Page 60 of Power Play
We all lunge to see it, but he just smirks and says, “Top of my thigh. You’ve got to earn the reveal.”
Ollie leans back, smirking. “Speaking of reveals, Murph. Are you going to tell us how many times you’ve shagged Sophie since Saturday or are we all just meant to guess?”
Dylan groans into his pint. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Finally, someone’s curious about my journey.”
“It’s notcuriosity,” Dylan mutters. “It’s dread.”
“She’s class, though,” Jacko says, giving me a rare, sincere nod. “Nice girl.”
“Sheis,” I say, suddenly full of a warm, fizzy feeling in my chest. “Proper smart. Funny. Doesn’t let me get away with anything. And she smells like heaven and soap and maybe a tiny bit like cinnamon.”
“Have you met her mum yet?” Ollie asks.
“Not yet. But I’ve seen photos. The genes arestrong, my friend.”
“She got sisters?” The rookie asks.
“She does. And they would eat you alive, man.”
The rookie smirks. “I like a challenge.”
Jacko leans over. “Donotmess with Sophie’s family, mate. I heard one of her cousins once broke a lad’s finger for flirting with her at a wedding.”
Dylan finally chimes in. “So, is this it then?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You and Sophie. It feels serious.”
I don’t even hesitate. “It is.”
There’s a beat of silence.
And then Ollie goes, “Awwwwwww,” like a Disney sidekick.
I throw a chip at him.
“She makes me want to be better,” I say, suddenly realising the words are true even as I say them. “She sees the gobshite but also… I dunno. The rest of me.”
“Youhavea rest of you?” Ollie says, mock-gasping.
“Turns out, yeah. And it likes brunch.”
Jacko raises his pint. “To brunch. AndBake Off. And Murphy not being an emotional grenade anymore.”
We all cheers.
Even Dylan cracks a half-smile.
For the next hour, we talk rubbish, drink pints, and debate whether you’d rather fight one horse-sized duck or fifty duck-sized horses. Jacko has a whole strategy involving a sourdough distraction. Ollie accidentally spills his drink, the rookie tries to chat up the bartender and gets shut downspectacularly, and I make Dylan laugh so hard he nearly chokes on his crisps.
By the time we leave it’s dark out, and we’re swaying slightly with warmth and familiarity.
The night’s been dumb and messy and perfect. Just like us. And as we spill out into the cold air, I can’t help thinking maybe love doesn’t make you soft.
Maybe it just makes youreal.
