Page 105 of Play Fake
“Good,” she says, popping a gummy worm into her mouth. “Because something tells me this is only the beginning.”
The trees lining the path are halfway between gold and bare, leaves crunching under our sneakers as Ava and I make our way toward the practice field. Cheer practice hasn’t started yet, but the football team is already out, whistles and shouted plays cutting through the afternoon.
“Tell me again why we agreed to practice outside when it’s basically Arctic conditions,” Ava mutters, tugging her hoodie tighter around herself.
“It’s sixty degrees,” I say, laughing.
“That’sbasicallyfreezing.”
I shake my head, but my gaze drifts toward the field before I can stop it. Beck’s easy to spot—helmet tucked under his arm, jogging off to the sideline during a water break. He looks flushed and focused, hair damp with sweat, the hem of his practice shirt sticking to him in a way that makes my pulse do a dumb little stutter.
He spots me almost immediately. His mouth curves into that slow, easy smile that still hits me in the stomach every time.
“Oh God,” Ava says under her breath. “Incoming hottie alert.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong.
Beck jogs over, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Hey,” he says, his voice warm, sweat coating his forehead and what I can see of his arms in a very, very attractive way that somehow has me forgetting proper English.
“Hi,” I manage, tucking my hair behind my ear to give my hands something to do to keep myself from attacking him on the field. After all, he’s not a big fan of PDA, and we haven’t really talked about that since everything has changed.
“Hey, Beck,” Ava cuts in, already scheming. “Can I borrow your practice jersey this weekend?”
His brows lift. “Why?”
“For Sophie’s costume,” she says, like it’s obvious.
Beck’s grin widens as his gaze flicks to me. “Oh yeah? And what exactlyisSophie’s costume?”
“None of your business,” I say quickly, trying, and failing, not to blush.
He chuckles. “Fine. You can borrow it.”
Before I can say thanks, a voice cuts across the field.
“Let’s go,Romeo! Break’s over!” Logan’s shouting, of course, and a few guys hoot in the background.
Beck groans under his breath but he’s still smiling. “I’ve gotta get back.” He leans in, pressing a brief kiss to my lips. It’s over in a heartbeat, but heat floods my cheeks anyway.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, backing away.
“Yeah,” I say, maybe a little too dreamily. “Later.”
He jogs back toward the huddle, Logan still yelling something I can’t quite make out. The cheer girls around us don’t miss a thing—they burst into teasing and supportive catcalls the second he’s gone.
“Okay, Sophie!”
“Get it, girl!”
“Look at you!”
Ava fans herself dramatically. “I swear, this is better than any movie night.”
I try to hide my smile, but it’s useless. The grin’s already there.
My laptop is open on the bed, wedding spreadsheets pulled up in a mess of tabs—guest list, seating chart, last-minute vendor confirmations. Claire’s face fills the corner of my screen, hair pulled into a low bun, a mug of tea in her hand. She looksexactlylike a bride who’s been living off caffeine and checklists for the last month.
“Okay,” she says, tapping something on her end. “We’ve got the bakery confirmed, the florist locked in, and Mom finally stopped trying to add more people to the guest list—miracles do happen. Now we just need to finalize the rehearsal dinner menu.”
