Page 39 of Faking the Face Off

“Shut up,” I mutter, confirming the order.

“Hey, I’m just saying, this fake-dating thing you’ve got going on feels realer by the day.” He chuckles as he stands and stretches. “I’m going to hit the shower. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Oh wait, too late. You’re already doing EVERYTHING I wouldn’t do.”

I flip him off without looking up, and he disappears down the hall, whistling some annoying tune.

I’m still thinking about placing my lips across hers and how she felt in my arms when the doorbell rings. My pulse kicks up a notch, and I cross the room to open it. Do I want there to be more kissing? I do, but there are rules. Maybe I can convince Dixon to pretend he’s a reporter so I can trick Anna into kissing me again.

I shake all of these stupid ideas out of my head as I open the door. Sure enough, there’s Anna standing there, her hair loose around her shoulders and a soft smile playing on those tempting lips of hers.

“Hey,” I say, stepping aside so she can come in.

“Hi,” she says, her gaze flicking over me briefly before landing on the living room. She holds up a battered duffle with the Renegades logo on the side. “Dixon’s bag.”

I take it from her and toss it beside the front hallway table. “He’s in the back, so I’ll give it to him when he comes out.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, not at all. I’m glad you’re here.” I gesture to her to come inside. “I ordered some food and got something for you, too. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Mexican?” she asks as I nod. Her smile widens as she steps inside. “From the good place?”

“Casa Vega.” I nod, feeling oddly self-conscious under her warm gaze. “Your favorite.”

“Then I’m definitely staying.” She walks past me into the living room, and the faint scent of her shampoo—something light and floral—lingers in the air. A quick sniff check tells me it’s not her usual lavender. I close the door behind her, trying to push away the nerves tightening in my chest.

Anna perches on the edge of the couch, her hands resting on her knees. “Everything happened so fast at the arena, I forgot to ask if your dad ended up going to a game?”

I hesitate, leaning against the armrest of the chair across from her. For a moment, I think about brushing it off, giving her some vague answer. But there’s something about Anna that makes me want to lay it all out there, even the parts I hate admitting.

“Yeah,” I say finally, rubbing the back of my neck. “He did, and it didn’t go well.”

Her expression softens, and she nods for me to continue.

“You know we don’t exactly have the best relationship,” I begin, my voice low.

“I know that his gambling caused you guys a bevy of problems.”

“I don’t think I ever really explained how bad it is.” I let out a humorless laugh. “He’s not just a gambler. He’s an addict, through and through. It’s not just a problem for him—it’s his whole life. And growing up? It was my life, too. I can’t count how many times I’d wake up and find out he’d lost everything we had. Or how often I had to sit there and watch my mom try to scrape together enough to keep the lights on because he’d blown the paycheck at a poker table.”

Anna’s eyes widen slightly, her hands clenching in her lap. “Ollie, I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly advertise it.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “It’s not something I’m proud of. I hate that it’s part of my story. And now? Now he’s just…” I pause, searching for the right words. “He likes to dig the knife in, you know? He knows how to push my buttons. He likes to use me and use his power to control me in this really messed-up way.”

Anna is silent for a moment, her gaze steady on mine. “But you still help him,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” I admit, my voice thick. “Because he’s my dad. I can’t just walk away, no matter how much I want to sometimes. I love him, but I…I don’t like him. And that’s a hard thing to carry around.”

Her face softens, and she reaches across the space between us, her hand brushing mine. “Ollie, you’re not responsible for his mistakes. You’ve done so much—more than most people would. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you the man that you are. And I think that’s pretty incredible.”

Her words hit me harder than I would expect, and I feel a lump form in my throat. I glance down at our hands, her fingers lightly curled around mine, and let out a slow breath.

“Thanks,” I murmur. “That means a lot coming from you.”

She squeezes my hand gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

“Haven’t I said those exact words to you in the recent past?”

“You have, but I’m here for you, too. It’s quid pro quo, right?”

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