Page 42 of Power Play
“Even the six-year-old at the hospital,” Murphy adds, nudging me with his elbow.
That pulls a quiet smile from Dylan, and I watch him lean closer to Mia, their shoulders brushing. She glances up at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking and isn’t about to say a word. It’s subtle, intimate in a way that makes me hyper-aware of the space between Murphy and me. And how little of it there actually is.
Murphy clears his throat and leans back. “Alright. Enough of the hearts and unicorns. Who’s up for another round?”
“I will,” I say, standing. “But I want a proper drink. Murph, come pour me something dangerous.”
He follows me into the kitchen like a golden retriever with a dirty mind. “You asking me to get you drunk, Hart?”
“Just asking you to try and keep up.”
He pours two shots of tequila and slides one my way. “Here’s to fake relationships, explosive sex, and wildly inappropriate game night banter.”
I clink my glass to his. “Cheers to all that. Especially the wildly inappropriate part.”
We toss them back, and the burn settles into something warmer as his gaze lingers on my mouth just a little too long. I lick a drop off my lip and enjoy the way his jaw tightens.
Back in the living room, the energy shifts. Dylan and Mia are now seated next to each other on the floor, card game abandoned in favour of some low-voiced conversation. Mia laughs softly, her hand brushing Dylan’s knee without fanfare, and I clock the way his entire body seems to lean toward her as if gravity’s changed direction.
I sit back on the sofa with Murphy, and this time, it’s his arm that ends up behind me, casually draped, but his fingers graze the back of my neck. I don’t move away.
“So,” Mia says, catching my eye over the rim of her glass, “you two still faking it?”
“Absolutely,” I say at the exact moment Murphy replies, “Barely.”
Dylan smirks and mutters something under his breath. Mia doesn’t press but her look lingers. She knows me too well.
The rest of the night blurs into a warm, fizzy haze of laughter, teasing, and more card games. When the others finally start to drift out, Ollie heading off with Jacko and Dylan and Mia slipping out together, their goodbyes soft and understated, I start collecting empty glasses like that’ll distract me from how close Murphy’s still sitting.
“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough behind me. “Don’t overthink it. Just stay.”
I turn slowly. He’s watching me with a look that isn’t playful this time. It’s serious. Wanting. And it breaks something inside me that I’ve been trying so hard to keep taped up. I nod, almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”
The glasses clink back down on the table and his hand slips around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as though I belong there.
And for once, I don’t feel like running.
CHAPTER TWENTY
MURPHY
The call comes just as I’m mid-way through stuffing a protein bar in my mouth and yelling at Ollie for trying to squat with the rack still locked.
“Murph,” Layla’s voice rings in my ear, no-nonsense as always. “You’re needed.”
I groan into the Bluetooth. “Please tell me that means at a beer commercial shoot and not a charity calendar in my jockstrap.”
She doesn’t laugh. Not even a little. “No. This is big. Vantage Energy is hosting a sponsorship dinner Thursday night. Full press. Top brass. TV cameras. Your face needs to be on the front page for the right reasons.”
I rub the back of my neck, already dreading the penguin suit. “What do you need from me? Besides not spilling gravy down my tie?”
“You need to bring someone,” she says, clicking through something on her end. “They want their key players showing stability, charm, and marketability. And after thatadorably candidpaparazzi photo of you and Sophie at the hospital…”
“We were standing,” I interrupt. “In a line. With sick children.”
“Right. And yet you managed to stand an inch away from her like you were about to throw her over your shoulder and ravish her in the linen cupboard. PR loved it. They want her there.”
I blink. “You want me to takeSophieto a suit-and-tie media zoo full of old men and champagne flutes?”
