Page 53 of The Fake Play

The way he says her name makes my hands curl into fists. Like they were already familiar with each other, friends, even. But Keke’s eyes narrow, the corners of her mouth tightening. Not the look of a woman greeting a friend. She hates him as much as I do.

“Lucas,” she says, her tone so level it’s almost unnerving. “Good luck tonight. You’ll need it.”

The smirk on his face slips, if only for a second, before he throws a glare my way then walks off.

Keke mutters, “No wonder you hate that guy.”

I laugh. “Still think I should make him a friend instead of an enemy?”

“More than ever.”

Damn.

Chapter 22

Keke

We part ways so I can handle some event business. Luke wanted to talk to the guys before things get started, anyway. He seems so nervous—I know he doesn’t like being the center of attention which is why I wanted him to MC the event. He can run things and be the face of the night without having to be in the spotlight, so to speak.

The ballroom glitters, a jewel box filled with opulence. My heels click against the polished floor as I make my way through crowds of people adjusting their bow ties and dresses. It seems the upper echelon of Atlanta is ready to shoot their shot for a hockey player.

The air is buzzing with anticipation, each laugh and burst of conversation a reminder that tonight needs to be flawless. These are the people we need to impress. Socialites and high rollers, pillars of the community who came out to support a worthy cause and watch some hockey players vie for their money. It’s the kind of night that could change everything—for the team, for Luke, and for me.

I’m holding a clipboard weighed down with last-minute details. I finish one thing and two more pop up in its wake. I flip through the updated roster of bachelor’s for the auction.My heart stops when I see Luke’s name scribbled hastily at the bottom, as if it had been added as an afterthought. My fingers tighten around the clipboard, knuckles whitening.

Luke wasn’t supposed to be on the list. He’s the MC tonight. We’d agreed—no surprises. My heart twists in my chest, a reminder of how stupid I’d been to think that maybe, just maybe, he was paying attention to what I’d told him. That he took my advice and rules to heart. That he listened to me.

I’m such a moron.

How could I have trusted him? I’d trusted the way he looked at me, like I’d hung the moon. I fell for his charm and those damn puppy dog eyes just like every other woman he’d won over. I’d even started to let myself feel something for him and fucking hell, I thought it was real.

Fool.

I lean against the wall, my head lightly banging against it. I take a steadying breath but it snags on something bitter in my chest. We did agree to keep this physical. Just two people with shared electricity and a contract that says my job is to make sure he doesn’t burn down his career. And yet, here I am, feeling gutted. I shake my head, forcing a professional smile as I nod at the event staff rushing by.

Get a grip, Keke,I tell myself. He’s just a player, you knew that going in.

I walk through the tangle of backstage equipment and into the staff room, where Whitney is sorting auction paddles into neat rows. She looks up when I enter, eyebrows raised. “Hey, you look... flustered. Everything okay?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the room suddenly tilts, a nauseating roll that makes me grip the edge of the nearest table. The chatter outside dims to a muffled hum, replaced by the rushing sound in my ears. I swallow hard, trying to push downthe wave of dizziness, but it rises up again, sharp and insistent. Panic shoots through me.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing past a startled Whitney. I barely make it to the nearest bathroom before doubling over the sink, my stomach lurching as I retch. Tears prick my eyes as I gasp for breath, my pulse racing erratically.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The question spins through my mind as I steady myself on trembling legs. A deep unease settles into my gut, more than just the disappointment of seeing Luke’s name on that list. This is something different. I’m used to being frustrated by men, so what is causing this?

Maybe this kind of disappointment gets worse as one gets older. This certainly hurts worse than any other time I’ve been lied to by a man.

When I step out of the bathroom, Whitney is waiting, her expression etched with concern. She reaches out, touching my arm gently. “Keke, seriously, what’s going on? You look like shit.”

“I’m fine,” I reply quickly, my voice a notch too high. “It’s just my nerves from the stress, you know? Making sure this whole night doesn’t fall apart.”

Whitney’s eyes narrow. She crosses her arms, leaning back slightly like she’s gearing up for a conversation she’s not going to let me dodge. I’m pinned down by her expression, unable to avoid her suspicions. “Keke, you aren’t the type to crumble under pressure. And forgive me, but I’ve seen that look on a woman before.”

“What look?”

She sighs, eyes softening as she leans in. “You look... well, pregnant.”

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