Page 30 of Faking the Face Off

“I am,” I say firmly. “It’s fine, I promise.”

“All right,” he relents, though his tone is still cautious. “But let me know if anything changes. Ben finding out would be...bad.”

“You know we keep saying it would be bad if Ben found out, butisit bad?” I know, I’m playing devil’s advocate, but hey—I’m already in deep enough. “Ben finding out wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?”

“Let’s think about it,” Ollie says, that measured voice of reason coming back across the line. “Ben does not get along with Jimmy at all. If Ben was to find out that you, his assistant, had been asked to do what you’re doing, and then find out why and discover that all of it circles back to me, I’m pretty sure Ben would walk in those offices and lose it.”

“Agreed,” I say. “But then Ben is also being a good coach and protecting you, right?”

There’s another pause, this one heavier, and I sense he’s still mulling it over. “Right, but then who would step in to help your dad?”

The taste of sickness hits the back of my throat. “I’ve painted myself right into a corner, haven’t I?”

“For the right reasons. If we were on trial, I don’t think a jury would convict you,” he jokes, trying to make the moment light. “How’s your dad today, by the way?”

I smile softly at the sudden change of subject. “He’s doing better. Resting and trying not to be too needy from his recliner, even though I keep insisting he be needier. He’ll be back at work this weekend, though. You know how he is.”

“I do,” he says, chuckling. “Glad to hear he’s on the mend. He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

His sincerity catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. “Thanks,” I manage finally.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his voice softening, “I should get going. Pretty sure Dixon’s waiting on me to grab a late dinner.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a sudden pang of disappointment. “I guess I’ll talk to you soon?”

“I’m gone for five days,” he says, but then adds, “But we can text and stuff while I’m on the road.”

“You bet we can,” I answer, way too eager for even my ears. Why am I being so awkward? We “text and stuff” anyway when we’re not fake-dating. Why am I suddenly waiting forpermission or a golden ticket to act the way we usually do?Calm down, Anna. I rein things in, dropping my voice an octave. “Get some sleep.”

“I will,” he chuckles in my ear. We stay this way for a few seconds; I don’t want to say anything for fear I’ll break this little spell we’re under, but then Ollie clears his throat. “Night.”

When the call ends, I glance at my phone, my heart still doing flips. It’s just Ollie. We’ve talked countless times before.

So why does this feel different?

Maybe it’s because I’m starting to realize what I’ve been trying to ignore all along. That somewhere between the pretending and sneaky hanging out, there is an illicit thrill. I’m thinking about him differently. Seeing him in a new light. The way my stomach tangles into a knot when I see him or hear his voice now isn’t just anxiety. It feels like so much more.

Like a test. Or like I’m starting to fall for him.

And that scares me more than anything.

CHAPTER 11

OLLIE

Five days away from home, with three games against Chicago. Being on the road is not for the faint of heart anyway, and coming off a bit of a losing streak makes the time away even harder.

The bus ride over from our hotel to the arena outside of Chicago is a tense one, our captain unusually quiet after two back-to-back losses. The guys aren’t talking much, either, the weight of the games heavy on all of us. We need this win tonight—badly.

I step off the team bus, pulling my hood up against the biting Chicago wind. The sharp air cuts through my focus like a slap to the face. I adjust my duffel on my shoulder, glancing at the back entrance of the arena—and stop dead.

There he is. My dad.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath.

He stands, leaning against the concrete wall like he owns the place, his weathered face set in that smug grin he always wore when he was about to deliver a lecture I didn’t want to hear. My stomach knots instantly.

“Oliver,” he greets me, dragging out my full name like he still can’t believe someone would nickname their kid.

---