Page 27 of Power Play
“Define flirting,” Murphy says.
“Define stop,” I add.
Dylan sighs. Loudly. “God, is this what people think we’re like?”
“You should be so lucky,” Murphy says.
Half an hour later, we’ve devoured the food, Mia’s threatening to throw the deck of cards at Murphy’s head, and Dylan has retreatedinto a kind of calm, silent suffering I associate with long-term trauma and group projects.
It’s brilliant.
“You’re stacking the deck!” Mia accuses Murphy, leaning over the table to snatch the cards.
He grins. “I would never.”
“You always win!”
“That’s just raw, unfiltered talent.”
I lean into her. “He’s also been slipping chips into his hoodie pocket when no one’s looking.”
“Traitor!” Murphy gasps.
“You snuck the naan breadinto your shoe.”
“It was tactical. You never suspect the naan.”
Dylan sets down his drink. “I suspecteverythingnow.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Murphy tells him.
“Itis.”
Mia shakes her head. “You two are worse than Ollie and Jacko after too much Lucozade.”
Murphy turns to me. “Let’s form a breakaway team. Leave these losers to stew in their monogamous misery.”
“Only if I get the naan back.”
“Yousoldme out!”
“Trust no one,” I say, and flick a chip at his forehead.
Eventually, we settle into something resembling calm.
Mia’s curled up against Dylan again. He has his arm around her, eyes half-lidded like he’s winding down, even if he hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. They’re quiet but solid. Like the kind of relationship that doesn’t need to fill the space.
Murphy and I are still on the floor. His knee bumps mine every so often. It’s not accidental, and I don’t move.
“You guys ever think about making it real?” Dylan asks suddenly.The question lands like a brick in a fish tank. Mia stares at him. Murphy stiffens. I blink.
Then I laugh. “Wow. Tell us how youreallyfeel.”
Murphy says nothing. His hand finds the edge of the takeaway box, fiddling with a sauce packet.
Dylan shrugs. “You’re obviously into each other.”
“We’re not,” I say.
