Power Play (Blades Hockey Book 1)

“Stop moving, Charlie.”

I freeze under the onslaught of Jenny attacking my eyelids with a makeup brush. She swirls more eyeshadow onto my right lid, and I do my best not to blink. “Are you almost done?”

“Almost.”

“How much longer?”

Jenny snorts, and suddenly I don’t feel bad about the way my knee is digging into her stomach. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, head tipped back as my best friend tries to . . . prettify me, I guess.

If such a word actually exists.

“All we need is some mascara, blush, and you’re good.”

Thank God. I’d texted her in a panic two hours ago because, lo and behold, I’m attending a charity event with Duke tonight.

I know. I can barely believe it myself. Pinch me, please.

After messaging him earlier with the SOS, “BOSS WANTS MORE INFO,” he reluctantly agreed to meet me. Only catch? He’s attending an event tonight, and thanks to my looming deadline, I had no choice but to agree to this shindig.

I’m pretending to be a whole lot more put out about these turn of events than I am. In reality, butterflies have broken free in my belly and I’ve smoothed my hands over my dress no less than three times since I put it on an hour ago.

Another gift from Jenny, bless her heart. While our frames are completely different, we do wear the same size, something I’ve never been so happy about until now.

“Okay, done.”

She steps back, admiring her handiwork with a tilt of her chin. Her hair is pulled back in one of those sharp hair claws, and a few strands fall loose to frame her face. Jenny has always been the “pretty” one out of the two of us, while I’ve always been the athlete.

Eagerly, I straighten off the bed and head for my full-length mirror, which is precariously attached to the wall.

Wow.

I barely recognize myself. My dress—or, rather, Jenny’s dress—is a deep, cobalt blue that swirls around my ankles in varying lengths. The neckline plunges down between my breasts, giving a tantalizing preview of what’s to come if I mistakenly lean forward too far. As for my face . . . It’s me, and yet it isn’t. My freckles are hidden under layers of foundation, concealer, and bronzer. The eyeshadow, however, I love. It’s smoky and dangerous, and makes me feel a lot more edgy than I do in my daily life. To complete the look, Jenny has painted my lips a vampy burgundy, which I thought would clash with the dress but doesn’t at all.

“You like?” Jenny asks, coming up beside me to stare at my reflection. Her hand lifts to my head. “Your hair . . . ”

With the time constraint, nothing could be done to tame my mane. That’s okay. It’s proof that the woman staring back in the mirror is indeed Charlie Denton, and not some blonde seductress out to steal my identity.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my hand finding Jenny’s. I squeeze, just once, and then let her go.

Jenny grins. “I feel like I’m your fairy godmother.”

“Promise me you aren’t going to disappear at midnight,” I tease, mainly to distract myself from my nerves. Duke agreed to collect me for the night, so that I don’t have to worry about parking and walking in my four-inch heels from the car to the Omni Parker House Hotel.

The Omni, mind you, is the most opulent hotel in Boston. We’re talking gilded hallways, gilded furniture, dark wood paneling that’s less 1970s and more Golden Age America, à la Jay Gatsby.

I fake a bow, watching in delight as the blue silk of my dress parts to reveal a flash of my stiletto’s silver ankle band. For a girl who has never been one for dolling up, I can admit, to myself anyway, that I look good.

“What time is Duke coming to pick you up?” Jenny asks as she starts to retrieve her makeup from where it’s scattered on the duvet on my bed. She dumps brushes and eyeshadow pallets into a dusty, unzipped bag.

“Seven, he said.” I peek down at my phone, checking for the time. Six-fifty. Almost show time. “I shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Then why are you?”

Because I think I might like him.

I’m not fooling myself into thinking that it’s love. I’ve known him for almost two weeks, and that’s way too soon to even be considering that particular four-letter word. Lust, on the other hand, is completely probable. I want Duke’s company, even if I shouldn’t.

Since I’m not ready to admit any of that, I deflect from the truth. “It sucks that my job is literally resting on this.”

“So, do what you need to do.”

“What’s that? Quit and then starve?” I mutter, checking my teeth in the mirror for lipstick stains. “Your husband is going to just love it when I show up on your doorstep looking for a couch to sleep on.”

Laughing, Jenny shakes her head. “You’re not coming anywhere near my couch.”

“Your floor, then.”

“Charlie.”

I turn at the serious note in her voice, my thumb falling away from my front tooth. Aside from her wedding day, I’ve never seen Jenny look so serious. Her gaze is sharply focused, her hands wringing in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, immediately reaching for her. I’m not one for too much affection, but I’ve known Jenny for most of my life. Seeing her upset makes me upset. “Is it one of the kids? Are they sick?”

Jenny’s voice warbles a bit when she says, “No, no, it’s nothing like that.”

“Is it Ty?” I ask, referencing her husband. “Did something happen?”

“No, it’s—” She breaks off, dragging a hand over her face in what is clearly exasperation. “Listen, it has nothing to do with the kids or with Ty. It has to do with you.”

Well, that’s what every girl wants to hear.

She doesn’t give me time to form a thought before she’s verbally plowing forward, her hands moving through the air in animation. “You’ve moved through your entire life on the defensive, Charlie. Your wall is up, always, and it’s built like a linebacker.”

“That metaphor doesn’t make any sense—”

“Don’t be a journalist for a second, would you?” From the amused glint in her eye, I know she’s not mad. Thankfully. I have no idea where she’s going with this, but once Jenny embarks on a mission, there’s not much to do in the way of stopping her.

So, I murmur, “I’ll try. For you.”

“Great.” Her hands settle on her hips, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts pointing at me in the next thirty seconds. “What I’m trying to say is—”

The sound of knuckles rapping on the door interrupts her speech. It’s Duke. One glance down at my watch proves that he’s all of two minutes late. Late according to Jenny’s absurd punctuation rules, but perfectly fine for me. I’ve never been early a day in my life.

“I’ve got to go.” Swiftly I gather my small purse from the kitchen counter and press it against my chest. When I face my best friend again, she’s ready for me, positioned in front of the door so that if I want to leave, I’ll have to cut through her first.

“Charlie.” She says it so seriously, so mom-like, that I drop my purse to my side and motion with my free hand for her to just give it to me already. Whatever she’s got to say, just air it out once and for all.

She expels a deep breath. “I just want you to enjoy the night. You like this guy. Forget that he’s a professional athlete. Forget that you owe Josh anything. Just allow yourself to have fun.”

While I want to blow her off, I see where she’s getting at. Since Dad passed away, my life has been less about the “fun” and more about what needs to get done. Funeral arrangements, college graduations, not starving to death. I’m not entirely sure I even know how to have fun outside work.

As much as it unnerves me to even say so, I whisper, “I’ll try my best.”

She doesn’t fall for the platitudes. “Don’t just try, girl. Have fun. For once, let yourself be swept off your feet. You may enjoy it more than you would have ever thought.”

I give her a smile that’s both grateful and a little disbelieving. Because while I can certainly pretend that Duke Harrison is my Prince Charming, there’s still the fact that I’ve wrangled him into spending time with me with this interview. He’s on loan, if you will, and by Friday, Duke will just be a memory that I pull out to enjoy, just like every other good thing in my life.