Page 138 of Like a Power Play
My chest flutters, and I click on the notification. We’ve talked plenty in the few days it’s been since I woke up to her no longer in my hotel room. We just haven’t talked about whathappened. I stare at the gray bubble for a few minutes longer than I care to admit, then my bare fingertips hit the cold glass, typing out a response.
ME
What, Icarus?
I don’t realize I’m smiling until I press send, and even though nobody is around—or awake—to see it, I force it away. A short, descending sound slips from my phone as Peyton replies.
ICARUS
Merry Christmas!
ME
It’s not Christmas yet.
ICARUS
Check again.
ME
Okay, fine. Merry Christmas.
ICARUS
I got you a present.
ME
Is it the same as Yersie’s?
A few hours ago, Harlowe blessed us all with a photo of herself in a sexy Santa costume (beard included) flipping double middle fingers with the caption: “Ho Ho Ho, Hoes.” She followed it up by declaring it was our Christmas present.
ICARUS
Firstly, she totally stole that caption from me. So unoriginal.
Secondly, look on your bookshelf.
I read the message. Then I read it again. And then again.What?
ME
Why?
ICARUS
My lord you’re stubborn.
Just do it, Darcy.
I don’t know why, but my stomach flips when I see my name. When I imagine her fingers typing it out.
Cleo’s still asleep, her head heavy in my lap, breath warm against my knee. Gently, I shift out from under her, catching her head and easing it onto the dragon-shaped throw pillow she got me. Socks stirs on her legs but doesn’t follow me as I head to my room.
I’m a firm believer in systems. Specifically, organizational systems, and my bookshelf is no different. God bless Dewey and his Decimals. Every book has its home, and every home is sacred. Which is why I notice it immediately.
There, wedged beside my Lord of the Rings omnibus, is a book I don’t recognize. A valley forms between my brows as I reach for it, fingertips brushing the spine. I pull it down and immediately notice the plastic edges. The light weight.
