Page 18 of Power Play
“Semantics.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”
He grins, it’s wide and boyish. “And yet you keep coming back.”
“Just until I finally beat you at FIFA.”
“That’ll never happen.”
We start another game. The vibe is lighter now, almost stupidly so considering what we’ve just agreed to. But that’s us, isn’t it? Too much tension and not enough sense.
As he picks his team, he says, “So… fake girlfriend, huh?”
“Fake girlfriend.”
He pauses. “That mean I have to stop seeing other people?”
I glance at him sideways. “Youseeingother people now?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not lately.”
“Then it shouldn’t be hard, should it?”
His smirk falters, just a bit. “No. Shouldn’t be.”
The match begins and I score in the first five minutes. “Told you I’d win eventually,” I say, smugly.
He throws his arms up. “It’s a fluke!”
“Better get used to losing, babe. It’s part of the relationship experience.”
He laughs, shaking his head, but there’s something softer in it now. I don’t know what the hell we’re doing. But maybe, for once, I’m okay not knowing.
At least until the next game night.
CHAPTER TEN
MURPHY
The idea is so stupid it might actually work.
That’s the only thought in my head the morning after Sophie floated it; me and her, playing pretend couple for the sponsors. A PR stunt dressed up like a romcom subplot. Only it’s not a romcom. It’s my fucking career. And Sophie?
Sophie’s the one girl who knows better than to fall for my shit. The one who already did once, technically, and has avoided a repeat ever since.
I’m still thinking about it the next day at training, which is saying something, because I usually don’t think about anything but the puck and whether Jacko brought biscuits for the changing room. Jonno nearly clocks me in the face with a medicine ball during core work.
“You good?” he asks, catching the wobble in my stance.
“Peachy,” I grunt, bracing through a plank and trying not to picture Sophie in that smug little smile she wore when she scored on me last night.
You scared it wouldn’t stay fake?
It was a joke. A throwaway line. But it’s stuck to me like gum on my skate.
Training wraps. I shower fast, chuck on a hoodie, and walk out into the afternoon drizzle with my phone buzzing in my pocket. Group chat blowing up about tonight’s plans, most of the lads are heading to the pub. Diesel sends a thumbs-up. Ollie’s already asking if they’re serving wings.
I text Sophie instead.
