Page 40 of Play the Part

He hands me a small paper bag. It looks like it’s from some kind of bakery.

Shocked, I tentatively take it from him and try to catch his gaze, but he’s avoiding eye contact.

“What is it?” I ask as I open the bag. I’m trying to keep my tone playful, but inside, my heart is beating like a drum

“It’s nothing, really,” he repeats again, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Probably stale by now.”

Inside the bag are two croissants. They look buttery and flaky—just how I like them.

I’m suddenly warm all over.

My eyes flick up, unable to control the beaming smile on my face as Huxley’s gaze finally meets mine. He looks nervous.

“There’s a small bakery on Dulley,” he says, obviously trying to sound casual. “I popped in before you picked me up this morning.” He gives me one of his dry smiles. “Hope they’re good enough for a croissant snob.”

I laugh softly, smiling widely. “That’s so sweet of you,” I say. “Thank you.”

He makes another dismissive gesture. “Just a thank you for all those rides,” he says, avoiding eye contact again, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “Anyway, I should go find Whit. See you later.”

And with that, he leaves with an informal salute, clearly uncomfortable with the entire exchange thatheinitiated. I stare at him walking away until he turns into a corridor, still clutching my bag of croissants, as a mystifying feeling blooms behind my chest.

20

HUXLEY

My mind keeps bouncing back to Connie and the soft pink of her cheeks after I gave her the croissants this morning. I return to it again and again, the memory like the moon, and I am the tide.

Things are going smoothly between us lately, mainly because I haven’t bitten her head off or acted like a complete fucking jerk. Anger and alienation are a heavy armor I’ve grown fond of carrying. It takes a lot more effort for me to act casual and at ease, but I won’t let Connie know that. If pretending to be someone I’m not makes Connie finally warm up to me, then fine—I’ll play the part.

I softly rap on Connie’s office door to signal my presence. It’s open, but I lean in the doorway just as her head pops up from staring at her laptop.

“Hux,” she says with a smile. I mentally file away her smile with all the others I’ve kept in memory. “What’s up?”

It’s the first time she’s shortened my name, and I get hit with an odd sense of glee at the sound.

I try to keep my face straight as I reply, “I know it’s only two, but Whit told us to go home, the snow is only gettingworse.”

“Is it?” she says.

She uselessly looks around her windowless office, seemingly as a reflex, then down to her phone, most likely checking the weather app.

“Is everyone gone?”

I stuff a hand into my jeans pocket, still leaning against the doorframe.

“Not yet, but close. The tech crew is wrapping up, too.” She hums distractedly, still looking at her phone. “Figured we should leave with them.”

We.

The word hangs in front of me, taunting and mocking.

Connie doesn’t seem to register the weight of the word, still stinking up the place when she looks up and smiles.

“I still have an hour or two here,” she says, her brows creasing as she looks at her computer, then she adds quickly as if remembering herself. “You should go. No need to wait after me.”

I scoff, pushing off the doorframe. “I’m not leaving you alone here.”

She snorts a laugh. “The place isn’t haunted or anything.”

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