Page 103 of Changing the Playbook
He knows me too well already. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“I’ll collect on that debt later.”
He offers his arm, and we head into the crisp October evening. The Student Union building stands only a ten-minute walk away, but Mike insists on driving because of my heels. He opens my door, waits until I’m settled, then circles to the driver’s side. Such a small gesture, but it loosens something tight in my chest.
“So what exactly happens at a nursing school mixer?” he asks as we drive. “Blood typing competitions? IV insertion races?”
“Mostly we stand around discussing our favorite gauze brands while pretending the punch isn’t spiked with disappointment.”
“Riveting.”
“Oh, it is. Last year someone suggested charades using only medical terminology. The party nearly rioted.”
“Rebels.” He glances at me. “How many of these have you attended since you got here, anyway?”
“This is my third. I skipped one because…” Because Mom was having a bad day and needed me.
Mike’s hand finds mine across the console. “Because you had other priorities. That’s not a crime.”
“Isn’t it though? Everyone else manages to balance?—”
“They’re better at hiding their struggles.” His thumb strokes my knuckles. “Maine hasn’t done laundry in three weeksbecause between hockey and his new job, he literally doesn’t have time. Rook failed his stats midterm because he was helping his mom move. We all drop balls, Sophie.”
I study his profile in the passing streetlights—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his collar. “When did you become so wise?”
“Somewhere between my spectacular mental breakdown last year and my third pottery class disaster.” He pulls into the Student Union lot. “Fair warning—I will definitely embarrass you tonight, but is there anything specific I should avoid?”
“Maya will interrogate you. Extensively. She’s been collecting questions since karaoke night.”
“I can handle Maya.”
Famous last words, but his confidence charms me anyway. And, as we exit the car, I wobble on unfamiliar heels. Mike’s palm immediately finds the small of my back, steadying me. The heat of his touch through thin fabric makes every nerve ending spark to attention.
The Student Union ballroom has been transformed with navy and silver streamers, round tables sporting centerpieces that definitely represent the circulatory system if you have consumed enough punch. Faculty members cluster near the bar while undergrads huddle in corners, poorly concealing flasks.
“Sophie!” Maya materializes in a red dress that would make anyone else look like a fire hydrant but that she owns completely. “And the famous Mike!”
Mike extends his hand. “Good to see you again.”
Maya bypasses the handshake for a hug. “Any man who can extract Sophie from her study cave deserves more than a handshake.”
I shoot her a look she cheerfully ignores.
“Come on, everyone’s dying to meet you.” She links her arm through mine, effectively dragging us toward a cluster of my classmates.
The next twenty minutes blur into introductions. Mike handles them with surprising grace, asking genuine questions about specialties and rotations. When Priya mentions her pediatric placement, he shares a story about his sister breaking her arm at age seven.
“You remember your sister’s nurse from sixteen years ago?” Priya asks, dumbfounded.
“She made origami butterflies out of tongue depressors while we waited for the orthopedic surgeon.” His smile turns fond. “Andy still has one somewhere.”
I watch him charm my classmates and something shifts inside me. He’s genuinely interested in my world, asking follow-up questions and remembering names. The guilt I’d pushed down earlier resurfaces; I should make more effort to understand his world, to learn the rules of hockey beyond “puck goes in net.”
Then his world crashes into mine.
“ALTMAN!” Maine’s voice booms across the ballroom. “Fancy seeing you here of all places!”
Mike groans. “Please tell me Rook isn’t?—”
