Page 31 of Changing the Playbook
“Sophie.” He matches my tone but with that teasing edge that makes my pulse stutter. “Funny running into you here.”
I take a deliberately long sip of my drink, trying to play it cool, but in reality buying time while my brain short-circuits. His hair’s slightly messed up, with pieces falling across his forehead, and I have to grip my glass tighter to keep from reaching up to fix it.
“Are you stalking me now?” I say.
“Would you believe pure coincidence?” He leans against the bar. “Though you look ready to bolt.”
I realize I’ve been unconsciously edging away and force myself still. “I’m not running. I just wasn’t expecting the entire hockey team to invade karaoke night.”
“This your sanctuary?” He glances around at the chaos. “Interesting choice for a sacred space.”
“It was peaceful before your teammate decided to assault eardrums,” I say.
“He thinks he’s good. No one has the heart to crush him.”
“Someone should.” The ghost of a smile crosses my lips. “For humanity’s sake.”
“You volunteering?”
“I don’t do confrontation with people I don’t know.”
“Right.” He smirks. “Just with people you do know, like calling me complicated.”
The word hangs between us, and my chest goes tight—not with guilt exactly, but with the memory of why I said it. How he’d made me feel too much, too fast. How I’d needed to put distance between us before I did something stupid like depend on him. But before I can explain—or apologize, or make things worse—Maine’s voice booms across the bar.
“I’M BACK, PINE BARREN!” He’s commandeered the stage again. “And if you cheer loud enough, maybe Sophie Pearson will duet with me!”
Every head swivels toward us. Maya’s table erupts in encouraging whistles and squeals and woos, and I briefly consider whether murder charges are worth it. It turns out the flex in the locker room wasn’t just a one-off, but rather Maine’s whole damn personality, a ball of charming, comedic energy in a six-foot-three package.
“Friend of yours?” Mike asks mildly.
I snort. “Hardly.”
Clearly disappointed I haven’t immediately joined him on stage, Maine leaves the stage and bounds over like an overgrown golden retriever, even as “Shake it Off” plays without vocals. When he’s close enough, he puts an arm around Mike’s shoulder.
“Sophie!” Maine grins. “How do you two know each other?”
Mike and I lock eyes. His expression stays carefully neutral, leaving the decision to me. Part of me wants to tell Maine exactly how we know each other—that two weeks ago I learned exactly what those hands could do, how that mouth tastes, and the sound he makes when?—
“We’ve run into each other once or twice,” I say finally, with the tone I take when delivering bad news to patients.
“Run into each other.” Maine draws out each word, tasting them. “And here I thought Mikey spent all his time doing his weird self-improvement kick.”
“It’s not weird,” Mike protests.
“Bro, last week you went to a meditation retreat where they made you hum at walls for three hours.”
“It was sound therapy.”
“It was highway robbery.” Maine’s grin widens. “But hey, at least you’re branching out. Meeting new people.Fascinatingpeople.”
“Maine.” Mike’s voice carries a warning that Maine cheerfully ignores.
“Right, shutting up now.” But his eyes practically glow with mischief as he backs toward the stage. “Sophie, the offer’s still open for that duet!”
He bounds away, picking up Taylor Swift mid-chorus, and immediately has the crowd eating out of his hand all over again. I watch him, pointedly ignoring but hyperaware of Mike still standing too close, of the unfinished conversation hanging between us.
I should leave. Make some excuse about finding Maya and disappear before this gets more complicated. Before I do something stupid like let him charm me again. That would be the smart thing to do, theSophiething to do, but something about watching Maine embrace life like this…
