Page 25 of On the Power Play

“Why? Because he found a way for us to make headlines without you even signing the contract?” Delia sat, and Jack suddenly wondered what had happened to the outfit she’d worn onstage. All his senses were playing catch up. He’d been so amped up in that dressing room, all he’d seen was her face. Her expressions. He hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing.

“Jack, can you sit down? You're making this awkward,” Tony called from the back of the room.

Delia pursed her lips. Jack pulled out his seat and did as he was told.

“I apologize for Tony. He's not exactly sensitive.” Delia pulled the menu closer, and Jack noticed her nails were cut short. Her fingers long and slender.

Jack gripped his chair and scooted in. “Has he always been your publicist?”

“Only since I started with IndieLake last summer.” She kept her head bowed, scanning each line of the menu like she was going to be tested on it. Based on her flushed skin and panicked breathing back in the room, she didn’t enjoy making eye contact, but Jack was dying for her to look up.

“You've only been signed with a label since the summer?” He asked.

Delia nodded and finally lifted her chin, crossing her arms on the table in front of her. “Is that off-putting, Mr. ‘I only got signed three weeks ago’?”

Jack grinned as shock flitted over her expression a second time. “Another inside thought?” he asked. She was about to apologize again, but Jack held up a hand. “Just a second.”

He inspected her eyes in the softer lighting of the restaurant. In the dressing room, the garish fluorescent bulbs had created strange shadows, and he hadn’t gotten a good look at them. Not for lack of trying. They’d captured his interest the second he’d turned from the door and she’d marched up to him brandishing that tablet.

Her irises had a ring of almost fiery red around her pupil that faded into a thin stripe of gold, then bled into pale blue, finally edged by a ring of navy. It was like someone had pressed pause on a kaleidoscope. On top of that, her left eye had two black freckles at ten o’clock. Like drops of midnight ink.

“They're weird. My eyes,” Delia’s throat was flushing again.

Jack cleared his throat and looked away. “Not weird. They're unique.”

Delia scoffed. “That's what my mom used to always tell me. About my eyes, my hair. Everything. Even when I came home from school wearing bright pink tights with snake skin boots and an olive T-shirt—not the color, an actual olive on the front—with my dad's tie to round out the ensemble.”

Jack chuckled. “I'm sure it suited you.”

A smile played at the corner of Delia's mouth. “It was disgusting. I have pictures to prove it.”

“Well. Your eyes aren't disgusting.”

Jack had chosen the word “unique” because he didn't think telling Delia that her eyes were stunning or breathtaking was the right play. Though, was it ever a bad idea to give a woman a compliment? It had been so long, he didn’t remember the rules.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t do this often.”

“What, gigoloing?”

Jack laughed out loud. “I don’t think that’s a verb.” Delia looked pleased with herself, and his smile slipped. “I meant sitting down at a restaurant with someone. The dating thing in general.” The last time he’d eaten out was at One Place, the bar across from the Snowball’s practice arena, and within an hour, it’d been swarmed by people looking to get his autograph. He’d left just so the other guys could get appetizers in peace.

Delia raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I know. I'm funny, charming as hell—Oh wait. You know nothing about me.”

Delia shrugged, her shoulders pushing up on her soft waves, compressing them like an accordian. “I meant it was hard to believe because of the whole famous-hockey-player thing.” She looked back at her menu, though based on her eye line, he was pretty sure she was staring directly at the kids' meals.

“I've only been famous for three weeks, so I have yet to reap any of the benefits.” Jack looked down at the list of entreés, and his attention snagged on the Birria tacos. Then he remembered Clara was waiting for him at the pub down the street.

He slid the tablet over, flipped open the cover, and started to read. He’d told her he needed a minute to look over the contract, so that’s what he’d take. Jack skimmed the sections. Number of public appearances. Types of appearances. Documentation of appearances. “You have social media accounts?” he asked.

“I have all the social media accounts.”

Jack glanced up. “Do I have to get them?”

Delia shook her head. “Not as long as you don’t mind me posting pics on mine.”

“What kind of pictures?”

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