Page 52 of Changing the Playbook
“Rock bottom.” Tension coils in his shoulders. “Made me realize I could either keep white-knuckling control and be miserable, or learn to let go a little.”
“Hence the poetry.”
“Hence the poetry. And the cooking classes. And that yoga incident.”
Delight fizzes through me. “Please tell me there are photos.”
“Buried deeper than Jimmy Hoffa.”
“That’s a tragedy. I bet you look great in yoga pants.”
The words tumble out before my brain can mount a defense. Mike chokes on his whiskey and his eyebrows climb toward his hairline, while heat floods my face.
“I mean, you probably have excellent… flexibility.”
“Sophie.”
“From hockey! Hockey flexibility!”
“Sophie.”
“What?”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m aware.” I drain my whiskey in one burning gulp. “Can we pretend the last thirty seconds didn’t happen?”
“Never.” His eyes spark with mischief. “You just told me I’d look good in yoga pants. I’m getting that embroidered on a pillow.”
I grab a napkin and launch it at his head. He dodges, laughing, and then Mike shifts closer. The laughter in his eyes gentles into something that makes my pulse stutter. Before I can process the danger, his lips brush my cheek. Soft. Brief. But the contact sears straight through to my bones.
“Good night, Sophie.” His voice drops to that tone that liquifies my spine. “Thank you for bearing your soul with me.”
I sit frozen while he pulls back, confused at the sudden termination of the evening. “Mike?” I manage.
“Look,” he says, voice serious. “We’re both fighting not to cross the line you set. And I want to make sure if we do, it’s because you really want to. Sober. In daylight. Without the high of…” He gestures at the stage, the bar, the everything of tonight.
I manage a nod. Words remain beyond me.
He holds my gaze, letting me see the want he’s been trying to hide all night. “I’ve had fun tonight. I’d like more of it… whatever that looks like.”
He waits a beat, maybe hoping I’ll find my voice. But when I don’t, he stands, and I watch him navigate through the crowd toward the exit. My hand rises to touch the spot he kissed, still warm and tingling, and at that moment I come to a startling conclusion.
In three evenings together, Mike Altman has completely rearranged my molecular structure. It’s like someone came into my carefully organized life and moved everything three inches to the left. It looks the same, functions the same, but I know I’ll be bumping into walls for weeks.
And despite every smart thing I’ve ever told myself about boundaries and complications and protecting my heart, I already know I’ll call him.
fifteen
SOPHIE
As the Professor’svoice dissolves into white noise, my pen hovers over blank notebook paper while my mind replays Thursday night on repeat—specifically, the moment Mike’s lips touched my cheek, just a brush of warmth against skin, a goodbye that meant everything.
We’re both fighting not to cross the line you set. And I want to make sure if we do, it’s because you really want to.
Those words have been bouncing around my head for days, and right now, I’m ignoring Advanced Physiological Concepts in favor of daydreaming. About Mike’s voice breaking on that stage, the solid warmth of him as we danced, how he held me while I shattered.
Any other guy would have tried for more after a night like that.
