Page 34 of Power Play
“You’re the one who kissed me first.”
“Excuse me?”
“Delusional.”
“Sexyanddelusional. You’re the whole package.”
I groan, flopping back onto the pillow. “God help me, you’re staying the night, aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m in your bed,” he plants a kiss on my forehead.
“I’ll make you leave if you start writing sonnets.”
“Too late. Rhymed ‘Sophie’ with ‘trophy’ in my head earlier.”
“Oh my God.”
“Iwonyou, baby.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“True. But you’re still not putting your clothesback on.”
He nuzzles into my neck, and to my great shame, I don’t shove him off. If anything, I scoot a little closer.
“Just so we’re clear,” I say, yawning. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
He hums. “Sure.”
“No feelings.”
“None at all.”
“Just a one-time thing.”
“Right.”
I’m not sure which one of us is lying more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MURPHY
The smell of burnt toast and the sound of swearing wake me up. I blink against the morning light filtering through Sophie’s bedroom window. For a second, I think I’ve dreamt the whole thing; her mouth, her laugh, the way she fell asleep tucked against me like she hadn’t just sworn blind this thing between us was fake.
Then I hear her, “Son of a…how is this thing even legal to sell?”
Definitely not a dream.
I stretch, feeling smug and deliciously sore in all the right places. Her bed’s a mess, the sheets are tangled, one of her pillows is on the floor, and my shirt is hanging off her mirror like a flag of victory.
Padding out of her bedroom in just my boxers, I follow the scent of something charred and possibly carcinogenic into the kitchen.
She’s standing at the counter in a smart shirt dress, bare-legged, hair in a messy bun, wielding a butter knife like a weapon against a stubborn block of Lurpak. The toast is smoking.
“Morning, domestic goddess,” I say, leaning against the doorway.
She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t start.”
