Page 69 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)
Thirty Six
Peyton
M y nipples are so hard I fear they might fall off.
The pool of ice water shrouding my nearly bare body vortexes, my prickled left arm developing little whirlpools beneath the surface of the bath.
Cubes of ice clatter against one another as they move, and I release an anchoring breath, using my free hand to type on my phone.
FINAL CHAT FR THIS TIME
ME
Still can't believe last night. Next stop, finals babyyyyy!
KIM POSSIBLE
I would say I'm shocked but honestly, you all worked hard for this. Let's kick some Glacier butt this weekend!
YERSIE
I plan to
I huff a laugh at Harlowe's message. Her and Clay are back on hating terms again.
I swear, every other day, she goes from hating them, to being desperately horny for them.
Right now, Harlowe says she's over it, but it's clearly affecting her more than she lets on.
If not from her sour mood, then from the fact that she seems to be unable to stop bringing it up.
Honestly I'm still lost on how they ended up on fucking terms in the first place but hey, who am I to judge?
ROSE
Is anyone else outrageously sore? Like more than normal?
SIMS BUT NOT THE GAME
Me.
brADY
Aww
Babies' first playoff pains
Z
they grow up so fast
ME
You need ice baths!
SIMS BUT NOT THE GAME
I hate ice baths.
HAMMIE
Same, but they work. You both should head down to the recovery room.
ME
I agree with Hams.
Afterwards, does anyone want to go to the diner?
The avalanche of "no"s that follows is fatal to my ego.
ME
Christ just vote me off the island then.
YERSIE
Sorry, dude. But I don' t know how you have the energy to do anything after last night.
brADY
Seriously, are you even human?
ME
I'm hungry.
HAMMIE
Yeah, sorry babes. I'm gonna have to pass too. I just took two Bennies and am ready to go into a comatose state.
Just as I'm ready to make a dramatic exit from the chat (knowing I'd be immediately added back but it's the statement of it all) a banner flashes across the top of my screen. It's a private message, and when I read the name, I don't waste another second before clicking on it.
KIM POSSIBLE
Damn. They just vetoed you hard.
ME
It felt very personal.
KIM POSSIBLE
**laughing emoji **
Are you still planning on going?
ME
Are you enjoying my isolation, ya masochist?
KIM POSSIBLE
Gotta find happiness wherever I can.
**wink emoji **
ME
Wow.
You really are evil.
KIM POSSIBLE
Oh, don't be dramatic Icarus.
I'll come eat with you. It's downtown, right?
My heart does this weird, fluttering, palpitation thing that makes me speculate the presence of winged insects inside my chest. My free hand travels through the miniature icebergs in the tub as I type my response.
ME
Yes, but I can pick you up.
KIM POSSIBLE
Make no mistake, I was fully intending on demanding a chauffeur.
That isn't why I was asking.
The corners of my lips curl up, intrigued.
ME
Why were you asking?
KIM POSSIBLE
A spy never reveals her secrets.
ME
You're no fun!
KIM POSSIBLE
Are you kidding?
I'm practically a walking circus.
ME
That we can agree on.
KIM POSSIBLE
Oh fuck you.
ME
**smiley face emoji **
I'll be there in 30.
B y the time we’re stepping out of The Puget Diner, my stomach is packed full of biscuits and gravy, and Darcy’s of some strange, banana oat "pancakes" that were hard enough to double as a puck.
I know I've said it a thousand times, but she’s truly stunning.
The off-white turtleneck underneath her brown plaid pinafore fits her perfectly snug.
Not like Harlowe’s sweatshirt, but like mine.
Okay, maybe better than mine. Matching off-white socks hug her long, pale legs, and on top of them, brown boots sit just under her knees.
Darcy’s never shown her knees in public.
At least, not that I’ve seen. I think she’s self-conscious about the redness in her skin, but I don’t know how anyone could look at her and see anything other than perfection.
Next to her, in baggy gray pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a black tee I jacked from Avery’s room before leaving home, we probably look like day and night. Which makes sense because being with her feels like the sky, the moment it softens between the two.
I pull my keys from my pocket, holding them out toward my car parked by the meters. But when I glance over my shoulder, Darcy’s still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at me. My brows furrow, and I turn to face her, confused.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “We parked this way.”
Darcy waves her hand, a smile tugging at her lips. She clears her throat, then says, “Follow me."
“Why?” I ask suspiciously, not yet moving. She rolls her eyes, hobbling over to me, wrapping a white glove around my wrist and tugging.
“Will you just listen for once?” she huffs, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. I flick a brow, pressing a hand to my chest.
“I’m sorry, can I listen for once?”
She nods. “ Yes. Can you listen for once.”
I feel like the joke just wrote itself, but I don’t dare point it out. Instead, I just let my gaze shift from one of her eyes to the other, mentally reminding myself not to kiss her.
“Okay,” I say finally.
We walk a few blocks in silence, the streets strung with St. Patrick's Day decorations and green lights, blinking against the gray early afternoon. The air smells of salt and wood, like it always does down near the water. Darcy’s a step ahead of me, her limp more noticeable on the slight decline, but she doesn’t slow down.
I watch the way her hair blows behind her, how her lips tug into a smile as she points at a cute pair of gloves through a shop window.
I could follow her like this for blocks. Maybe forever, if she asked.
When we approach Pike Place Market, Darcy weaves us through the crowd like she’s done it a thousand times.
We pass stalls packed with handmade soaps and freshly caught fish.
She stops for samples at every table, handing me dried mango, lavender honey, and some kind of spicy chocolate that I’ll see in my dreams.
I’ve lived in Seattle for years now, but I’ve never actually shopped Pike Place. I only ever come downtown for the diner and the occasional night out. So I just follow her, wide-eyed, like a tourist in my own city.
We pass a flower stand, and I stop short. Buckets of tulips spill out onto the sidewalk. Thick stemmed with yellow, red, and pink petals. like a flower field right on the water.
Tulips are my favorite.
“Only five dollars!” the woman behind the stand says, clipping a fresh bundle without looking up. I shake my head.
“Thank you. Maybe next time.”
Darcy frowns, then pulls a five from her pocket and hands it over. She circles the rows of buckets, tapping her finger against the little dent in her chin, until her eyes lock on a gorgeous bouquet of pink and yellow tulips. Without another beat, she scoops them up, and strolls on.
As we walk away, she pushes it into my hands.
“They’re for you,” she says.
Taken aback, I blink. “What? Why?”
She shrugs. “Because you stopped walking.” Then she pauses, her brow furrowing as she catches the look on my face. “What?”
“I just—nobody has ever bought me flowers before, is all.”
A valley forms between her brows. “What?”
I hitch a shoulder, gesturing to myself. “Relationship-less, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, but still." She waves me off, looking forward. “It’s criminal. Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers.”
My fingers tighten around the stems as warmth pools in my chest, and my face, and my stomach. I don’t say anything else, but I don’t stop smiling, either. I just walk beside her, weaving through the sea of people.
You know how they say love is in the little things? The small gestures in everyday life?
I realize it when she stops on the sidewalk, pulls off one glove and tucks it into her armpit, then takes a cautious, excited bite of honeycomb she bought from a local beekeeper.
The honey clings to her teeth as she pulls it away, and without thinking, she holds it out to me to try, like we’ve always shared food and germs and laughter.
It’s in that moment I know for a fact I’m not falling anymore.
I am fully, helplessly, unconditionally in love.
The honey’s thick and treacly, sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I finish licking the sugar off my lips, my tongue smacking like a dog with a mouthful of peanut butter, and continue on.
I know she’s probably tired by now. She’s been doing a lot better since the new treatment plan started, but that doesn’t mean she’s invincible.
Burnout sneaks up on you. I’d rather step in early than wait until she’s struggling and pretending she’s not.
“We should probably head back,” I suggest, tugging my sleeves down as a salty breeze pushes past. She doesn’t stop.
“We haven’t even gotten to the best part,” she says.
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
She just grins a devilishly pretty grin. “You’ll see.”
We walk side by side down the street, trading bites of homemade sweet chili jerky and reminiscing every moment of how we destroyed the Cougars in the semis last night.
Eventually, the sidewalk spills out onto the waterfront.
The scent of the ocean deepens, laced with caramel and buttered popcorn.
The wooden planks of the pier creak faintly beneath our feet as Darcy guides me onward.
That's when I see it.
At the end of the dock, illuminated in soft blues and golds, the Seattle Great Wheel towers in the dreary sky.
The lights flicker across the top of the glassy water of Elliott Bay, and in the distance, ferry boats sound their horns.
I stop in my tracks, just staring at the sight, wondering why on Earth it took me this long to explore the city.
The next thing I know, Darcy's fingers are wrapping around my wrist, and tugging me forward.