Page 55 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

And when I do, I want to chuck myself in front of a semi-truck. Because there, on my hotel doorstep like a fucking 90’s sitcom, is Peyton.

Her hair’s wet, tumbling over her shoulders in slick waves, beanie pulled snug over her ears, and she’s in a fresh set of clothes. The moment her eyes catch mine, she freezes.

“Peyton?” I ask, for some fucking reason.

On the other end of the phone, Cleo squeals.

“This isn’t—I don’t know what she’s doing here,” I blurt out. But Cleo’s already made up her mind.

“Sure, Darce.” She calls out through the phone. “Hey Pey!”

“Hi, Cleo,” Peyton says awkwardly. Cleo blows two kisses through the screen, winks, then hangs up. The moment she does, Peyton’s eyes find mine.

She looks… beat up . A fresh bruise is blooming along the edge of her chin, and as she shifts, she winces a bit, like her shoulder is still sore. But she’s still, of course, annoyingly pretty.

“Why are you here, Peyton?” I ask, not inviting her in.

She stays in the doorway, hands buried deep in the pocket of her hoodie.

“You left,” she says simply.

I let out a huff. “And why do you think that is?”

A sheepish smile creeps across her face as she begins rocking on the balls of her feet. “I mean, you did say 'crash and burn'.”

“I didn’t mean for you to ram full speed into my ex!”

“First of all, that was half-speed at best,” she mutters. She takes one cautious step forward but stops short of crossing the line into the room. “And they’re saying it was an accident.”

I cross my arms. “Well? Was it?”

Those bright golden eyes meet mine. “Do you want it to be?”

“I want to know you didn’t get a misconduct just to be petty!”

“Well, then I think you’ll be happy.” She gestures vaguely toward the settee behind me. “Can I come in now? This hallway is freezing.”

“I thought you didn’t mind the cold,” I say, stone-faced. Then I sigh. “Fine.”

She steps inside, peeling off her beanie as she does. Her hair’s a damp mess, clinging to her face in awkward tufts. She tries to smooth it down as the door clicks shut behind her.

I don’t move. I stay exactly where I am, arms crossed, spine straight, stare unrelenting.

“So it was an accident?” I ask. Or maybe declare? Insist? Plead?

Peyton presses her lips together, tips her head, and squints. “Well… I didn’t quite say that. But we won!”

My jaw tightens. God, she’s annoying. And gorgeous. Which is, frankly, the most dangerous combination.

“You better start making sense, Peyton, or I’m kicking you out.”

“Okay, okay,” she says quickly, and then steps closer.

Too close. Just a breath of space between us.

“It wasn’t an accident. But it wasn’t, like, premeditated either.

I didn’t step on the ice thinking I was gonna body your ex.

But once the game started, and I saw her out there, and I thought about what she did to you… ” Her jaw clenches. “I got pissed.”

“So it was petty,” I say.

She nods, unapologetically. “Yes. Absolutely.”

I let out a long, exhausted breath, pinching the inner corners of my eyes.

She keeps going. “You said it yourself. They were going to write something either way.”

I flash her a menacing glare. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

She backpedals quickly. “No! No, I’m not saying that—” Her eyes widen, panic flickering. “I’m just saying… no matter what I did, they were gonna say something bad about me. Might as well control the narrative.”

“You’re self-sabotaging,” I snap, frustration bubbling.

She gives a sly smile.

“I’m guiding the future .” She adds. "Look, I didn't just do it because of you. I was sick of her trash calls, alright? I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know we were going to win.”

I gape at her. “So we’ve been wasting our time training, then?”

She shakes her head, stepping closer, her voice husky and maddeningly sincere. “I wouldn’t call spending time with you a waste.” Then she grins, head tilted. “Maybe cruel and unusual punishment, but definitely not a waste.”

A scoff slips out of me, and I roll my eyes so hard it physically hurts. “Why are you like this?” I ask, gesturing to her entire being. Peyton just smirks.

“You mean dangerously sexy?”

“I mean irritating as fuck.”

Her eyes flicker. She’s enjoying this. Me. My reaction. My unraveling.

“Why are you like that?” she asks. I prop a hand on my hip.

“Like what?”

“All haughty and avoidant when we both know you want to kiss me."

My breath catches, a silent scoff slipping out of me. My skin is tingly. My throat is dry. I can feel my pulse in places I definitely shouldn’t.

“I—” I start, but the word sticks, wedged somewhere in my dry throat.

She just watches me, that smug expression tugging at her lips. She’s looking at me like she’s memorized me. Like I’m a play she designed, and she's just waiting for it to unfold exactly how she planned.

I want to erase that look. I want to devour it.

“What?” she asks, feigning innocence. Her head tilts, lips parting like she’s daring me to say it.

“I might strangle you,” I mutter. My voice is low. My cheeks are hot. My entire body is hot, ready to combust at just the thought of her.

She steps in, her chest pushing into mine. Those damn smile lines sink into her cheeks as she grins.

“I might be into that,” she murmurs.

And then, she kisses me.