Page 27 of On the Power Play

“I'm not—I don't like using that word.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's pretentious.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms in front of her. Her shirt sleeves came past her wrists, and she gripped the hem against her palms. It was cute.

Jack closed the tablet cover and slid the device to the side. “Isn’t it factual?”

“Do you think you're a celebrity?”

“I think I'm probably a fifteen minute-er.”

“That’s a long time depending on the circumstance.” Delia muttered, then froze as she reached for her water cup. “I’m sorry, I?—”

Jack didn’t hear the rest of her stammered apology through his laughter. How did she keep doing that? Taking him completely off guard and making him forget why he was there or why he should be walking away and collecting Clara from the pub.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Delia pushed her hair out of her face. “Maybe we just shouldn’t talk anymore.”

“Because it’s after a show and you should be introverting?”

Delia nodded. “Exactly. Right now I have no filter.”

Jack took a drink of his water. Lemony. “So normally you won’t be joking around?” Even as he said it, something told him there was no “normal” with Delia Melise.

She nodded stoically. “Right. All business. I won’t talk much. I won’t annoy you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.” He held her gaze a moment and saw that flush creep up her skin.

“What is your tattoo? On your arm?” she asked. He’d noticed her eyeing his ink back in the dressing room and glancing at his arm when she thought he wasn’t watching.

“I thought we weren’t talking?”

She exhaled. “You don’t have to tell me, I just?—”

Jack pulled up his sleeve and pointed at his forearm. “This was my first one.”

“Pinecones?” Delia frowned.

“They’re serotinous cones. From the Lodgepole pine. They only open after a wildfire melts the resin so they can open.”

Delia’s finger twitched, and for a moment he thought she was going to reach out and trace the lines on his skin. Instead, she balled her hand into a fist. “What was next?”

“Then I decided I wanted this to be a full sleeve, so I had an artist work in the Rockies, hockey?—”

“What’s the owl?” Delia’s hand got closer, but she didn’t touch him.

“Head on a swivel.” Jack waited a beat to see if she understood. When she obviously didn’t, he explained. “We have to see everything on the ice. One of my coaches had this pre-game thing he did about barn owls.”

Delia’s lip twitched. “And . . . is that a praying mantis?”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah.” He rolled down his sleeve, careful to keep the fabric off his bandage. Jack hoped when he covered up his arm, she’d get the hint and let it go. She didn’t.

“What does it symbolize?”

“That one’s personal.”

Delia’s lips parted, then she pulled her hand back and nodded. “Sure. Thanks for showing me.” She searched for something to stare at, but since their menus were gone, all they had were condiments. “Did you hurt yourself?” Jack frowned as Delia grabbed the ketchup bottle and started reading the ingredients list. “You had a bandage on your arm.”

“Oh, yeah. No, that was a tattoo I got this morning.” He didn’t think she’d noticed it since his sleeve had barely come up that far.

---