Page 45 of The Power Play

I nod and give him a grunt like the information didn’t light a little fire inside me. He just chuckles, knowingly.

Knowing Audrey is here watching the game distracts me more than it should. She’s seen me play before, for fucks sake. This isn’t new. Not even close.

I’m losing my mind.

We endup losing the game so the energy in the locker room is somber as we all get changed. I get pulled for a post-game interview, which I reluctantly do. The questions are always so stupid, asking what I wish we did differently as a team and shit. We wish we scored more goals. Next?

By the time I’m done with the interview, showered and changed, I was hoping to catch Audrey in the tunnel with Chandler, but they must have left already. It shouldn’t disappoint me as much as it does.

Heading home, I’m not even sure if I’ll see her there. Then, I’m leaving in the morning. All the pressure from my thoughts and the stress of the game makes me feel like there’s a weight in my head and I just want to go to sleep.

Once I’m through my front door, tossing my keys onto the table in the entryway I head toward my room. I’m stopped by the visual of the woman with black hair and glasses perched on my kitchen island. She’s in skinny jeans and a Denver Dragons jersey. I’ve seen her wear it before, so I know there’s no name or number on the back of it. But right now, I’m wishing there was a certain thirty-six on it.

“What are you doing?” I ask, dumbly.

“Waiting for you,” she shrugs.

I approach her with a smirk, “We have to stop meeting up like this.”

I’m standing in front of her, dropping my duffel at my feet and bracing my hands on the counter on each side of her thighs.

“Like what?” she questions.

“In my kitchen.”

She looks around and laughs, “You’re right. We do seem to keep meeting in here. It’s a good kitchen. Very…central.”

I nod. “Maybe we should have a different meeting spot. Switch it up sometimes.”

“Yeah? Like where?” her tone is suggestive.

My room. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason I hold back from saying the words.

Instead, I say, “You could’ve waited for me after the game. I would’ve given you a ride home.”

“It’s okay. I thought you might have wanted to go out with the guys to commiserate or something.”

“But you said you were waiting here. For me.”

“I was.”

“So how long would you have waited if I did go out?”

“Probably not long,” she looks at her wrist as if there’s a watch there. There’s not. “Look at that, your time is up anyway.”

Jumping down from the counter, her body slides against mine because I have yet to move. She looks up at me, towering over her with our bodies pressed against each other.

“Where are you going?” I rasp, my voice thick with desire especially now that she’s pressed completely against me.

“My room,” she replies softly.

“Why?”

“I–” she looks behind me like the answer will be there before turning to meet my gaze again. This time there’s a challenge in her eyes. “I mean unless you have something better in mind.”

I do. I have so many better things in mind. So. Many.

But I can’t voice them. She’s putting the ball in my court right now, and yet I do better when she initiates what happens between us. Takes the choice out of my hands and makes it easier. I want to say something. Anything that portrays what I really want in this moment, which is her. Every inch of her.

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