Page 101 of Power Play

“Shots of different kinds of alcohol.” Emmy lines up five glasses in a line. “You can’t say no. I’m the bride, and I want you to join.”

“Damn you, Emerson Hartwell.” I glance down at Piper. “Want to share the bench, Pipsqueak?”

“Sure.” She pats the spot next to her and I sit. My thigh presses against hers, but she doesn’t pull away. “Been wondering where you were.”

“Looking for me?” I ask in her ear over the noise, and she shrugs.

“Maybe.” Her eyes sparkle and she grabs two glasses, handing one to me. “To Liam. The NHL’s record holder for most saves in a game.”

I grumble at the toast and attention but knock the drink back with ease. “That’s the good shit.”

“Fantastic, right? Top of the line tequila. Smooth going down.” Maverick gestures for us to pick up the next drink like some alcohol-pushing salesman. “Now the vodka.”

“This one is for Maverick and Emmy,” Piper toasts. “To a lifetime of happiness.”

We go through the flight until I’ve had more shots in ten minutes than I’ve had in the last five years. I set the last glass down and lean back, the alcohol already settling in. I feel it in my blood. In the back of my head. At the edges of my vision where things just start to turn fuzzy.

It’s been ages since I’ve got drunk.

When I drink, I know when to stop. I know my limits and when I’m getting close to pushing past them. I can tell I’m already teetering into buzzed territory. Moving slowly to intoxicated, but tonight, I think I’m going to enjoy it.

“Didn’t know you were a lightweight.” Piper taps my knee. “Your cheeks are red.”

“You want to have a drinking contest, Mitchell?”

“What does the winner get?”

“What do you want?”

“You.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and grins. “How can we make that happen?”

I’m tempted to kiss her right here, right now.

Fuck a dark corner or my hotel room.

Emmy and Maverick are in their own world. I could tell them I was on fire and they wouldn’t even look at me, but Piper is.

I like having her attention on me.

I like knowing she’s watching.

I like that she scoots closer to me and drums her fingers on my thigh.

Fuck. She’s so pretty.

Has she always been this pretty?

I think she has. It’s why I’ve been looking at her for four years.

Because she’s so pretty.

Hell.

I’m drunker than I thought.

“Do you want to dance?”

“Do you know how to dance?” she asks.

---