Page 70 of On the Power Play

"He's right."

Delia froze and looked up. Jack looked like he was coiled tight enough to pounce. "Right about what?"

"That we're not selling it."

She set her phone down. "Jack, I meant what I said at breakfast."

"I know." He was staring at the table like her mom did when she spotted a fingerprint.

Delia’s pulse fluttered. "So . . ."

He locked eyes with her. "I don't do things halfway. My whole life, anytime I committed to something, I was all in. That's why I went so far in hockey. I was never the most talented guy out there, but I was willing to put in the work."

"This isn't your livelihood, though."

"It kind of is. I've had two meetings with my management team since those pictures went public, and they've scheduled me on a morning show and two different podcasts for the next week. I don't hate my job at Big Rick, but the idea of having a career in the NHL?" He leaned back in his chair. "If I think about it differently, like a job, maybe it won't—maybe it will be fine."

Delia nodded, ignoring the speeding of her heart and her splintering thoughts. This was a job to him. Of course it was. And his job was to touch her. More frequently. But what was he willing to touch? What did she want to touch? Touch. Touch. Touch.

Heat exploded in her middle. Everything. She wanted to touch everything. If Jack wanted to sell it, she had some ideas that she was absolutely not willing to make outside thoughts. "We could keep it simple. Hold hands or something?” she squeaked.

Jack shook his head. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Delia couldn't keep her jaw from dropping. "What? You just said you wanted to sell it. What’s smaller than holding hands? A pat on the arm? I saw you do that with your team captain earlier."

The skin on Jack's neck reddened. "I didn't mean—" He drew a deep breath and held it. "I was thinking we should kiss."

Delia gaped at him. "Explain to me how that makes any sense." She could barely hear herself think. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

"I've kissed plenty of people. I've only held hands with two."

Delia's eyes narrowed. "Wait, hold on. In your book, holding hands is more intimate than swapping spit?"

He nodded, and the expression on his face sobered her. That line of reasoning seemed batty, but she wasn't the one who had lost her fiancée. Hell, she hadn't even gained a fiancée to lose. "Okay. I'm fine with kissing." She straightened her shirt. "But what kind of kiss are we talking about?" Her insides began to squirm.

Jack started to say something, then stopped. "Are you okay?"

Delia tried to smile, but even without seeing it, she could tell her face wasn't doing what she wanted it to. "Yes?"

Jack's lips twitched. "So, no."

She blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, this just feels like—" She lifted her hands and shook them out. "When I said that, it sounded like I was one of those guys on the apps. The ones that send messages like, where do you want my lips? Ugh, it's so disgusting. Like I can feel their hot breath coming through the screen." She held out her phone for emphasis. "And now I said that, and I feel skeezy like I'm sitting in a dark room with my hand down my pants or something."

Jack's eyes crinkled at the corners.

Delia scowled. "Are you laughing at me?"

His expression tightened. "No."

"You're laughing at me."

He put a hand over his face and pretended to cough.

"That was a pathetic cover-up."

A goofy grin stretched across his face. "What? I'm sorry! That was entertaining."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Well, I'm glad my pain is amusing to you."

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