Page 148 of Play Fake
He shifts, that soft, crooked smile playing on his lips. “I don’t have clothes with me, Soph.”
My face warms even more, but I meet his gaze anyway. “I—um—grabbed your overnight bag from my dorm this morning. Just in case.”
For a beat, neither of us says anything.
His eyes find mine, searching. The cool night air swirls between us, full of possibility. There’s something in his look—unspoken but clear. A promise. Not necessarily oftonight, but ofmore. Of trust growing, hearts inching closer.
“Yeah?” he says softly, voice dipping.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
The noise of the crowd seems to fade around us as the moment stretches on, charged yet tender. His hand finds mine again, fingers lacing through with quiet certainty.
47
BECK
The night air is cool as we walk hand in hand toward the small stone building tucked behind the reception tent. The sounds of the wedding—music, laughter, sparklers still hissing in the grass—fade the farther we go.
Sophie’s fingers are warm against mine, her steps soft on the cobblestone path. She’s still wearing my suit jacket draped over her shoulders, the sleeves too long, and something about it hits me square in the chest.
She unlocks the door, pushing it open to reveal a softly lit room that smells faintly of lavender and clean linens. There’s a king-sized bed in the center, the duvet turned down, and a single lamp casts a golden pool of light over everything. It’s quiet. Private.
My heart kicks up a notch.
Sophie steps inside first, turning to face me as I close the door behind us. Her eyes catch the light—wide, a little nervous, but sure.
I let my gaze drift down slowly, taking her in. The soft waves in her hair from the night, the way her dress still clings to her in places, the bare skin of her shoulders under my jacket.
Tension hums between us, electric and warm.
She laughs softly, like she can feel it too. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice lower than usual. “I am.”
I move toward her slowly, giving her every chance to stop me, but she doesn’t. Her breath hitches when my hands find the edges of my jacket where it hangs on her shoulders. I tug gently, pulling her a little closer.
The space between us disappears.
Her perfume—light, floral,her—wraps around me, mixing with the faint scent of wine and night air. My pulse drums in my ears.
“I didn’t know you were bringing my bag,” I murmur, my thumb brushing against the fabric at her hip.
She looks up at me from under her lashes, cheeks warm. “I didn’t know if you’d say yes to staying. But I…hoped.”
Something about the way she says it—quiet but bold—lands deep in my chest.
I dip my head slightly, letting my forehead rest against hers. Her hands slide up my chest, fingertips tracing over the lapels of my shirt.
For a long moment, we just breathe together. Slow. In sync.
The tension isn’t frantic. It’s more like standing on the edge of something you want to fall into.
I tilt my head and kiss her.
It starts soft, but it doesn’t stay that way.
Her hands fist lightly in my shirt as I deepen the kiss, and I feel her melt against me, her body fitting against mine like it was meant to. My fingers slide to the small of her back, holding her there, not to trap—but to anchor.
