Page 51 of The Fake Play

“Just trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says with a playful shrug but the sincerity that laces his tone makes my heart skip a beat. He closes the door behind him.

As I settle into the warm water again, I experience a wave of conflicting emotions. What the hell am I supposed to do with a man who treats me like this? I’m used to guilt, pretense, gaslighting, games… is this a game? Is thishisgame?

I try to push aside the growing realization that I’m starting to fall for him. My stoic facade is just that, a façade, always keeping in mind what’s on the line. Both of our careers are hung up in this. We can’t afford to get wrapped up in each other.

But the longer I soak in the bath, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth. I’ve never experienced this kind of care or consideration from anyone before, and it leaves me feeling vulnerable in a way that scares me. I close my eyes, letting the warmth envelope me, trying to push the distressing thoughts aside, if only for a little while.

When he returns, a part of me wishes I could sink into the water and hide. Instead, I choose to embrace the moment, allowing myself to enjoy the peace he offered me. I smile up at him. “Hey.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“How nice it is to have someone like you in my corner.”

He smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Get used to it, I'm not going anywhere.”

I revel in those quiet moments, the ones without pressure or demands. The moments when it can just be us. Not that there is an “us.” Not really. That can never be. I have to keep that in mind.

The stakes are too high to get distracted, to lose myself in a relationship.

But as I look at him, I can’t deny the pull that I feel toward him. Our connection deepens with every shared moment. How can I deny myself this?

I close my eyes again and let out a deep breath, trying to silence the conflicting thoughts in my head. The bath is perfect. The champagne, delicious. I’ll deal with everything else later.

For now, I will simply allow myself to enjoy this. To enjoy him.

Chapter 21

Luke

The sun barely manages to push through the thick Atlanta fog, leaving everything drenched in a dull gray. Perfect for my mood as I pace outside Coach’s office, the old floor creaking beneath my nervous steps. My palms are sweaty despite the chill in the arena. This isn’t just any meeting, it’s a crossroads.

When Coach opens the door and beckons me in, I notice his smile is strained. He raises his hand briefly, like he wants to pat me on the back but can’t bring himself to do it. As friendly as he always is with us, he can’t seem to crack the veneer of professionalism he has to put forward after speaking to management. I sit down before he can say anything, trying not to stare at the framed photo of the Fire's last championship win behind him, where our faces are bright and triumphant.

Nothing like how I feel today.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the polished desk. “Luke, you know why I called you in here.”

I nod, my throat tight. The trade rumors have only increased in the past month. It’s been weeks of hearing my name in conversations, whispered in locker rooms, floating on podcasts. It’s like waiting for the executioner to finally call me forward.

“The bachelor auction tonight,” he continues, his voice lowering like he’s letting me in on a secret, “It has to go perfectly. Management is watching, and it’ll be the first time in a while that eyes are on you for the right reasons. They’re hopeful you can right this ship.”

“They’re thinking about trading me,” I say, cutting straight to the chase. There’s no point in dancing around it anymore. The longer I wait, the worse the sting.

Coach’s jaw tightens. He can’t answer my question directly, and I know that. The league is like that—lots of words without saying anything at all. “Luke, I can’t tell you what’s going to happen there, but what Icantell you, is that you need tonight to be flawless. No antics, no drama. Just... make it be perfect.”

I stare at him, the weight of uncertainty pressing on my chest. Every headline from the past year replays in my mind, each one an indictment of my choices:Luke Smith—Caught Again,Fire’s Star Winger or Fire’s Problem Child?The list goes on. I hadn’t realized how deep I’d dug my own grave until Keke showed up, hired to yank me out of it. But now, it appears, the shovel is back in my hands.

“I get it,” I mutter, the edge in my voice sharper than intended. Coach’s eyes soften a fraction, but his silence speaks louder than anything.

Just as I stand to leave, the door creaks open, and in walks Lucas, strutting like a damn peacock. The kid has the swagger of someone who hasn’t tasted failure yet. Maybe I am jealous. He doesn’t know what it feels like to have an entire team’s patience worn thin by your antics. He’s everything I used to be, and maybe that’s what soured me on him before he ever even arrived.

Perhaps I hadn’t given the kid a fair shake.

“Well, look who it is,” Lucas drawls. “How’s it feel to know you’re about to be yesterday’s news?”

Okay, now I’m less worried about giving him that fair shake.

I clench my jaw, refusing to let him see the punch he’d just landed. Lucas’ grin widens when I don’t respond, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

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