Page 94 of Make the Play

Instead, I spin back to the cabinet to grab the nearest mug and yank open the coffee tin. It’s only when I pour the first bit in that I notice the design.

White ceramic with black printed script across the front.

My girlfriend is hotter than this coffee

I pause and turn slowly, holding it up.

“Explain this.”

Chase doesn’t even blink. “Gift from the hockey gods.”

“You bought this.”

“Nope. Appeared in the cabinet. Destiny.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip. “You areinsufferable.”

He grins wider. “Careful, baby. That’s my favorite mug.”

“Thisis your favorite mug?”

“Yup.” He leans against the counter, watching me like a little shit. “Something about the design just speaks to me.”

“No wonder you needed an interior designer.”

He hums, delighted. “God, you’re grumpy in the morning…” He lifts his coffee to his lips, eyes glinting over the rim. “Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Yeah. Shut up.”

“There she is,” he chuckles, satisfied. “My favorite girl.”

I shoot him a look. “You’re pushing your luck.”

He flashes me a grin, daring me to do something about it. “That’s the plan.”

“Chase,” I warn.

He beams. “Mmm. Say it again.”

I don’t answer, just roll my eyes and drop into the seat at the breakfast bar. He got what he wanted. My disdain, my exasperation. His first name.

The rest of the morning unfolds around us, slow and strange, a weirdly pleasant fever dream.

Chase eventually disappears into the bedroom to change and returns in joggers and a backwards cap, a hoodie slung over his shoulder.

“I’m heading to the rink,” he says, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Informal skate. Might grab lunch with the guys after, so don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

I flip him off without looking up from my phone. “Don’t buy any more coffee mugs.”

He grins. “Stop using my favorite one, then.”

And with that, he’s gone. Leaving me in his condo. Alone. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

I pad around in my socks, fill the dishwasher, straighten the throw blanket on the weird couch he pretended he could sleep on, then end up back in the kitchen where I make myself another coffee and admire the ridiculous mug for a full thirty seconds before finally conceding. Itiskinda funny.

By early afternoon, I’ve migrated to the guest room. Curled up in the armchair with my laptop, waiting for my mattress to arrive and sipping sparkling water from the mini fridge Chase panic-stocked like a bunker. I’ve cracked open work emails twice, but mostly I’m just scrolling.

No weird notifications. No new messages. Just regular social media chaos and a couple of memes from Lulu in the group chat.

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