Page 104 of Power Play
I grin and burrow into his side. “We’re doing this, huh?”
He kisses my temple. “Yeah. We are.”
“I talked to Mia.”
“That’s either very good or very bad.”
“She said I should stop sabotaging my own happiness and let myself enjoy this.”
He tilts his head. “Sounds about right.”
“So, I’m going to. I want to make this work. Actually work.”
Murphy sets the phone down and pulls me fully into his lap. “Sophie Hart, are you telling me you’re ready for joint spice rack ownership?”
“Don’t push it.”
He laughs, warm and soft. “You and me, we’ve got this.”
And somehow, I believe him.
Even if he does leave his sockseverywhere.
CHAPTER FIFTY
MURPHY
There’s something criminally underrated about the first sip of a cold pint on a Friday night. That exact moment when the frothy chill hits your tongue, and the worries of the week dissolve into the background like the hum of a distant crowd. Especially when your best mate across the table looks as if he hasn’t slept since 2011 and is about two seconds away from spontaneously combusting.
“You alright, mate? You’ve got that haunted Victorian orphan look again,” I say, nodding at Dylan, who’s been staring into his drink as though it personally offended his entire family.
He blinks, almost as if he’s dragged back from some dark place. “Just tired.”
“You say that, but you haven’t touched your chips. That’s how I know it’s serious.” I wave a crisp golden chip under his nose, but he barely flinches.
Dylan finally cracks a small grin. “Just thinking. About the game and my dad. Usual head stuff.”
I nod like I understand, which, on some level, I do. Dylan’s been wound tighter than a drum lately. Always brooding. Always carrying that invisible weight like it’s some kind of professional hockey accessory. But tonight? Tonight isn’t about fixing his existential crises. Tonight is about beers, crisps, and me working up the nerve to admit I might’ve just signed up for the most grown-up thing I’ve ever done.
“Sophie and I got the flat,” I say casually, as if my heart isn’t doing backflips inside my chest.
Dylan’s head jerks up. “Wait, the one with the extra bedroom and the underground garage?”
“Yeah, that one.” I grin. “Signed the paperwork this morning. We move in next month.”
He whistles low and slow. “Bloody hell. You two are really doing it.”
“I know.” I take a swig of my pint. “Full domestic bliss. I even Googled how to clean a washing machine. Twice.”
Dylan laughs properly this time, that low, rough chuckle of his that sounds like a secret weapon. “Proud of you, mate.”
“Cheers.” I shrug, trying to look casual, but honestly? I’m excited and terrified in equal measures. “I’m psyched, but also kind of freaking out. What if Sophie realises I’m actually just a well-dressed raccoon pretending to be a functioning adult?”
Dylan raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “She already knows. That’s what love is.”
We clink glasses. It’s a rare moment of peace between us. No locker room banter. No drills. Just two blokes figuring it out.
I’m halfway through my second pint when my phone buzzes. I glance down and see it’s Layla, my agent. I know this is gonna be one of those calls.
