Page 41 of Power Play
I snort. “Told you we were convincing.”
Sophie’s face remains professional, but her lips twitch. “Convincing doesn’t mean real.”
I lean just a hair closer, not enough for anyone to notice in the photos, but enough for her to feel it.
“Maybe not,” I say. “But if itwasreal, you’d be smiling at me like that.”
“I’m smiling for the children.”
I give her a sideways glance, all smirk and sin. “Yeah. That’s what I tell myself too.”
The photographer shouts, “Big smiles, everyone!” just as Jacko lets out a loud fake sneeze and Ollie pretends to faint for comic relief. Maya giggles uncontrollably. Sophie rolls her eyes but her shoulder stays pressed lightly to mine.
Just for the photo. Just for the kids. Obviously.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOPHIE
By the time I knock on Murphy’s door, my nerves are fizzing like the Prosecco I didn’t drink before coming. Game night is the same setup as always. Cards, pizza, beers, bad jokes. But tonight feels different because it isn’t just the two of us, everyone is here, well not the whole team but the usually suspects. And all I can think about is my body still remembers everything about the last time I was here. The weight of him. The scrape of his stubble against my skin. The filthy things he whispered into my neck as if we weren’t supposed to be pretending.
And now we’re back to pretending but with more complicated muscle memory.
Murphy opens the door with that ridiculous lopsided grin and a beer already in hand. “About time. Thought you were ghosting me.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever had,” I reply breezily, pushing past him into the flat. He smells annoyingly good. Again. Like temptation.
In the living room, Ollie’s setting up the cards, looking way too enthusiastic for someone who got elbowed in the face three times last game. Jacko’s already half a pizza deep and giving commentary as if he’s onBake Off.
Dylan’s here too, parked in the armchair like some dark cloud in expensive joggers, nursing a beer and his signature emotional constipation. And Mia’s sitting the floor between his legs, her legs tucked underneath her, calm and observant with a glass of wine in one hand and the other resting casually on his knee. She flashes me a warm, knowing smile that makes me feel like she’s read the group chatI haven’t sent.
“Hey, Sophie,” she says with her usual lowkey charm. “You survived another Murphy invite. Impressive.”
“Barely,” I mutter, tossing my coat on the back of the sofa.
Dylan’s eyes flick toward me, then Murphy, narrowing just slightly. His version of raised eyebrows, I think. “You two still pretending this isn’t a thing?” he mutters into his beer.
I shoot him a look. “You and Mia still pretending you don’t undress each other with your eyes every ten seconds?”
Murphy nearly chokes on his drink. Mia just sips her wine, serene as a Buddhist monk.
“It’s a good job she’s my best friend,” Mia says, deadpan, and I stifle a grin.
Murphy flops down beside me on the couch, a little too close. His thigh brushes mine, and my body goes stupidly on high alert like I haven’t already been all over him. He leans in, murmuring, “How long you reckon we can keep this up before someone throws us in a closet and tells us to get it over with?”
I turn to him, arching a brow. “You assume I haven’t already booked one.”
His grin widens, wolfish. “God, you’re hot when you threaten me.”
“Good,” I say, leaning in until we’re practically nose to nose. “Because I’ve got an entire list of threats.”
We’re halfway through the first round of cards when Dylan finally pipes up. “Murph, if you keep throwing the game to impress your girlfriend, I’m revoking your pub bragging rights.”
“I’m not throwing the game,” Murphy says, but even Ollie laughs.
Mia raises her brows and nudges Dylan. “He is definitely throwing the game. You’re just mad she’s better at cards than you.”
“Everyone’s better at cards than Dylan,” I say, fanning out my winning hand.
