Page 126 of Play Fake
I grin and hold out my hand. “Practicing.”
She laughs. “Practicing what?”
“Dancing,” I say. “Figured I should get a little practice in before the wedding so I don’t embarrass myself in front of your entire family.”
Her eyebrows arch as a small smirk makes its way across her lips. “Oh, come on now. You did fine at the party. Don’t you just love dancing?”
“Absolutely not,” I deadpan. “Which is exactly why I need you.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she takes my hand. I help her climb into the bed of the truck, and we stand there together, the music drifting through the fading light.
I rest one hand at her waist, and she loops hers around my shoulders. It’s awkward for about two seconds, me counting under my breath, her stifling a laugh, and then it just clicks. We sway slowly, the truck rocking gently beneath us, the sky turning pink at the edges.
Her head eventually rests against my chest, right over my heartbeat. I breathe her in and everything else fades out.
“You’re not half bad,” she murmurs.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say. “I’ve got moves.”
She tilts her head back to give me a look, eyes sparkling. “We’ll see about that at the wedding.”
“Hey,” I say softly. “Worst case, I step on your toes in front of everyone and give them a story to tell.”
She laughs, the sound soft and easy. “Worth it.”
We fall back into the slow rhythm, the world narrowing down to the truck bed, the music, and the fading light.
The song drifts through the quickly cooling air. Sophie’s hands are looped behind my neck, mine settled at her waist, and we sway in the back of my truck like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. The sky’s streaked in pink and orange, the edges fading into deep blue.
She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes catching the last bit of light. There’s a smile tugging at her lips, soft and a little shy. I can’t help myself as I lean down and kiss her.
It’s slow. Unhurried. Her fingers curl into my hair, pulling me closer as the music plays on. The truck creaks beneath us, and when we break apart, we’re both left a little flushed.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” I say back, grinning like an idiot.
She’s perfect.
Sophie’s perched on a little bench outside the dressing rooms, legs crossed, ponytail swishing as she scrolls through her phone. She looks way too entertained for someone who’s not the one getting stuffed into layers of formal wear.
I tug at the collar of the first tux they put me in—classic black. It fits well, clean lines, nothing over the top. When I step out, Sophie looks up from her phone, and her jaw actually drops a little before a slow smile spreads across her face.
“Okay,” she says, standing up, eyes dragging over me. “That’s…yeah. That’s unfair. You lookreallygood.”
I smirk. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised,” she says, stepping closer. “I’m just appreciating the view.”
I roll my eyes, but my grin gives me away.
The tailor fusses with the sleeves for a second, nods, and then wheels over another rack. “Try the others too,” he says.
I head back into the dressing room and come out in a bright PCU-purple tux. The second I step out, Sophie absolutely loses it.
She claps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God. You look like…like a grape that got invited to prom.”
I stare down at myself, deadpan. “Fantastic.”
