Page 151 of Play Fake
I rinse her hair, trailing my hands down her back, sliding soap across every inch of her slow and unhurried, worshipful. “You’re unreal,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She spins in my arms, water streaming between us, and leans up to kiss me.
“Best shower I’ve ever had,” she whispers against my lips.
We linger beneath the water, washing away everything but the warmth between us, hands and laughter and soft kisses mingling with the sound of the shower. When we finally step out, dripping and new, I towel her off, wrapping her in my arms, already longing for every tomorrow this night promises.
48
SOPHIE
While my sister is off sipping cocktails in Turks and Caicos with her new husband, Beck and I are spending our Monday finishing up our psych project in the quiet corner of the library’s study lounge. Glamorous, I know.
We present on Wednesday, and then he leaves Friday morning for his last away game before bowl season. No classes this week thanks to finals break, just presentations, exams, and the weird limbo that happens right before winter sets in.
Right now, though, Beck’s pacing along the wall of windows with his phone pressed to his ear, talking to his coach. His voice is low, serious.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
I glance up from my laptop. His brow is furrowed, his free hand flexing and unflexing at his side. It’s been two days since Logan’s injury, and he still hasn’t been able to see him. The trainers and his coach decided it was best to limit visitors until after his surgery tomorrow.
“He won’t let anyone in?” Beck asks quietly. “Not even you?”
He nods a few times, jaw tightening. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Just…keep me updated, please.”
He ends the call and stands there for a moment, staring out the window like he’s trying to get his thoughts to line up.
I close my laptop gently and slide it to the side. “How is he?”
Beck turns toward me, running a hand through his hair. “He’s shutting everyone out. He told Coach he doesn’t want anyone to see him until after the surgery tomorrow. They’re still waiting for swelling to go down before they operate.”
My chest tightens. “Beck…”
He exhales slowly, coming over to drop into the chair beside me. “He’s probably embarrassed. Scared. Pissed. All of it. I would be too.”
I reach over and lace my fingers with his. He doesn’t need a pep talk. He just needs someone who gets it.
“I’m here,” I say softly.
His thumb strokes over the back of my hand, his gaze dropping for a moment before he nods. “I know. Thanks.”
Outside, the wind shakes the last few leaves clinging to the trees. Finals week always has this strange quiet around campus—like everyone’s holding their breath at once.
I squeeze his hand once more before turning back to my laptop. “All right,” I say, forcing some lightness into my tone. “We have approximately forty-eight hours to make this project sound like we didn’t pull half of it together over takeout at midnight.”
That earns me a grin, small but real. “Hey. We’re ahead of schedule.”
I arch a brow. “BecauseImade us a schedule.”
He leans back in his chair, still holding my hand loosely, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. “And you made an excellent one.”
We fall into an easy rhythm after that. Beck reads through the last few sections of our slides, tossing out ideas to make them sound more conversational, while I polish up the citations and formatting. It’s comfortable—the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled. Just the sound of keys clicking, his occasional hum when something works, and the distant murmur of other students scattered around the lounge.
By the time I finish rearranging our final discussion points, I glance at the clock and realize we’ve been working for nearly two hours.
Beck leans back in his chair with a groan, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up just enough to show a sliver of his abs. “Okay,” he says, dragging out the word. “I think my brain just officially tapped out.”
I give him a mock glare over my laptop. “We still have two slides left, mister linebacker.”
