone.

I can't help but chuckle. "No."

"I can't sleep," she admits.

"I can help with that," I say, completely joking.

" Emory ." My name sounds like a scold, and I smile to myself.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. Wasn't the orgasm I gave you earlier enough?"

She exhales loudly, and I wish I was closer to feel her breath on my face.

"I'm kidding, Biscotti." I reach over and poke the side of her torso to lighten the mood. I keep my hands on top of the covers because even though she thinks she can't be trusted…it's really me. I'm the one who can't be trusted. "What do you typically do when you can't sleep?" I ask.

I almost choke on the question.

If she says she gets herself off, I'll have to lock myself in the bathroom.

"You're going to laugh," she says with a quiet voice.

A hum vibrates out of my mouth. "Try me."

"I watch hockey."

My brow furrows. "You watch hockey to relax?"

"I know it's weird, but–"

"It's not weird." It's fucking adorable.

Reaching over to my nightstand, I grab the remote, and the room glows with the light from the flatscreen. I find a hockey game and turn to look at her.

Blue lights flicker against her high cheek bones as she sits up a little taller in bed. Her shoulders relax, and there's a tiny smile on her lips.

I forcefully swallow.

God, she's… perfect .

Warmth fills my stomach the longer I stare at her. My heart starts to beat a little quicker, and I try to think of a time that I've ever felt this way.

There isn't a person, or even a situation, that comes close.

I never want to leave this bed with her in it.

Her eyes widen when the Hawks score.

She's engrossed in the game, and I'm engrossed in her.

Which is a huge fucking predicament.