Page 42 of Power Play Pursuit

James chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he points at me and continues to belt out the lyrics like we’re singing a duet.

I go along, because frankly, he’s right. It’s super fun, and it’s been a while since I’ve let loose like this, or even danced at all.

The song ends, and the next one begins. It’s one of my favorites, so I up my moves, making him laugh even harder. He matches my energy, and we just keep dancing and singing until the end of the song. By now, I’m out of breath, catching the counter for support.

“Man, you weren’t kidding about the cardio,” I joke. “It’s been a while.”

Of course, James isn’t out of breath or dripping with sweat like I am. “Got to keep in shape. I’m thinking we do this every day, and my training will be complete.”

I laugh. “Who knew pro-athlete training was that easy?”

“Well, if everyone was in on the secret . . .” he trails off, leaning against the wall.

“Good point. Well, let’s finish up, because I do need a shower now,” I joke, walking back behind the counter to finish cleaning the machine.

“Another shower! My water bill will be through the roof. This girl is going to ruin me,” he teases.

I turn to give him a pointed look. “Too late. You can’t take it back. I’m staying.”

“I wouldn’t have it any otherway,” he says, and I’m suddenly relieved I have my back to him, because I’m blushing hard. And not because of the exercise.

We finish cleaning, sans the cardio workout, then walk back to the apartment.

“Oh, by the way,” he says as we’re turning off Warlington Lane. “The guys just texted. They want to go out for dinner tonight before they hit the road. The girls are going, and you’re invited too.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised to be invited. I know they go out to dinner sometimes with Marissa and Hayley, but I usually don’t tag along. Well, I was mostly with Lucas or at home watching his games.

“But obviously,” he continues, “you don’t have to come. Just because we live together doesn’t mean we need to have the same plans.” He scratches his temple. “You’re free to do whatever, but I just thought I’d ask.”

A warmth spreads through my chest. For the first time ever, James Adler isn't full of confidence and hotter than the sun itself. He’s awkward and cute. And for some reason, that’s even more intimidating—and charming.

With a smile, I glance up at him. “Eating out sounds fun.”

20

"We’re not supposed to flirt, remember?"

James Adler

Once we’re home and Elizabeth takes a shower—even though she smelled heavenly, like cookies and cinnamon rolls—we meet with Marissa and Aaron in our residence parking lot. Together, we drive to Monsieur Leon, a restaurant we often frequent together. It’s a French restaurant Beaumont discovered earlier this year and declared it to be our new food headquarters.

I can’t believe Elizabeth isn’t a typical part of these dinners. Usually, it’s just Miles, Hawthorne, Beaumont, Marissa, Hayley, and me. Wally, if we’re lucky.

Having her with us tonight feels right, like I’m one step closer to getting everything I’ve ever wanted. But I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I need to accept the fact that we might only ever be friends. I’d be lying if I said it was easy for me, but if friendship is all I can get, that’s what I’ll settle for. Still, I’m hoping that with time she’ll heal and see that I can be good for her.

We arrive at the restaurant and sit down at our usual table. It’s tucked away in a secluded part of the restaurant, which allows us to eat in peace. Because, yes, even when we’re eating, fans interrupt us to ask for selfies. While most of the time we’re happy to oblige, dinner isn’t the best time. We’re hockey players. You don’t mess with our food.

The waitress hands us our menus, and Beaumont shows off by pronouncing every wordà la française.

“It’sQuiche Lorraine,” he says with that French flair, and everyone laughs.

“Qweesh lorraine,” I say, trying to articulate.

He chuckles. “Nope.Quiche.”

“Pretty sure it’ll taste the same,” I shoot back, shaking my head.

“Um, definitely not,” he says, and I swat the air in dismissal. The French sure are weird with their food.

---