Page 35 of Power Play
“Too late. That toaster’s clearly plotting your downfall.”
“It’syourfault. You’re the reason I overslept and forgot to fix the settings.”
“Pretty sure you were the one who jumped me.”
“I was drunk.”
“You weretipsy.There’s a difference. Besides, you made very sober decisions once the kissing started.”
Her eyes narrow. “Murphy.”
“Yes, my love?”
She tosses the knife into the sink and grabs her bag. “Don’t call me that.”
I follow her into the hallway as she pulls on ankle boots and shrugs into a coat.
“What happened to breakfast?”
“I’m grabbing something on the way to work.”
“You sure? We could order something. Eat it in bed. Or on the table. Or against the door…”
“Murph.”
I step in front of her, my hand on the door, holding it closed. “Come on, Hart. You really gonna pretend last night was just a blip?”
She fixes me with that look, half exasperation, half panic. “Yes. That’sexactlywhat I’m going to do. It was fun. It was hot. And now it’s over.”
“You keep saying that. But you keep kissing me anyway.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Only if we don’t do it again.” Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile. I drop my voice. “You ever gonna admit you like me?”
She tilts her head. “Idolike you.”
My heart skips.
“But I also like pizza,” she continues breezily. “Doesn’t mean I want to commit to it.”
“Depends on the toppings.”
“Murphy…”
“Alright, alright.” I raise my hands. “Fake relationship, minimal feelings, no catching real ones. Got it.”
She opens the door, brushing past me. “Try not to fall in love while I’m gone.”
“Too late.” She freezes; her eyes wide. I wink. “With your toaster. Thing’s a beast.”
She rolls her eyes and disappears down the hallway without looking back. But I swear she’s smiling.
By the time I get to the rink, the cold hits me harder than usual. Or maybe it’s the emotional whiplash of Sophie Hart slipping through my fingers like melted ice. Either way, I skate out onto the ice feeling as if I’m two steps behind my own thoughts.
Training’s already underway. Dylan’s running passing drills withthat grim focus he wears like body armour. Jacko’s heckling Ollie over his choice of neon-yellow skate laces.
“Oi, Murph,” Jacko calls as I join them, “you look like you’ve just crawled out of a very specific kind of war zone.”
