Page 366 of Power Play

“Then hydrate, eat, and remember that one beer means one beer.”

Briggs tucked his bottle behind his back, and Coach looked directly at him.

“I can still see it.”

“I’m not playing tomorrow.”

“You’re a college athlete.”

“I’m on holiday.”

“You’re wearing my team’s sweatpants.”

Briggs looked down at the Frost logo on his thigh. “These were a gift.”

“He stole them,” I said.

Coach pointed toward the road. “All of you leave my parking lot before I decide tomorrow’s conditioning needs spectators.”

We scattered with all the dignity of teenagers caught behind a convenience store.

By the time we reached the lodge, darkness had settled across the resort. A soft glow shone behind the curtains of the second cabin, and I forced myself to keep walking without searching for Charm’s silhouette.

The main lodge smelled like the dinner Bliss and Aura had left warming in the oven before retreating next door. Containers filled the refrigerator, and a note sat on the counter in Bliss’s handwriting.

Food is ready. Eat before you begin making terrible male decisions.

Beneath it, Aura had added another line.

This includes you, Easton Wade.

Easton read the note and pulled out his phone.

“You’re not calling her,” Rider said.

“I’m texting.”

“You had an ugly fight three hours ago.”

“Exactly. That means the sex will be fire.”

“Maybe use punctuation.”

Easton gave him a look. “I know how to text my woman.”

“You once sent her ‘K’ after she wrote three paragraphs.”

“That was before my personal growth.”

Cade picked up the note and ran his thumb over Bliss’s handwriting. The fight still sat inside his face, but love remained there too, stubborn enough to survive one bad night. He took a picture of the note before folding it into his pocket, and none of us commented on it.

We ate at the kitchen island and avoided discussing Charm. Rider told us about one of his professors accusing him of submitting an assignment written by someone else because the paper contained semicolons. Briggs argued that semicolons were inherently suspicious. Easton insisted no hockey player should be judged by punctuation, and Cade nearly choked when Rider admitted the paper actually had been written by someone else because he’d paid a tutor to type what he dictated.

By the time we moved downstairs, I had eaten enough food to satisfy Coach and drunk enough beer to stop feeling the edges of my body.

Briggs challenged Rider to air hockey, and Rider destroyed him. Briggs demanded a rematch, claimed the table was angled, then lost again by six points.

“The puck is biased,” he said.