Page 1 of Power Play
PROLOGUE
MURPHY
It starts with a kiss.
Not a sweet, rom-com, fade-to-black kiss either.
No, it’s a full-throttle, back-against-a-door, heat-in-your-bones kind of kiss, the kind you don’t come back from the same. The kind that ruins you for anyone else. The kind that, unfortunately, happens between me and my best mate’s girlfriend’s best friend.
Sophie bloody Hart.
Sophie with the eyes that see too much and the mouth that never stops. Sophie who insults me for fun and steals my hoodies and smells like coconut and chaos. Sophie who has, until now, existed in my life as a background flame; bright, inconvenient, and completely untouchable.
Until tonight.
Until we both stayed behind after Dylan’s birthday at the pub. Until she challenged me to a game of darts I had no intention of winning. Until she downed the last of her drink, licked her lips, and said, “I bet you wouldn’t kiss me even if I asked.”
Spoiler alert; I kissed her.
And now we’re here. Breathing hard and merely inches apart. My hand still tangled in her hair and her fingers curled into the collar of my shirt as though she’s holding on for dear life.
“What was that?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I answer, honest for once in my life.
Because I don’t. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what comes next. I just know that if I walk away now, I’ll never sleep again.
Sophie’s eyes narrow. Calculating. She’s already building her next joke, her next wall.
So, I kiss her again before she can finish the thought.
And that’s when I know.
This wasn’t a mistake.
This was the beginning.
CHAPTER ONE
SOPHIE
Murphy’s hoodie is still hanging on the back of my kitchen chair.
This is a problem for three very specific reasons.
I don’t remember agreeing to let him into my flat.
It still smells like him. Mint gum, aftershave, and too much confidence.
I’ve already put it on. More than once. And one of those times was during an emotional rerun ofBake Off.
Disgraceful.
I pick it up now, half-folded, as though that’ll make it less obvious that I’ve sniffed it. Twice. I slam it into a drawer and close it, then re-open it to smooth out the sleeve where I wrinkled it. God forbid Samuel Murphy’s hoodie be disrespected.
God forbid I admit that I miss him.
It’s been a while since I kissed him. Well. Since he kissedme, and I kissed him back, which is probably the real crime here. Because now I don’t know where we stand. We’ve danced around it, skirted the topic as if it’s radioactive, and instead of confronting it like a normal adult woman, I’ve avoided every group gathering where he might show up.
