Page 121 of Play Fake
Coach nods, satisfied. “That’s all I ask. You’ve earned the right to make this decision for yourself. Don’t sell yourself short.”
As I leave his office, the weight in my hands doesn’t feel scary. Not exactly. It feels…big. Like standing on the edge of something I’ve spent my whole life pretending I didn’t want too much.
And for the first time, I want it. All of it.
Practice runs long, so I just have to meet Sophie at her place, but I don’t care. I’m practically jogging up the steps to Sophie’s dorm by the time the sun starts dipping low, painting the skyorange and pink. My body’s tired in a good way, sweat drying on my skin, muscles humming, but it’s my head that’s spinning.
Pro Day. The draft. A future I never thought I’d be brave enough to imagine.
And Sophie.
She opens the door before my second knock, grinning in that way that makes something in my chest tighten every single time. She’s changed out of her practice clothes into leggings and one of my old hoodies I let her “borrow” a couple weeks ago and never got back. She looks comfortable. Homey. Like everything I didn’t realize I’d been craving.
“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let me in. “You hungry?”
I kick my shoes off and glance toward the little kitchenette. “Uh, yeah. Always. Why?”
She beams and gestures to the counter. “Because I got all this.”
There’s a spread laid out—packages of chicken breast, fresh vegetables, bags of rice, a pack of gluten-free rolls, and a few herbs and spices. Everything’s still in its packaging, untouched and neatly arranged.
I blink. “You…went shopping?”
“Yeah.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, a little shy now. “You mentioned a while back that you always have to be careful with food, so I made sure everything was certified gluten-free and not processed in shared facilities. And I figured…” She shrugs. “We both said a perfect night in would be cooking dinner together, so…why wait?”
For a second, I can’t find my voice.
I’ve had a girlfriend before, obviously. I’ve had girls who flirted, showed up at parties…. But no one’s ever…done this. No one’s paid attention to the quiet stuff.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
She looks up at me. “I wanted to.”
Something in my chest shifts. It’s not the dizzy, adrenaline-fueled feeling I get before a game. It’s quieter. Deeper. Like someone flipped a switch I didn’t know was there.
I grab her face in my hands and kiss her in a slow, sensual way that I hope tells her just how much her thoughtfulness means to me.
Pulling back once we’re both breathless, we start cooking together, moving around her tiny kitchen in an easy rhythm. She chops vegetables on a brand new cutting board while I season the chicken. Someone caring enough to not only grab safe ingredients, but also taking the time and money to get new utensils and tools, just so we could make a meal together, means more than I can possibly put into words.
We talk about practice, about her day at the agency, about nothing and everything. The oven hums in the background, rolls warming, the smell of garlic and rosemary filling the room.
She hums softly under her breath while stirring the rice, and I catch myself just…watching her. The way she moves. The way she’s sopresent.
Dinner turns out simple but perfect: chicken roasted golden, vegetables caramelized just right, rice fluffy, rolls warm and soft. We sit at her tiny table, knees brushing under the surface, laughing about some dumb story Logan told at practice.
It’s nothing fancy. No candles. No music. Just her, across from me, grinning like I’m the only person in the world who matters.
40
BECK
The heavy doors of the psych building swing shut behind us, and Sophie lets out a groan that makes me laugh.
“That was brutal,” she says, tugging her backpack higher on her shoulder. “I swear he added extra slides just to torture us.”
She’s got that slightly frazzled, post-lecture look—hair slipping loose from her braid, brows drawn together—and somehow, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, that was rough,” I agree, stretching my arms over my head as we fall into step together. The morning air is cool, sunlight spilling across campus in that sharp, golden way it only does in the fall. “I’m pretty sure half the class checked out halfway through.”
