Page 102 of Play Fake
“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” she says.
I rest my hand on the doorframe, meeting her eyes. “Thanks for coming.”
For a beat, neither of us moves. Her hair’s a little mussed from Alyssa’s braiding attempts, and she’s got faint traces of glitter still lingering on her cheek, but I don’t say anything about it.
I just take the moment in.
She slides into the seat, and I shut the door gently behind her before rounding to the driver’s side.
On the drive back to campus, I keep catching myself glancing over at her. At the way her mouth tilts up slightly when we pass the little diner just off campus. At the glitter still clinging to her cheek and the way the soft glow of the dashboard light picks up the gold strands in her hair.
She doesn’t notice. Or maybe she does and pretends not to.
When I pull into the dorm parking lot, the world feels quieter than when we left. A few straggling students cross the sidewalks, but it’s mostly still. I kill the engine and climb out, circling around to her side before she can protest.
I pull the door open, and she gives me that look—half teasing, half something softer. “You know,” she says, sliding out of the seat and grabbing her bag from the floorboard, “you don’t have to do the whole walk-me-to-the-door thing. No one’s around to see it.”
I reach for her hand without really thinking, my fingers finding hers easily. “Yeah,” I say, locking the truck. “I know.”
She glances down at our joined hands, eyebrows lifting slightly, but she doesn’t let go.
We walk across the lot toward the dorms, the sound of our shoes against the pavement echoing in the still night. When we reach the short flight of steps leading up to her building, I slow, then stop beside one of the stone pillars that frame the entrance.
She turns to me, amusement flickering in her eyes. “What?”
I lean a shoulder against the pillar, still holding her hand, my thumb tracing absent circles against her skin. “You really think I’ve been playing fake these last few days?”
The teasing edge in her expression falters just a little, like she wasn’t expecting the question. Her lips part, but for a beat, no sound comes out.
She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers shift slightly in mine, not pulling away, just fidgeting like she’s caught between joking back and actually saying something real.
I blow out a slow breath and look down at our hands before meeting her eyes again. “Because it hasn’t felt fake to me,” I say, voice low. “Not any of it.”
The corner of her mouth twitches like she wants to deflect, but I keep going before she can. “I definitely wouldn’t havekissed you Friday night if this was fake. That…definitely wasn’t part of any deal.”
Her expression softens, the teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. Something that makes my chest feel too tight.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in over a year. I’ve kissed one girl in my entire life, and I don’t take that lightly,” I admit, hoping I don’t say the wrong thing and scare her away. “I don’t know where any of this is going, but I’d like to find out.”
The words hang there between us, heavier than the warm night air. For a second, neither of us moves. She’s looking up at me like she’s trying to decide whether to run or lean in closer.
I shift my weight against the pillar, thumb still tracing slow, nervous circles against her skin. “I just…need you to be patient with me.”
Her brows knit slightly, but not in confusion—in that soft, focused way she has when she’s actually listening.
“I’m still trying to figure out how to let myself…” I pause, searching for the right words. “Feel things again. It’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone close enough for it to matter. And I’m working on it. On trusting you. On letting you in more.”
The night is quiet around us, nothing but the distant hum of traffic and the low chirp of crickets. Her eyes don’t waver, and the way she’s looking at me makes something in my chest relax.
“I’m not perfect at it,” I finish softly. “But I’m trying. And I just…I need you to know that.”
For a second, she just stands there, looking up at me with that searching gaze that always makes me feel like she can see straight through the walls I’m still learning to lower.
Then she shifts closer, her hand tightening around mine. Slowly, she rises onto her tiptoes, her other hand brushing lightly against my chest for balance. The move is soft, deliberate—like she’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t.
Her lips press against mine in a gentle kiss that steals the breath right out of my lungs. It’s not rushed or frantic or heated. It’s real. The kind of kiss that says exactly what words can’t.
