Page 130 of Power Play
“Every week. And he’s aggressively invested. Told the ref last game that a bad call was ‘more offensive than an underbaked croissant.’”
I snort. “That man is a walking headline.”
Mia sips her wine, studying me over the rim of her glass. “You know there’s a game tomorrow night, yeah?”
I nod. I’ve seen the flyers. Heard the buzz around the office. Apparently, it’s some big charity match or fan night or something.
“Dylan said I should bring you,” she adds casually. “Got an extra ticket.”
I shoot her a look. “Pass.”
Mia quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You used to like going.”
“Correction; I tolerated going. For the snacks. And because I was sleeping with one of the players. Which I’m not anymore. So…”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You don’t even want to see him?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a little?”
I grab the remote and point it at her like a weapon. “You ask one more loaded question and I’m putting on that reality show where influencers cry about losing Wi-Fi.”
Mia grins, unbothered. “Touchy.”
“I just don’t see the point,” I say, setting the remote down. “Watching him skate around with his stupid jawline, and the crowd screaming his name while I sit there pretending I’m not dead inside? No thanks.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says. And nothing else. Just sips her drink and lets the silence do the heavy lifting.
I hate how effective she is at that.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking you’ve got feelings buried under a mountain of sarcasm and passive-aggression.”
“That’s just called being a woman.”
Mia huffs a laugh, then softens. “Seriously though, do you think you could forgive him?”
The question lands like a boulder to the chest. I shrug, like it doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Part of me wants to. The other part wants to superglue his trainers together and post his sad voice notes on TikTok.”
She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “What’s stopping you?”
“From supergluing his shoes?”
She gives me a flat look.
“I’m not saying I haven’t thought about it,” I admit, voice quieter. “But forgiving someone doesn’t mean you forget what they did. It doesn’t make the photos disappear. Or erase the look on his face when he didn’t push her away.”
“You really think he wanted her?” Mia asks gently.
I hesitate. “No. That’s the worst part. I don’t think he did. I think he panicked. Froze. Which somehow feels even more pathetic.”
