Page 32 of Changing the Playbook
So, before I can think better of it, the words tumble out. “Want to see if we can uncomplicate things?”
ten
MIKE
“Uncomplicate things?”I raise an eyebrow.
At the same time, I mentally fight the highlight reel of complications my brain supplies: her naked in bed, the way she said my name that morning, how she looked at me before she knew I played hockey for her father, before I knew she was completely off-limits.
“To apologize for my poor choice of words.” Sophie’s lips curve into something that squeezes the air from my lungs, not quite a smile, but miles better than the disgust I expected. “Though I stand by my decision that dating you would be a terrible idea, and warn you that if that’s your goal you’re wasting your time.”
Nothing about Sophie feels like a waste of time—not the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking, not the careful distance she maintains between us, keeping me at arm’s length, not even this conversation where she’s basically friend-zoning me before we’ve even started.
“I can live with that,” I say, though the lie tastes bitter. “How about we start over?”
She nods and extends her hand, as formal as a business merger. “Hi, I’m Sophie. I hate hockey, but I promise there’s more to me than that.”
The touch of her palm against mine shouldn’t feel like victory, but I can’t help but grin. “Hi, I’m Mike. I play hockey, but I promise there’s more to me than that.”
She laughs, and I see the real smile that transforms her whole face. “I’m prepared to give you provisional friend status, despite that.”
“I’ll take it.” I lean against the bar, aiming for casual while my brain scrambles for ways to keep her here, keep her talking, keep her looking at me like I’m not the worst thing that’s happened to her this week. “Maine wasn’t supposed to be butchering that song alone, by the way. My sister bailed…”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Your sister is here? You couldn’t stop talking about her before we… well…”
Before we were naked. When you were under me. When you made those sounds that have been haunting me for weeks.
I rescue her from the sentence, pointing across the bar where Lea’s practically climbing into her phone screen trying to hear Declan. “It’s painful to witness.”
Sophie leans closer to peer through the crowd, and suddenly she’s in my space. Close enough that my fingers twitch with the urge to touch her, to trace the curve of her neck to find out if she makes that little gasp again when I caress her?—
Jesus. Get it together.
“She’s pretty,” Sophie says, pulling back to a safer distance that still isn’t nearly safe enough. “Why’d she bail on Maine?”
“Her boyfriend called.” I shrug, trying to ignore the phantom feel of her against me. “Maine’s heartfelt rendition came second.”
“Heartfelt is certainly one word for… whatever that was.”
Before I can finish the sentence, Maine walks over to us, face flushed, someone’s lipstick branded on his cheek. Two songs in, and he looks more wrecked than after suicide drills at practice, but if history is any guide, the show is just getting started.
“You guys missed the encore!” He smacks my shoulder. “My adoring fans demanded another song, but I exercised restraint…”
“Sure you did, buddy.”
He steamrolls past my sarcasm, zeroing in on Sophie with the single-minded focus he usually reserves for breakaways and beer. “You should come sit with us.”
Sophie’s whole body language shifts—shoulders drawing up, weight shifting back—into the same defensive posture I saw in the parking lot and in the locker room when her dad introduced her to us. But then she glances toward her table, where two women appear to be having a heated debate.
“Actually, what if we merged tables?” she says slowly. “My friends look ready to draw blood over song selection, and witnesses might prevent a murder charge.”
“Perfect!” Maine doesn’t wait for input, just grabs Sophie’s arm and hauls her away.
As Maine practically drags her off, I catch Sophie’s quick phone check—screen light washing her face pale for a second, her jaw tightening at whatever she sees. The expression vanishes so fast I almost miss it, replaced by that polite mask she wears like armor.
“Hey.” I slide into the seat beside her, close enough to notice the tension radiating from her shoulders. “Everything alright?”
Her eyes go wide, because kindness from me is apparently suspect. “Just family stuff, it’s fine.”
