Page 37 of Power Play

“It matters because clothing isn’t neutral. It teaches the body how it’s allowed to exist.”

“Holy shit.”

Her eyes widened. “Was that good?”

“That was fucking good.”

The smile that broke over her face was bright, unguarded, and so completely different from the careful ones she handed out everywhere else that my entire body reacted to it.

I wanted to drag the table out of the way and kiss her.

The thought arrived with enough force that I sat back.

Charm noticed.

Her smile faltered for half a second before I tapped the notebook between us.

“Write it down.”

She grabbed her pen and started scribbling, fast enough that the neat lines of her handwriting leaned into one another.

“I hate you for being right.”

“No, you don’t. You hate that you couldn’t prove me wrong.” I watched her write another line. “Admit it, amiga. Sé muy bien lo que hago.”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“I said I know damn well what I’m doing.”

She smiled while finishing the sentence. “Yeah, well, you made that sound easy.”

“It gets easier when you stop editing yourself before the thought gets out.”

“That feels personally invasive.”

“You keep saying that like it’s going to make me back off.”

“It hasn’t worked yet.”

“It won’t.”

She wrote for another minute before glancing up. “Can I ask you something unrelated?”

“You usually do.”

“How do you say my name in Spanish?”

I looked at her. “Your full name?”

“Charmagne.”

The name sounded expensive in her mouth. Softer than Charm, sharper somehow too.

“Charmagne stays Charmagne. Names don’t always translate.”

“That feels disappointing.”

She closed the notebook halfway. “What about Charm?”