Page 227 of Power Play

“Charm.”

“She specifically said, and I quote, ‘He was one of my favorites, but don’t you dare tell him I said that because his ego requires no additional assistance.’”

Ryan started laughing, and I laughed with him.

“She said that?”

“Exactly that.”

“Smart woman.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“I was one of her favorites.”

“She told me not to tell you.”

“And you lasted how long?”

“Four hours.”

“Terrible secret keeper.”

The teasing made everything feel normal enough that I didn’t think about Wednesday for the rest of the night.

That changed the second Wednesday arrived.

By six fifteen, the navy dress was on my body, and I hated every fucking inch of it.

It fit, which somehow made everything worse.

The fabric hugged my waist, fell cleanly over my hips, and stopped just above my knees exactly where my mother believed it should. The neckline was conservative enough for my father’s birthday dinner, the cut expensive enough to appear effortless, and the entire thing made me feel sixteen again, terrified that one wrong breath might wrinkle something.

My heels sat beside the bed. My hair was curled, my makeup was finished, and my pulse refused to slow.

Ryan called at six twenty-three. I stared at his name on the screen for two rings before answering.

“Hey.”

“You sound weird.”

There was no hello or buildup. I closed my eyes.

“Hi to you too.”

“Charm.”

“I’m getting ready.”

“For dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

His voice sounded different tonight, more focused. Movement and distant voices filled the background, along with the hollow acoustics of somewhere near a locker room.

“You have a game.”