Page 117 of Play Fake
For the first time since that hallway, I don’t feel that shadow clinging to me.
I feel safe. Seen.Me.
And when Beck looks down at me with that small, crooked grin, I can’t help but smile back.
The music shifts again, something upbeat fading into a slower, steadier rhythm. Beck’s hands rest lightly at my waist as we sway near the edge of the living room, the glow fromthe string lights softening the space around us. My heart’s still beating fast—not from fear this time, but from him.
For a few blissful minutes, it’s just us. No crowd, no Zach, no noise in my head. Just Beck.
He leans in a little, eyes locked on mine, that small crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I like when you look happy,” he says softly.
“Me too,” I admit. And it’s true. I hadn’t expected to feel this way tonight, not after everything, but here I am—warm all over, smiling like a total idiot, and not caring who sees.
His thumb brushes along the side of my jersey, absentminded but gentle. The music fades into the background, and suddenly it’s just the two of us standing still in a crowded room.
My breath catches when his gaze flickers down to my mouth. It’s subtle—just a tiny shift—but my stomach flips anyway.
“Can I—” he starts, voice quiet.
I nod before he can finish.
He leans down, and I meet him halfway. The kiss is soft at first, careful and sweet, like we’re both savoring the moment. My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling lightly into his shirt, and he smiles against my lips.
The world blurs around us—the music, the lights, the people—and all I can feel is him. Sure. Mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both grinning like idiots.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he whispers back, forehead resting lightly against mine.
Somewhere behind us, Ava lets out a dramatic wolf whistle, and Logan yells something I can’t make out over the music. I bury my face in Beck’s chest, laughing.
“Guess we have an audience,” he says, chuckling.
I smile before pulling away just enough to turn around, pressing my back to his front. His arms come around my waist as he presses a kiss to my hair. His woodsy, citrusy scent surrounds me, bringing me an instant sense of calm and belonging.
I could easily get used to this, but even Beck doesn’t know what path he’s going to take in the future. In just a few months, he could be off to another state, maybe even half way across the country.
And that is just a little bit frightening.
The hallway outside my dorm is quiet as Beck and I walk to my room. I unlock the door, and we slip inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind us.
It’s not lost on me how different this night turned out from what I’d pictured. If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve imagined a completely different ending—something slower, hotter, where last night’s teasing turned into something real. Where we stopped tiptoeing and finally crossed that line.
But after everything that happened at the hockey house…my body’s tired, my brain is buzzing in that hazy, aftershock way, and what I want most right now isn’t sex. It’shim. Here.
Beck sets my bag on the chair and turns to me, his hands finding my hips lightly as he studies my face. “You doing okay?”
I nod, though it comes out small. “Yeah. Just tired.”
His thumbs rub slow circles through the fabric of his jersey that still hangs on me, and for a second I catch a flicker in his eyes—the same heat from last night, banked but not gone. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
“As much as I’d love to make good on that promise from last night,” he murmurs against my skin, “I think you need to sleep this one off.”
My chest tightens, not from disappointment, but from the quiet certainty in his voice. He’s not pulling away—he’s taking care of me.
He steps back, reaching for the hem of the jersey and lifting it slightly. “Arms up,” he says gently.
