Page 19 of Play Fake
“Maybe.”
His jaw tightens, and he stands, dumping the last of his coffee in the sink. “Grab your stuff. Let’s go.”
I glance at the half-finished eggs. “I’ve got, like, five bites left.”
“Finish it in the car,” he says, already heading for the door. “Unless you wanna walk or drive yourself.”
I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I snap the lid onto my bowl. Logan’s easy to rile up, but he’s loyal as hell. We havethe same schedule on most days, spending the majority of our time in the athletics building, so we switch off on driving. I grab my backpack and follow him out, the air outside cool against my still-warm skin.
Whatever’s eating at him, he’ll tell me when he’s ready. Until then? We’ve got football.
The drive to campus is quiet except for the radio humming low. Logan drums his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight like he’s still chewing on whatever had him grumpy earlier. I don’t press. Some things work themselves out better on the field than in words.
We pull into the lot, engines and voices carrying across campus as students make their way toward morning classes.
“I’ll meet you back here,” I say as we shoulder our bags. “Head over to weights with you after class.”
Logan nods, already scanning the path toward his building. “Don’t be late.”
I smirk. “You sound like my dad.”
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets as we split at the corner. “Somebody’s gotta keep you on track.”
I shake my head, but a grin tugs at my mouth as I head toward the psych building.
Inside, the hallways hum with voices and the smell of coffee. I take the stairs two at a time, my boots heavy against the tile. When I step into the lecture hall, there are still plenty of empty seats.
But my eyes find her immediately.
She’s bent over her notebook, pen moving fast across the page, hair pulled into a loose ponytail that sways when she shifts. The seat beside her is open.
I don’t hesitate.
Climbing the steps, I head straight for the seat next to her. “Morning, Sophie.”
She looks up, blue eyes catching mine. That small smile flickers again, quick and sure.
“Good morning,” she says softly, tucking a loose hair behind her ear.
I slide into the seat, dropping my backpack at my feet.
I flip open my notebook, clicking my pen, but the quiet between us feels charged. Finally, I glance her way.
“You know,” I say, leaning back a little, “We’ve both gone to school here for the last three years, yet I haven’t seen you until now. How is that possible? Especially since you’re literally on the sidelines of every home game.”
She tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Well, for one, you’d have to be looking for something to see it. And from what you’ve told me, you weren’t looking. It’s also because I’m usually buried in classes, volunteering, at the library, or cheer practice. My schedule doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”
“Fair enough,” I murmur, jotting the date at the top of the page.
Her pen hovers, then she glances at me again, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “So…why’d you come over after practice the other night?”
I blink, caught off guard by how direct she is. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t have to,” she says, voice softer now but steady. “Most guys would’ve just grabbed their stuff and left. But you made a point to say hi.”
I pause, considering her. She’s not accusing—just genuinely asking.
Finally, I shrug. “Seemed polite. You worked just as hard as we did. Figured it deserved acknowledgment.”
