Page 66 of On the Power Play

“I would hate feeling small.”

“Well, la-dee-da mister beat the shit out of them.”

Jack laughed. “That might be the worst story I’ve ever heard.” Lies. It was the best story he’d ever heard. He felt like he’d jumped on a merry-go-round and was still clinging to the bars because it wasn’t slowing down.

She sighed. “I know. I ramble when I tell stories. That’s why I stick to poetry.”

Jack regretted his statement. He wanted all the rambling.

“I was kidding, by the way.” Delia arranged something in the drawer.

“About which part?”

“You’re not one of those asshole hockey players I knew growing up.” She glanced down and realized the clothes were all gone from the bed, then leaned over and picked up another pile from her suitcase. Socks this time. Jack didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “I guess I don’t know for sure, for sure, but you’ve always been nice when I’m around.”

“Guys are usually nice when women are around.”

“That. Is false.” She dropped the socks into the right side of the drawer. “I was once on a date with a guy who called our waitress a ‘paper bagger.’”

Jack’s eyes widened. “People still say that?”

“Apparently. Yes.” She put her hands on her hips and scanned the half-empty suitcase, then stepped over it to slide open the closet doors. “Perfect.” She grabbed a handful of hangers from the bar.

“Here, let me help.” Jack reached out and she handed him a few, then stacked a few blouses on the bed next to him.

“See? You’re nice.”

“I’m bored.”

“Right.” Delia hesitated, and Jack grabbed a shirt.

“You better not be thinking about how your room isn’t clean or whether you should find a way to entertain me.”

Delia’s eyes shot to his. “I wasn’t.”

Jack grinned and slipped the sleeves of a pale-blue blouse onto the hangers, allowing his thumb and forefinger to linger on the fabric. “Why are women’s clothes always softer than men’s?”

“I don’t think they are.”

“Feel this.” Jack held out his arm and Delia slipped her fingers on either side of the sleeve of his shirt without hesitation. Bad idea. Her thumb grazed his arm, right over his owl feathers. His skin tingled like he’d licked his finger and jammed it in a live outlet.

Delia pulled back with a jerk. “It’s soft.”

“But compared to this?” His voice was unsteady as he held out her now-hanging blouse.

She assessed, careful to avoid his outstretched hand. “I think those are in two totally different genres.”

“Genres?”

“Yeah. Like categories.” She turned back to her pile.

“You think of everything in musical terms?”

Delia nodded and took the shirt, then leaned over to hang it in the closet. “I think you could find soft men’s clothing if you looked for it.”

“If I paid more than twenty bucks for a T-shirt.”

She smiled. “You’re in the NHL now. Don’t you need game day fits or whatever?”

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