Page 136 of Play Fake
He opens my door for me, like always, but instead of letting go of my hand immediately, he lingers. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow and absentminded.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice quiet in the stillness.
He nods. “Yeah. I actually am.” He exhales, glancing back toward the house. “I didn’t expect Angela to show up, but I’m glad she did. I needed that more than I thought.”
I squeeze his hand. “You handled it really well.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “A year ago, I probably wouldn’t have.”
I smile. “Growth looks good on you, Harrison.”
That earns me a grin, the real one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He steps closer, resting a hand lightly on my waist. “You make it easier to be better,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
My breath catches, and before I can find words, he leans down and kisses me.
It’s soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need fireworks because the quiet is enough. His hand slips to the small of my back, drawing me closer. For a moment, the world narrows to just this—his breath, his warmth, the beat of his heart under my palm.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his voice low and rough. “Thanks for coming today. For being here.”
“Wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else,” I whisper.
He kisses me once more, just a brush of his lips, before reluctantly letting me climb into the truck.
As he rounds the front to get in on his side, I catch sight of him under the porch light: hands shoved into his jacket pockets, a little smile tugging at his mouth. He looks lighter. Happier.
And sitting there in the passenger seat, wrapped in his warmth and the quiet hum of the engine, I realize a feeling deep in my chest has shifted too.
44
BECK
By the time we finish the light practice walk-through, my legs feel loose but my brain’s already halfway to the game. The bus ride earlier was long, the kind where everyone ends up sprawled in awkward positions trying to sleep, and now the hotel room feels way too quiet.
Logan tosses his duffel onto the second bed and stretches, groaning dramatically. “I’m hitting the hot tub for my legs before dinner. Try not towreckthe room while I’m gone, yeah?”
I snort. “Pretty sure I’m the neat one here.”
He points at my bed. “Yeah, well—don’t dirty up the sheets. Some of us have standards.”
Before I can fire back, my phone buzzes in my hand with a FaceTime request. Sophie.
Logan’s eyebrows go up, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Ohhh,FaceTime, huh? Tell her I said hi.”
“Go soak your old man muscles,” I shoot back.
He flips me off over his shoulder as he heads for the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.
I accept the call, and Sophie’s face fills the screen—messy bun, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, sitting cross-leggedon her bed. My chest does that annoying warm thing it’s been doing more and more lately.
“Hey,” I say, settling back against the headboard.
“Hi,” she says, smiling a little. “I figured you’d be done by now.”
“Yeah, light practice. Logan’s about to soak in the tub like someone’s grandpa. He told me not to dirty up the bed while he’s gone.”
Her cheeks flush instantly, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling.
I chuckle, low and easy. “What? You’re the one blushing, Prescott.”
