Page 131 of Play Fake
I roll my eyes and jog after him, heart a little lighter than it was this morning.
By the time practice wraps, the sky’s turning that dusky purple that makes everything feel a little softer, like the day’s exhale.
Ava and I grab smoothies on the way to my dorm, laughing about some of the football guys’ botched stunt attempts since they finished a little before us tonight, then haul her garment bag inside.
The room smells faintly like lavender from the little sachets Claire insisted I hang in my closet to keep my dress “wedding ready.” I unzip mine carefully, pulling out the deep plum, maid of honor gown. It’s sleek and elegant with a sweetheart neckline and just enough structure that I can breathe and not feel like I’m being stuffed into a corset.
Ava flops dramatically onto my bed. “I’m just here for moral support. And snacks. Mostly snacks.”
“Of course,” I say dryly. “Your true calling.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, then pushes off the bed to help zip me up. The dress slides into place perfectly—thank you, multiple fittings—and I turn toward the mirror, smoothing it over my hips.
“You’re going to make the rest of the wedding party look like background extras,” Ava says, propping her hands on her hips.
I roll my eyes, but warmth blooms in my chest anyway. “Claire’s the one who picked it, not me.”
“She nailed it,” Ava declares. “Ten out of ten. Maid of honor material.”
Once I’ve twirled enough to satisfy her, Ava pulls out the deep green dress she’s wearing as my honorary emotional support person for the weekend. She steps into it and turns so I can zip it up for her.
As I smooth the fabric down, my gaze catches on the inside of her upper arm—just beneath the curve of her shoulder. There’s a dark bruise there. Not the kind you’d expect from a tumble or bumping into a doorframe—it’s oddly placed, like fingers had wrapped around her arm too tightly.
I frown. “Hey, what happened here?”
She cranes her neck to look, then waves it off a little too fast. “Oh that? Probably from practice. Or bumping into something. You know me—I’m a disaster magnet.”
I don’t buy it. Not completely. “Ava…”
She immediately pivots, pulling away and spinning toward the mirror. “Sooo, Beck invited you to Thanksgiving, huh?”
I blink. “Wow. Subtle.”
She gives me her best innocent look. “What? I want details. Does this mean things are getting serious?”
I let it go—at least for now. She’s Ava. If I push too hard, she’ll shut down completely.
I sit down on the edge of my bed, smoothing the skirt of my dress over my knees. “I don’t know if serious is the word, but…maybe. It felt big. In a quiet way.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Okay but, real talk—have you banged him yet?”
My cheeks flare instantly. “Ava!”
“What?” she says, completely unbothered. “You’ve been all heart eyes and late-night cuddles. I’m allowed to ask!”
I bury my face in my hands. “No, we haven’t. And…I don’t think that’s going to happen for a long time.”
Her brows shoot up. “Really?”
I nod slowly. “When we started this whole fake thing, he was honest with me. He said he wasn’t planning on sleeping with anyone until he was one hundred percent sure it was the person he was going to marry. After everything that happened to him in the past, he just…doesn’t take that lightly.”
Ava blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then, in true Ava fashion, she smirks. “Girl, I’d have cobwebs on my lady bits if I waited that long.”
I burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. “You’re impossible.”
She grins proudly. “And yet, you love me.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “I do. And honestly…it’s okay with me. What we have right now—it feels sweet. Real.”
