Page 83 of Power Play
Winters: Sophie finally shagged some sense into you or what?
I smirk.
Murphy: Confirmed. Sense and several new vocabulary words.
Ollie: Legends only.
Jacko: She looked hot last night. Tell her I said hi.
Murphy: You tell her that and I’ll swap your protein powder with flour.
Jacko: Kinky.
“Your friends are unhinged,” Sophie says from the doorway, arms folded, wearing one of my shirts.
I grin. “Told you.”
She accepts the coffee with a sleepy thank you and curls up on the barstool like she belongs there.
“You really meant it last night?” she asks, eyes over the rim of her mug. “About us?”
“Meant every word.”
Her smile is small but genuine. “Good. Because I don’t do half-arsed.”
“Sophie Hart, this is me going full-arsed.”
She chokes on her coffee.
The fundraiser glow doesn’t fade for a few days. Everyone’s still talking about the auction, the dancing, the fact that Dylan and Mia almost made it to the end before they sneaked away quietly.
But it’s me and Sophie people keep asking about.
Murphy’s got a girlfriend now?
You and Hart, really?
Did she lose a bet?
I don’t even bother answering half of them. I let the smile speak for itself.
We fall into a rhythm. Training, lunch breaks, evenings that bleed into mornings. I get used to having her hand in mine, her laughter echoing through my flat, her Chapstick in my jacket pocket.
It’s not perfect. She’s snarky when she’s stressed and I’m annoying when I’m tired. But it works. God, itworks.
We argue about pasta shapes and disagree on which TV shows count as classics, but we always end up tangled on the sofa, some halfway point between her sharp edges and my chaos.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realise I’m not afraid anymore.
Not of commitment or of screwing it up.
Because she sees me.
The real me.
And that’s more terrifying than anything.
But it’s also the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.
