Page 34 of Changing the Playbook
“Freeform dance?” Her eyebrows climb. “Is that even a real thing?”
“Oh, it’s real. The instructor would tell us to ‘let our bodies speak their truth’ and ‘commune with the rhythm of the cosmos.’”
“And your cosmic rhythm told you to have a full-body spasm?”
I shake my head. “No, that was all Kevin’s encouragement, at least until I knocked over a potted plant trying to ‘channel my inner tempest.’”
Sophie’s laugh is smaller this time but genuine. “And you kept going back?”
“For six weeks of pure humiliation.”
“Even though you were terrible?”
“Especially because I was terrible.” I take a sip of beer, studying her face. “That’s the whole point… doing things where being bad doesn’t matter.”
Sophie leans forward slightly. “Is this some elaborate performance? Like, ‘I’m so great at hockey that I need to suck at everything else for balance?’”
“No.” I hold her gaze, letting her see I’m serious. “And that wouldn’t work on you anyway since you hate hockey players.”
Something shifts in her expression, a crack in the armor. “I don’t hate players, exactly. I just…” She takes a breath. “My whole life, guys pretend to like me when they really just want an in with my dad. Do you know how exhausting it is, wondering if someone actually sees you or just sees a potential connection?”
The words land somewhere deep. “Their loss,” I say quietly. “Your dad’s great, but you’re definitely the main event.”
The air between us changes, charges, every molecule suddenly aware of the shrinking distance. Around us, the bar keeps being loud and chaotic—Maine’s telling some story that involves a fire extinguisher and a bet gone wrong—but Sophie and I might as well be in a different universe.
“Are you flirting with me?” Her voice drops low enough that I have to lean in to hear her.
“No,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “I can’t be. You don’t date complicated hockey players, remember?”
Her gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat, quick, but I catch it. The want that flashes across her face before she can hide it sends heat straight through me. We’re both leaning in, the space between us shrinking, and my heart’s hammering so hard she must be able to hear it?—
“Mike!”
Andy’s voice cuts through the moment. Sophie jerks back fast enough to give herself whiplash, and I want to ban my sisterfrom every family event for the next decade. Finally, a moment where Sophie was opening up to me, just a fraction, and…Argh!
“Who’s this?” Andy asks, looking at Sophie with the kind of interest that means she’s already planning our wedding.
“This is Sophie,” I manage, trying not to sound as frustrated as I feel. “Sophie, this is my sister, Andy.”
Recognition dawns on Andy’s face. “Oh! You’re the girl from dinner!”
Sophie’s entire demeanor changes, her walls slamming back up. “Dinner?”
“Yeah, Mike was telling me about?—”
“Just running into you the other day,” I cut in, shooting Andy a look.
Andy, oblivious to the danger she’s in, beams. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
Pink floods Sophie’s cheeks. She glances at me, something unreadable crossing her features before that perfect polite smile clicks into place—the same one she gave Cooper, the same one she probably gives everyone she wants to keep at arm’s-length.
And we’re back to square one.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Sophie says, turning to Andy with warmth that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mike mentioned you study art?”
Just like that, she redirects the entire conversation, drawing Andy out about her classes, her professor, the boyfriend in Paris she misses desperately. I realize now that Sophie’s good at this, making everyone else the star while she fades into the background, present but protected.
The organizer, the facilitator.
