Page 112 of Play Fake
Sophie: So wet.
show me?
I don’t fully think she will, but why not. I’m so turned on I have no hope of having a single coherent thought, my abs straining as I stroke myself while holding my phone with the other.
Less than a minute goes by before I get another image from Sophie.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She didn’t send me a nude. No, what she just sent me is even hotter. It’s a picture of her fingers, absolutely coated inher.
That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.
I come long and hard for the first time in over a year, my body twitching as my releases splatters onto the wall of the shower.
Sophie: Was that too much? I’m sorry if it was.
The last thing I would ever want is for her to feel weird or awkward about sharing this with me, so I hit call on her contact.
“Hi,” she answers, her voice more quiet than normal, sounding a little breathless and a lot shy.
“Hi,” my voice coming out way rougher than I anticipated. “It wasn’t too much. I was just…busy.”
Silence follows the end of my words, as if it’s taking her a moment to grasp what I just said.
“Oh…oh!” She laughs, which loosens my worries. “That makes a lot more sense. I’ve never done anything like this before, so I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me. “Trust me, Soph. That was easily the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Well, I’m glad. It was hot for me too.” She yawns before continuing, “And apparently really tiring.”
We talk for a few minutes after I use the towel to clean myself up and wash off the wall of the shower. I peek out intothe room and see Logan completely passed out and snoring, so I go over to my bed with Sophie still on the phone.
“Hey, Beck?” she says, her voice getting sleepier by the minute.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re not playing fake anymore.”
I grin into the phone. “Me too, Soph. Me too.”
37
SOPHIE
Ava’s playlist thumps softly from the corner of the room, all bass and upbeat confidence. My costume’s laid out across my bed—the borrowed jersey, perfectly fitted shorts, and the accessories that make it more than just “girl in a jersey.” Ava’s already halfway through curling her hair, humming like this is just another Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror for a solid thirty seconds, adjusting my ponytail for the fourth time.
“You’re fidgeting,” Ava says without looking up.
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“You’re absolutely fidgeting.” She spins around on her stool, curling iron still in hand, eyes narrowing like a cat that’s spotted something fun. “What’s up with you? You look like someone who’s about to meet her crush for the first time. Which would be adorable if it wasn’t, you know,Beck.”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps up my neck anyway. “I’m fine.”
She arches a brow. “Sophie Prescott. You are many things. A convincing liar is not one of them.”
