Page 4 of Power Play

I blink rapidly in an attempt to refresh my vision. My first glimpse of him has to be faulty, because there’s no way that he is as hot as—

Holy baby Jesus. The camera does him no justice, no justice at all. He’s huge, which is to be expected of a professional athlete of his caliber. Broad shoulders, encased in a black, fitted button-down shirt, taper into a fit waist. His jaw is cut from granite, which I understand makes no sense at all, but that doesn’t even matter. A cleft punctures his chin. Honestly, I’m shocked by the handsomeness of his rugged features, not to mention his thick head of golden hair.

His overall attractiveness is almost unfair.

Blue eyes, the color of a bird’s egg, narrow down at me. I ignore the obvious annoyance in his expression to continue my slow once-over of Boston’s Hottest Bachelor Under 40.

Except, by the looks of things, he’s not a bachelor any longer.

An engagement ring glitters on Gwen’s left hand. It’s huge. Probably the size of a toy poodle. If she punched someone with that thing, they’d be laid out cold in a heartbeat.

I inch back, just in case she gets any ideas. Gwen andideasaren’t commonly associated with one another, but you never really know. Once, when we were all in college, Gwen snatched a woman’s hair at a club and ripped out a handful after the girl told Gwen that her dress was hideous.

I may not particularly like my hair—doesn’t mean that I want to have any bald spots on my scalp.

“Charlie,” Gwen says now, her voice a pitch lower than Death’s. “This is Duke Harrison.”

Mel makes a choking noise behind me. I feel no remorse. Serves her right for not alerting me to the fact thatDukefreakin’Harrisonhas been standing right behind me this whole time.

I force a smile, hoping that my red lipstick hasn’t imprinted on my teeth from all of my recent gnashing, and blandly murmur, “How lovely.”

I look up, up, up to Duke’s face. I’m not exactly petite, but nor is he exactly average in height. Towering over me, he must be at least six-foot-something. He’s still watching me, I notice, his full mouth twisted in a frown. It’s sort of sexy now that I’m up close. His face, I mean, not the frown. Although the frown isn’t too bad either. It’s sulky, a little brooding. I find that I like it.

Gwen glowers and I realize that my greeting hasn’t met her standard. For the sake of not throwing down at my best friend’s bachelorette party, I try again. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Duke. What made you decide to join our women-only tea party?”

Jenny joins the fake-choking train. My lips finally tug upward in a genuine smile.

Duke Harrison, goalie extraordinaire for the Boston Blades, does not return my smile. “Gwen encouraged me to come,” is all he says.

“Ah.”

It’s all that needs to be said, really. What Gwen wants she generally gets—aside from Jenny’s husband, that is. My gaze flicks down to Gwen’s hand and the diamond ring sparkling under the soft, overhead lighting. “Maybe she wants you in the wedding planning mood,” I say. “You know, to bring you up to snuff.”

“We’re not together.”

Now I’m the one gasping for air. I pound my fist against my chest, rubbing in tight little circles. And, oh God, my eyes—they’re stinging. Laughter, I think, not tears. Gwen’s mouth opens and shuts, even as her gaze turns squinty.

“I was justtryingit on my ring finger,” she snaps. Yanking the diamond off her fourth finger, she fits it on her middle finger of the opposite hand. “Just to see how I feel about it. Duke likes to play hard to get.”

“I’m not playing anything,” he says evenly.

I can hear Gwen grinding her teeth from here. If she does so any harder, she’ll turn them to dust. With her hand still wrapped around his arm, I nevertheless have the sneaking suspicion that while they might not betogetherthey’ve probably swapped spit a few times. Crossed each other’s hockey sticks, if you know what I mean—not that Gwen’s got a penis. At least, I’m not aware of her having a penis.

Regardless, even if theyhaven’tdone the dirty, it’s clear from the dog-in-heat expression on Gwen’s face that she wants to get close and personal with Duke Harrison’s twin pucks.

I glance over at Duke, expecting to see that same look of lust darkening his blue eyes. Instead, he appears bored. A little on edge, maybe, but there’s no flare of desire in his expression when he attempts to pull away from Gwen’s death grip.

Suddenly our gazes clash, hold, and I lift my brow, as if to say,I wouldn’t bother trying.

He returns my brow-lift with one of his own, and I read his message loud and clear:Get her off of me.

My shoulders lift in a shrug—not my problem, it translates to—and I notice a pulse leap to his jaw.

“We have an event to go to after this,” Gwen says, oblivious to the fact that the man beside her is on the verge of fleeing. “Duke agreed to be my date.”

With a heavy sigh, Duke finally manages to detangle himself from the octopus otherwise known as Gwen James. “I’m not your date,” he grumbles in overt frustration, “I’m your damn cl—”

Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by Gwen’s high-pitched voice: “It doesn’t matter.Tea, Duke? Let’s go grab some tea.”

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