Page 47 of Like a Power Play
“That’s not—”
“Your words.” I shrug.
She rolls her eyes and ignores me. “You’re a pretty woman who is tipsy, this is Seattle, and I have basic morals.”
I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat. At the end of the day, hockey players will be hockey players. I cock a brow, ripping a page from Peyton’s book, and reading it right back at her.“Pretty?”
If she’s flushing the way I’m pretending not to, she’s hiding it well. She leans forward, breath grazing my lips as a smug smirk tugs at hers.
“It’s a fact, not a compliment. Don’t let it get to your head.”
A flutter stirs in my stomach, that pulse striking between my thighs. At first, it’s almost pleasant, something warmspreading through me, and I wonder if it’s from the heat of her breath, or how dangerously close this feels to flirting. But we don’t flirt. And this isn’t real. And suddenly, that flutter shifts, transforming into something more unnerving. Bubbling. The warmth evaporates, replaced by a sharp pain piercing my abdomen.
No. It’s not her words or her breath. It’s notherat all. My face goes cold, blood draining from my cheeks.
Peyton notices before I can mask it, brow creasing with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod vigorously, slipping out of the booth with haste. “Yup!” I manage through a wince, clutching my stomach. “I just remembered I’m lactose intolerant.”
Twelve
Peyton
DADDIO
Hey Peanut! How are you feeling?
My hip collides with the wooden door, slamming my dry stall shut as I stare at the screen. Across the visitor’s locker room, Bailey is braiding Indie’s hair, while Harlowe jogs around, shaking people’s shoulders and riling everybody up.
“You ready to kick some Glacier ass?” she calls, jumping side to side, throwing fake punches. Caydence rolls her eyes, turning back to the mirror to finish tying back a straight brown ponytail so tight one movement could make the strands snap. That’s probably why she’s always in a mood. Tension headaches.
“I think the real question is, are you going to let Clay Matthews get past you like they did last year?”
Harlowe’s smile immediately drops, and she stops jumping. “That’s a low blow, Cay.”
Caydence shrugs. “Just a question.”
My phone dings again, and I glance down at the screen.
DADDIO
Remember to stay calm. Trust yourself. You will be amazing.
I take a deep breath, my fingers tracing the edge of my phone, like the cool feel of the metal will soothe me. It doesn’t. That same, panicked tingle still creeps up my spine.
Another ping.
DADDIO
You’re not just wearing a jersey, Peyton. You’ve got the Clarke name on your back. Show them what that means.
The words slip under my skin like an infection. Illusive. Insidious. They’re meant to be a cure, an encouragement to abandon the doubt that pools in my stomach. Instead, the waterline begins to rise. It tickles the bottom of my lungs, wearing down the layers of cells until a hole begins to form.
And then, they flood.
The first time this happened, I was seven. Like today, it was the first game of the season, and I was ecstatic. Not because I wanted to win or because my dad had just taught me a new move that I was dying to show off. No, I was over the moon because it wasfun. Playing with my friends, taking shots, watching Harlowe block the other team. There wasn’t a single thing that I loved more than being on the ice with my friends.
But as we warmed up, I realized, for the first time, how many eyes were on me. In the beginning, it was exhilarating. I was a kid, so I was flattered that all these people cared to watch me. Until I heard what they were saying.
