Page 275 of Power Play

Ryan laughed. “Compromise.”

“Healthy relationships are beautiful.”

“Apparently.”

I reached for my phone and opened the group chat. Bliss had already changed the name twice, and Briggs was sending enough celebration GIFs to cause a seizure.

“This is going to be unbearable.”

Ryan dropped his phone onto the bed. “You love them.”

“I do.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Very.”

He leaned down and kissed me once. “We should get moving.”

I looked at him. “That sounds suspiciously responsible.”

“We have breakfast soon.”

“With eight emotionally intrusive people.”

“Exactly why we should shower together. Efficiency.”

“That isn’t what happens when we shower together.”

“We can grow.”

“I have seen no evidence of that.”

Ryan laughed as he climbed off the bed and held out his hand. I took it anyway.

By the time we started collecting clothes from the bedroom floor and arguing about whose fault it was that one of my earrings had ended up beneath his dresser, the game remained firmly lodged inside my mind.

The scouts, cameras, and possibility that everything Ryan had fought for could change in one night should have terrified me.

For once, thinking about the world seeing me beside him didn’t make me want to hide.

It made me want Saturday to arrive faster.

19

Ryan

Charm’s family didn’t threaten people with raised voices.

They did it with linen napkins, crystal glasses, and smiles sharp enough to open skin without leaving fingerprints.

I figured that out ten minutes into Thanksgiving dinner, right around the time her mother looked at my hands for the fourth time and her father asked me about hockey like he was asking how long I planned on entertaining myself before real life started.

I could’ve respected the insult more if he’d had the balls to say it plain.

Instead, Lance Harlen sat at the head of a table that looked like it needed its own zip code, carving turkey in a charcoal sweater and a watch that cost more than the first car I ever slept in, smiling like every question he asked came from harmless curiosity. His wife sat across from him with pearls at her throat and a mouth made for polite disappointment, tracking every tattoo that peeked from beneath my cuffs like the ink might spread if she looked away too long.

Charm sat beside me in a cream sweater with pearl buttons and her strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind one ear, so damn beautiful it should’ve been illegal and so stiff with nerves it made my back teeth grind. Her posture was perfect. Her smile was perfect. Every inch of her belonged in this cold, expensive house with its polished floors, framed family photos, and dining room full of people who knew how to use manners like a weapon.