Page 58 of Power Play

“I’m almost two hundred pounds. If I had a coat on, I’d be sweating.”

“I apologize for the temperature you’re about to experience. You’re going to think it’s a sauna.” I step back so he can slip inside. “You can put your shoes wherever.”

“Jesus, Mitchell. It’s like a fucking terrarium in here. Are you a lizard?” He scowls, hands drifting to the quarter zip he’s wearing. He yanks at the hem, pulling the cotton over his head, then tosses it on the floor. “I’m going to melt.”

“Open a window and stick out your head. You’ll be fine.” I grin when he scowls again. “How was the weight room?”

“Hell. Much like the temperature in this apartment.”

“And how is your ass from our fall on Wednesday?”

“Bruised beyond fucking belief. Playing last night was painful. How about your knee?”

“Fine. My ego is more damaged. Lexi caught the whole thing on camera, and it’s humiliating.” I shut the door behind him and turn the deadbolt. “Did you eat dinner?”

“I grabbed a sandwich on my way over. I can’t go too long after a workout without putting fuel in my body.”

“Want a tour?”

“Sure. If we can make a pitstop in Antarctica along the way, I’d be fucking grateful.”

I nudge him with my elbow and lead him down the hall to the living room. “This is where I spend most of my time. I don’t have a home office, so I do a lot of my work on the couch.”

“It’s bright, which comes as no surprise based on your wardrobe.” Liam peers at the bookshelf in the corner and the potted plant with leaves that crawl down two shelves. He touches the stack of coasters I bought on a solo trip to Italy the second the divorce papers were signed, then glances at the pile of blankets on the ottoman. “Very you.”

This is the first time I’ve had a man in my apartment, and I wonder what it looks like through his eyes.

I moved in after my separation, using the money from our prenup to create a home that’s totally mine. To create a place that doesn’t hold any ghosts from the past.

There are fresh coats of paint—yellow, blue, fuchsia, and green—on the walls. New finishes on the cabinets and kitchen drawers. Backsplash in the shower and a funky lamp on my bedside table.

It’s my safe haven. A place full of all the love I missed out on for so many years, brought to life with photographs of me with my friends. Postcards that are displayed on the fridge from all my travel destinations. Tabs in my books that mark the scenes I hope to live out one day.

Like me, it’s a work in progress. Something that’s only getting better as time goes on, but it’smine.

“My last place was modern. Monochromatic and full of sharp lines. It felt so sterile in there. I hated it,” I say.

Liam turns his attention to the bookshelf. “You like to read?”

“Yeah.” I smile and run my finger down one of the spines. “I love to escape in a good book. Gives me hope in the world, you know? It’s a shame you’re not part of the boys’ book club. I’d love to hear your opinions on dark romance.”

“I’m dyslexic.” His shoulders curl in as he says it, his tall frame nearly shrinking in half. “It takes me a while to read something, and I have a hard time imagining things creatively. I’d never survive in a book club.”

“I had no idea.”

“I like to think I hide it well.”

“What about audiobooks? You could try the content in a different form.”

“Does that count as reading? The guys would probably say I’m cheating.”

“They absolutely would not. Audiobooksarereading, Liam, and they’re a way to make stories accessible to everyone.”

“Oh. Maybe I’ll check one out then.”

“Is your dyslexia why you don’t like to talk to the media?” I sit on my couch and gesture for him to get comfortable wherever he wants. “You never do interviews.”

He picks the chair by the fireplace and perches on the edge of it. “I don’t like to talk to the media because I had a bad experience my rookie year in Minnesota.”

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