Page 78 of On the Power Play

“I think you’re in my seat.” Jack grinned at his sister.

Clara rolled her eyes, then forced a bright smile. “I was keeping it warm for you.” She stood and gave him a hug, then shifted so he could get past.

Jack’s eyes locked on Delia, and his lips twitched. He didn’t sit. “Hey.”

He towered above her, and her face was directly in front of the worn button of his jeans. Delia swallowed hard, forcing her head straight up. Jack’s eyebrow raised, a silent message that she understood instantly. They’re watching.

Delia stood, her heart punching against her ribs. Jack reached for her, and as his hands circled her waist, it felt as if someone trailed a feather down every bone in her spine. She inhaled sharply and forced her knees not to buckle.

Jack pulled her against him and lowered his head, his cheek brushing hers. He’d shaved. “I hope Clara wasn’t fangirling too hard.” His breath tickled the baby hairs next to her ear.

“She wasn’t.” Delia’s heart was in her throat, and she couldn’t tell if the overhead lighting was blinding her or if she was seeing spots. Breathe. She slipped her hands under the bottom of Jack’s coat so she could link her hands behind his back to squeeze her pointer finger. This wasn’t real. This was only a show. “How have you been?”

Jack reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, and Delia shivered. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. Thank the hockey gods he couldn’t see her face. She was starting to sweat. “No, I’m good,” she squeaked.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m nervous,” she whispered. Name the feeling. That always helped, didn’t it? His smile spread against her cheek. That sure as hell wasn’t helping. Why wouldn’t her body listen to her damn thoughts? This isn’t real. She repeated it over and over, but the more she pushed, the more her body bucked against her.

“Why are you nervous?” His voice was a low hum.

An ache spread through her middle, and Delia squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms tighter around him without meaning to. It was sheer comfort to be pressed up against him, which immediately activated her inner therapist. Maybe if you spent more time cultivating personal relationships and had more physical touch in your life, you wouldn’t be hyperventilating when a man put his arms around you.

Pressure built in her head until she couldn’t keep the words from spilling out. “Umm, let’s see. I’m meeting a bunch of people I don’t know, who all understand this sport that you love and I know nothing about. I actually searched up the rules last night on the internet, and I wasn’t going to tell you that because I wanted to look like I did grow up in this country paying attention to something other than chord progressions and poetry. Especially because I always tease my mom about not being officially Canadian, and then here I am knowing nothing about hockey. There are hundreds of people here with cameras, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how I have resting bitch face, which isn’t something I can really fix, but it does make sense of a thousand other life experiences, and then I see you walking over here and—” Delia pressed her lips shut, cutting off the word vomit. “I’m sorry. I talk when I’m overwhelmed.”

"And when it's late after a show." His lips brushed her skin.

Delia nodded. "Also after I laugh really hard, but not when I'm mad. I shut up when I'm mad. I think I should've given a better disclaimer that night at Malley’s."

He huffed a breath through his nose. "Sometimes it's more fun to figure it out."

"Maybe with some people. I'm pretty sure my hidden treasures are cursed." She imagined Jack lifting a hand to the moonlight and only seeing his bones.

Jack chuckled, and the sound sent a thrill of pleasure through her. She pressed her finger. Not real. Not real. "I'll teach you about hockey. I won't even ask for your Social Insurance card."

“What about my birth certificate?”

“Nope.”

Delia’s shoulders relaxed an inch. "I'm not sure I believe you." She could hear his grin widen.

His hand moved an inch up her back. "Why?"

"You still haven't taught me that song."

"What song?"

"The Tony Knows one. From breakfast."

Jack shifted on his feet, his chest moving the lace under her shirt. "I never said I'd teach you that. This, I'm offering."

"Maybe I want to know the song more than I want to know hockey."

"That'll cost more than proof of Canadian citizenship."

Delia laughed. "I have nothing more valuable." She was soft butter again. Her hands were no longer clasped. When had her fingers splayed over his lower back? And when had she stopped shivering? She glanced up and saw the grey coils hanging in the heaters now glowing orange. Delia pulled back and looked up into Jack's eyes. They were dark behind his lashes.

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