Page 37 of Faking the Face Off

“What are you doing?” My voice is constricted, his touch distracting me fully as his other arm slides around my waist and pulls me in tight. Instinctively, my hands snake their way around his neck.

“Relax,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur. “Play the part and remember rule number one.”

I think back to last week when we made those rules. “Rule One. Only kiss when necessary?”

“That’s the one. I hope you’re okay with this,” are the last words he says before his mouth covers mine.

The thing about this kiss, well, it’s not a quick peck or a casual brush of lips. This kiss is not one I’m expecting from my buddy Ollie, that’s for sure. It’s the kind of kiss that makes everything else fade—the cold air, the parking lot, the tension in my chest. His mouth is warm and insistent, coaxing a response from me that I can’t quite control.

I cannot even fight the shudder of my body as his hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer against him, while the other tilts my chin up slightly like he’s making sure I’m right where he wants me. My knees feel weak, and I instinctively grip the back of his jacket to steady myself, which only seems to encourage him.

The kiss is slow and deliberate, and for a moment, I forget why we’re even doing this. It doesn’t feel fake, not when he kisses me like this, like I’m the only thing that matters.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Effective,” he murmurs, his lips still close enough to brush mine.

I’m about to respond—though I have no idea what I’d even say—when we both glance toward the “photographer.”

It’s not a reporter. It’s just a tourist with a camera, clearly taking random photos of the arena.

“Oh, what?” I mutter, half mortified, half laughing.

Ollie chuckles, his hand still lingering on my waist. “Well, that’s awkward.”

“You think?” I pull back slightly, though I can’t quite bring myself to step out of his orbit.

He smirks, his eyes scanning my face. “Hey, it worked. You’re glowing, and if anyone was watching, they’d believe we’re the real deal.”

I bite my lip, hating how much I want to believe it’s more than just part of the show.

“Sure,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “Totally convincing.”

But as he steps back and flashes me one last devastating smile before heading back to the arena, I’m not so sure who’s convincing who.

CHAPTER 13

OLLIE

The rhythmic hum of the tires on the highway should be soothing, but my mind is far from calm. I grip the steering wheel tight, replaying the kiss over and over in my head. The way Anna’s lips felt against mine, soft but firm, the way she grabbed my jacket like she didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t for show—at least, it didn’t feel like it. Not to me.

Beside me, Dixon scrolls through his phone, his occasional muttered “huh” or “no way” fills the silence.

“You’re quiet,” he finally says, glancing over at me.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road. “Tired.”

“Bull.” He sets his phone down and shifts in his seat to face me. “You’ve been in another world since we left the arena. What’s going on with you and Anna?”

My stomach tightens. “What do you mean?”

He snorts. “I mean, you’re acting like it’s some big secret, but it’s not. You’re all over socials, dude. The team’s PR is eating it up. Fans are making signs. You’ve got a freaking hashtag—OllieAnna—for Pete’s sake. But then you’re quiet about it, like you’re trying to keep it under wraps. So, what gives?”

I exhale through my nose, debating how much to tell him. Dixon’s my roommate, one of my closest friends on the team, and obviously he knows me well enough to see through the act.

“It’s a long story,” I say.

“Try me.” Dixon crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got nothing but time, and I can’t stand your brooding silence.”

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