Page 96 of Make the Play

Lulu:I’d let a man ruin my credit if he told me that

Charlie:My first jersey pic is still framed in Jake’s closet. You’re about to enter peak hockey girlfriend era.

Zoe:It feels weird. Like, possessive

Lulu:It is possessive and it’s insanely hot

Tamara:He wants the world to know you’re his. Let him.

Claire:Just wait until he wants to rail you IN the jersey.

Zoe:I’m leaving

Lulu:Wait, just picture it. The jersey, nothing underneath. He’s pulling on the hem…

Zoe:GOOD. BYE.

I roll my eyes and toss my phone onto the armrest, laughing quietly to myself. God, I love those girls. After checking a couple of emails on my laptop, I pick my phone up again and end up scrolling through Instagram. Somewhere between a post about enneagram types and a reel of a Golden Retriever learning to open a fridge, I spot a reposted lineup rumor.

ENIGMA FESTIVAL – VINYL SAINTS?

Unconfirmed sources hint at surprise headline set.

My breath catches. Holy shit.

I’ve wanted to go to this insane gig in the wilderness for years—a full day of live music, festival vibes, and chaos tucked somewhere on the outskirts of Denver. But the location isn’t public. You buy your ticket, then follow a scavenger hunt through the city, decoding clues to unlock where the event will be set. It’s part mystery, part music pilgrimage, and a total logistical nightmare. The reviews always sound magical, and it’s extremely my vibe.

And if the Vinyl Saints are going, I’m going. No question.

But I barely have time to think about my plan of attack, because two delivery guys appear at the door a few minutes later,all charming smiles and suspiciously good hair for dudes lifting heavy things in eighty-five-degree heat.

“You must be Zoe,” one of them says, glancing at the clipboard. “Big day. Queen-size memory foam with pressure relief support, coming right up.”

I laugh. “Wow, she’s beautyandbrains.”

The taller guy grins. “So are you.”

Okay, smooth. I’ll give him that.

I hold the door open and let them in, giving them directions to the guest room as they wheel the mattress in. They make a few jokes. I might flirt atinybit. It’s harmless.

Until the front door opens again, and Chase walks in.

He’s in a Storm tee and joggers, a backwards cap still on his head, and a cardboard drink tray in one hand—two coffees from my favorite café, along with a paper bag of baked treats.

He stops mid-step, eyes locking onto the scene of two fit delivery guys in his hallway. Me smiling at something one of them just said. My arms crossed, hip cocked, hair up in a claw clip.

His jaw tightens.

“Hey,” I say, instantly playing it cool.

Chase doesn’t respond immediately. Just walks forward, drops the coffee tray on the counter, and nods at the guys as they come back down the hall.

“All set,” one of them says. “Enjoy the new mattress.”

Chase’s smile is tight. “We will.”

I almost choke on my tongue.

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