Page 105 of Power Play
“Hang on a sec,” I say, pushing my pint aside. “Gotta take this.”
I step outside, the cold air hitting me like a slap. The night feels sharp and alive, but I’m feeling anything but.
“Murphy speaking,” I say when I answer.
“Hey, Murph. It’s Layla.” Her voice is brisk, efficient, like she’s running the world one deal at a time. “Are you free next Thursday night?”
I pause. “Define free.”
“Our main sponsor is hosting a gala. They want you front and centre. Red carpet, press flashes, the whole show.”
I groan. “Do I have to wear actual shoes?”
“Yes. And a suit. And maybe pretend you didn’t spend the last ten years perfecting the art of lobbing pucks at other grown men.”
I laugh despite myself. “Fine. Do I at least get fed?”
“Open bar. And your face plastered on a giant poster. Try not to spill anything on it.”
“Great.” I stare up at the sky for a beat, the stars a blur behind my tired eyes. “Real adulthood, coming at me from all sides.”
Layla’s voice softens a little. “Don’t worry. You’ll charm them all. Just like you do on the ice.”
I smile. “That’s the plan. Thanks, Layla. I’ll pencil it in.”
We hang up, and I head back inside, where Dylan is watching me with a raised eyebrow.
“So,” he says. “Big night?”
“Yeah. Charity gala. I have to get all fancy. Probably hate every second.” I shake my head and pull my pint back into reach.
“And the flat? Moving in next week, you said?”
“Nextmonth,” I correct him with an eye-roll. “We can’t move in until our leases end. Sophie’s got two weeks left on hers, and I’ve got three. So we’re stuck in this weird limbo of packing boxes in one place while living in another.”
Dylan laughs. “Sounds like the worst kind of torture.”
“It really is. I’m counting the days, and trust me, I’m not subtle about it. I want to get in there, start claiming my corner of the couch, and stop living out of suitcases and takeaway cartons.”
Sophie’s been way more patient about it than me, which is both impressive and frustrating. She’s the picture of calm adulting, folding clothes and labelling boxes as though she’s preparing for a military operation.
Meanwhile, I’m over here dramatically mourning every day I spend away from the new flat.
“Maybe you need to take a leaf out of Sophie’s book,” Dylan says, nudging me. “Calm down and embrace the chaos.”
“Mate, I’mtoocalm on the inside. You wouldn’t believe the dramatic speeches I give to my toothbrush every morning.”
He laughs again. “Well, once you move in, you’ll have to deal with joint spice rack ownership. That’s a whole new level of commitment.”
“Don’t remind me.” I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
Later, as the night winds down and the pub starts to empty, I’m nursing my pint when my phone buzzes again.
Sophie: “Can’t wait for us to finally have a place together. Think of all the terrible dance moves and burnt dinners awaiting us.”
I grin, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Murphy: “And all the socks I’ll leave in random places. Your new flat will never be the same.”
