Page 44 of Play Along With Me
"A relatable heroine for our times," Jake says solemnly.
Leila glances between us, a calculating look in her eye that I recognize and fear. "Well, I hate to interrupt, but Audrey and I should probably head out. Early morning tomorrow and all that."
This is a blatant lie—Leila never wakes up before 9 AM if she can help it, and I don't have a café shift tomorrow—but I play along, curious about her sudden desire to leave when she was clearly enjoying herself moments ago.
"Right, yes. The... thing. In the morning," I say vaguely.
"I should get going soon too," Jake says. "Early practice tomorrow. First home game Saturday night."
"Against...?" I ask, realizing I don't even know the basic information about his new job.
"Ruggert," he supplies. "I'll be backing up, but still, first official home game as a Saint."
"Exciting," I say, and mean it.
"You should come," he says suddenly. "Both of you," he adds, glancing at Leila. "I can leave tickets at will-call."
I'm about to reflexively decline—my standard response to unexpected invitations—when Leila jumps in.
"We'd love to!" she says enthusiastically. "Wouldn't we, Audrey?"
I shoot her a look that I hope communicates "I will end you," but nod anyway. "Sure, sounds... sporty."
Jake laughs. "It is that. I'll text you the details?" He pauses, realizing the flaw in his plan. "Actually, I don't have your number."
"A technical impediment to texting, I've found," I agree.
"Here," Leila says, grabbing my phone from my hand before I can stop her. She unlocks it (how does she know my passcode?) and hands it to Jake. "Put your number in, and Audrey can text you, so you have hers."
Jake looks to me for permission, and I nod, oddly touched by the gesture. He enters his number and hands the phone back to me.
"Text me tomorrow and I'll arrange the tickets," he says.
"I will," I promise, surprising myself with my lack of reluctance.
We say our goodbyes, with Jake heading off to continue his networking and Leila and I making our way to the door. Collin intercepts us briefly, extracting a promise from Leila to "do this again soon" that makes me question her judgment.
Once we're safely in the hallway and out of earshot, I turn to Leila. "What was that about? I thought you were having a great time with Derek."
"I was," she says, grinning. "Until I spotted you having an actual meaningful conversation with a hot hockey player. Strategic retreat—leave him wanting more."
"We were just talking," I protest. "About writing and career goals and... stuff."
"Uh-huh," Leila nods skeptically. "And that's why he invited you to his game and wanted your number."
"He invitedus, plural. And you're the one who orchestrated the number exchange."
"Details," she waves this away. "The point is, he's interested. And unless I'm hallucinating, you seemed pretty interested too."
I can't entirely deny it, which is unsettling. "He's... not what I expected."
"Which was...?"
"I don't know. Dumb jock? Arrogant athlete? But he's actually... thoughtful. Focused. He asked about my writing and remembered details from our previous conversations."
"The bar is officially on the floor," Leila sighs. "But yes, he seems like a genuine human being who's actually interested in you as a person. Revolutionary concept in modern dating."
"We're not dating," I clarify quickly. "We've had exactly two conversations."
