Page 2 of Power Play
Until now.
My phone buzzes.
Mia: Game night at ours. Dylan says Murphy’s bringing pizza and something called “Cards Against Humanity.” Come or I’ll send him to yours.
I respond with all the grace Ican muster.
Me: Tell Dylan if that man steps one foot near my flat I’ll kneecap him with a rolling pin. Fine. I’m coming. But I’m judging everyone.
Dylan and Mia’s house smells like pepperoni and too much testosterone when I arrive. I can hear laughter from the kitchen, specifically Murphy’s laugh. Loud, warm, and all too familiar.
I pause at the door to listen.
“…and I told her, you can’t use coconut flour in Yorkshire puddings unless youhate joy.” Mia snorts. Dylan groans. I roll my eyes. Then I hear Murphy’s tone drop slightly, “She’s here.”
Of course he knows. He always knows.
I march in like a storm dressed in skinny jeans and sarcasm. “If anyone’s been talking about my Yorkshire puddings, I have legal representation.”
Murphy turns his attention away from the pizza boxes, grinning. “If they’re anything like you, they’re volatile and need constant attention.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And if your personality’s anything like your pizza choice, it’s disappointingly basic.”
“Ouch.” He holds a slice of pizza up as if it’s a shield. “It’s pepperoni. That’s classic, not basic.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Mia glances between us. Dylan sighs and mutters something about going to get another drink. For the first time in their own house, they look likeguests.
I swipe a slice and drop onto the sofa, stretching my legs out and deliberately nudging Murphy’s with my toes. “So, what’s the game tonight? Monopoly? Risk? Something you’re guaranteed to cry over when I win?”
Murphy flops down beside me, matching my energy beat for beat. “Cards Against Humanity. Because if I’m going to be emotionally humiliated, I want it to be inappropriate.”
“I’vetrainedfor this,” I say, cracking my knuckles. “You’re going down, Murph.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you said that to me,” he replies smoothly, a wicked glint in his eye. I choke on my pizza and Mia kicks him under the coffee table.
We play three rounds. I win two. Murphy wins one because he played a card about passive-aggressive Post-it notes that had Dylan laughing so hard he nearly cried.
The whole time, the tension crackles between us, it’s too pointed, toopresent. Every card is a dig. Every joke is layered with subtext.
By the end of the third round, Mia clears her throat and says, “You two want the living room to yourselves or…?”
Dylan mutters, “It’s like watching foreplay with snacks.”
I go bright red.
Murphy doesn’t blink. “Let them watch.”
“MURPHY.” Mia groans, flinging a cushion at his face. He grins, all white teeth and extremely maddening.
And I’m laughing. Dammit. I’m actually laughing.
After we’ve exhausted the games and moved on to arguing about whichBake Offjudge we’d most like to marry (Murphy picked Paul for the handshake opportunity; I picked Prue because obviously), it’s just the two of us on the sofa. Mia and Dylan have disappeared into the kitchen to “do something with the dishes,” which I’m pretty sure is code forleave the emotionally stunted ones alone.
Murphy turns to me. “You’ve been dodging me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
