Page 39 of Like a Power Play
Darcy lets out a drunken giggle, strolling over to me as she swats her hand in the air. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh without a degrading undertone. Something intended to poke at me, irritate me. But this is different. It’s brief, hiccupped, and despite the way she’s slurring, it causes that stupid tightening sensation to return to my chest. I should probably get that checked out. Family history of heart disease, y’know.
“Yeah, yeah, I knew that,” she dismisses. “But you’rereallygreen, you know?”
She leans in, and I don’t think she means to, but her palm presses against my chest. I hold my breath, desperate for my heartbeat to return to normal, to be slow. Steady. Unrestrained. But the tightness inside me only deepens, curling around my ribs, spreading like an ache I’ve never been victim to before. Her scent clings to the air, just as sweet, as tart as I remember. I wonder if she can feel it too, the way my chest constricts, like I’m one breath away from collapsing under the weight of her hand.
“Like, the Hulk green. Wait—no, no, no, no.Waybetter than the Hulk green. You’re like…” She pauses, and her thoughts are clearly weighing her down, because her head tilts to the side, and the rest of her follows. Without thinking, I reach out to steady her, my hand landing on her waist. The second my fingers brush her abdomen, her eyes snap up to meet mine.
I almost pull away—I swear I felt a jolt of electricity rush through me—but then she smiles.
It’s a different kind of smile. One that makes youfeelsomething. One that leaves you breathless. Not smug and triumphant, but like the first time I saw it at practice. Like watching the sun break over snow-capped mountains.
“You’re like, Kermit the Frog green,” she finally finishes with a grin.
Despite every cell in my brain begging me not to, a low chuckle slips out of me. “That’s better than the Hulk?” I ask. Darcy cocks a brow, like the answer is obvious.
“Duh.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I was kind of hoping for Gamora green. Or like, sexy M&M green?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to reel them back in. But Darcy’s eyes widen, those pretty jade jewels shimmering. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “You aretotallysexy M&M green!”
Blood rushes to the tops of my cheeks, and I’m thankful for the fact they’re painted so that she can’t see it. I don’t know why it happens. It’s stupid, and Darcy’s just drunk. But hearing that word slip from her mouth, much less concerning me, creates a chemistry experiment in my stomach. Something hot and bubbling fills up the inside of me, and it needs to be extinguished.
“Did you just… compliment me?”
Darcy shrugs, glancing around the room like she’s looking for something. “Depends how much you like M&Ms.” Her gaze flicks back to me. “Do you know Cleo? Cleo Mardas? I can’t find her anywhere.”
I should be relieved. She’ll be gone soon, and I can pretend this conversation never happened. I’ll see her at the game on Saturday, where she’ll tell me how shit I played, and everything will fall back into place. No more odd compliments, no more worrying about my cardiovascular health.
“Umh…” My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth, torn. Icouldjust let her walk away, leave her to find Cleo and forget this whole conversation. But when she tilts her head, and those pretty eyes catch the light, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Not for a while. I think she and Indie went off somewhere.”
Darcy’s brow twitches, but she doesn’t ask any more questions. She just nods, spinning in the opposite direction and strolling toward the door. Which is when I realize that my hands are still on her goddamn waist.
I don’t even know why I’m still touching her. But her skin is warm beneath my palms, her thin waist a delicate line I trace without thinking.
For a moment, I decide she can take care of herself. Darcy isn’t my problem.
But then she glances over her shoulder and I realize that, bratty coach’s daughter or not, I’d be a shitty human if I let her walk away. I sigh, my fingers sinking deeper into her waist to slow her down, then turn her to face me. Another sunny giggle slips out of her, and her gloved hand lands on my shoulder, the weight of it making my throat dry.
What is it with this woman and gloves?
“Did you come here with Cleo?” I ask. She nods, her eyes glimmering.
“She’s my roommate.”
I flash her an earnest look. “Did you come with anyone else?”
She tilts her head, lips pursing like she’s considering something. “I don’t even know anyone else.”
I want to make some snide comment about how maybe she’d have more friends if she wasn’t such an uptight, nosy know-it-all, but as I part my lips to speak, nothing comes out. Instead, I just sigh.
She doesn’t move back. She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to look away, and for some reason, I don’t. Making eye contact with someone you can’t stand is supposed to make you uncomfortable. Make you irritated, make your skin crawl.
So why is this the calmest I’ve felt all night?
“Your blade is worn out, by the way,” she says suddenly.
