Page 162 of Power Play
SOPHIE
Mia orders the double caramel oat milk monstrosity she swears gives her ‘clarity,’ and I stick to my plain latte, no sugar, no frills, just like my mood today. She slides into the seat across from me, all glowy, while I drop my bag with the grace of a wounded wildebeest.
“You look like you’ve been emotionally wrestling a bear,” she says, taking a sip. “Did you and Murphy finally sext yourselves into a compromise?”
I give her the finger and a tired smile. “No. But thank you for the imagery.”
She raises a brow. “So, what’s going on? You’ve been dodging me all week like I’m holding a clipboard and asking you to donate to Greenpeace.”
I stir my coffee with unnecessary aggression. “Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Mia.”
“That’s not new. Be more specific.”
I take a long sip before I say it out loud. “I think I’m ready to move in. With him.”
Her mouth drops open, and she blinks as if I’ve just confessed to joining a cult.
“Youthink?”
“Okay, Iknow. I miss him, all the damn time. And it’s annoying because I was doing so well at the whole ‘independent woman who doesn’t need no hockey boy’ thing.”
“You were also lying to yourself with the confidence of a man in salmon-coloured shorts.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, well. Two weeks of flirtytexts and emotionally vulnerable memes later, and I’m kinda tired of pretending.”
“So move in.”
“I can’t justmove in. I made this whole speech about boundaries and taking it slow. If I show up with my suitcase now, I’ll look like an idiot.”
“You won’t.”
“Iwill. He’ll never let me live it down.”
“You know what you do then?” Mia grins. “You go on a date. An actual, real-life, adult date. See how it feels.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A trial run?”
“Exactly. If you still want to tackle him onto the bed afterward, maybe you’re ready to tackle the rest of it too.”
I text him as soon as we leave the cafe.
Sophie: Feel like taking me on a date, Romeo?
Murphy: Only if I get to use the good cologne and pretend I don’t already know you snore.
Sophie: Rude. And I don’t snore.
Murphy: Sure, babe. You just breathe like a congested kitten.
Sophie: I’ll see you at seven, be ready or I’m taking Mia instead.
Murphy: Now that’s just cruel.
I spend an hour debating what to wear. Not because I want to impress him, okay, that’s a lie. I absolutely want to impress him. But I also want to look like someone who’scoolandcasualandnotinching toward full-blown domesticity.
I settle on black jeans, a tucked-in tee, and my leather jacket. Hair up. Lipstick on. Game face set.
When I get to his flat, he meets me at the door wearing jeans and a navy henley that should be illegal on those shoulders.
