Page 2 of Play Fake
She steps into the house like she’s not sure she’s allowed to. She’s fairly average height in her worn sneakers, her legs poured into faded black jeans, a soft gray tee peeking from under a cropped denim jacket. Honey-blonde hair falls loose and straight around her shoulders, catching in the light every time she moves. She doesn’t have the kind of beauty you have to work for—no heavy makeup, no try-hard outfit—just an easy, natural gorgeousness that makes you look twice without realizing you’re doing it.
And for a second, I’m not sure what exactly catches my attention.
Not until I see her face.
She goes still, her eyes snapping toward the living room like she’s just been punched in the stomach. Her lips part slightly. Not in surprise, but something closer to disbelief.
And that’s when I follow her gaze.
Some guy is making out with a girl on the couch like he’s trying to win a medal for it. Hands in her hair. Her arms looped around his neck. Oblivious to the world.
Oblivious toher.
The girl in the doorway doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. But every part of her body screams what her mouth won’t.
I know that look.
Hell, I’velivedthat look.
And before I can think twice, I’m moving. Not out of pity. Not out of curiosity. Just instinct. Something deep in my chest that says,you don’t let someone stand there alone like that.
Not when you know exactly how it feels.
Her hand tightens on the strap of her bag as if it’s the only thing holding her together.
Then she moves.
No hesitation. No weaving through the crowd. She walks straight toward the couch, the sea of people parting around her like they canfeelthe storm coming.
I trail a few steps behind, not close enough to interfere—yet—but close enough to hear her voice when it cuts through the music.
“Zach.”
The guy’s head jerks up, lips still slick from the girl he’s got sprawled across him. His face goes pale for half a second, then sharpens into that smug, guilty look I know too damn well. The girl in his lap shifts, looking between them like she’s just realized she might be on camera.
“Didn’t take you long.”
Zach has the nerve to smirk. “Sophie…it’s not what it looks like.”
Sophie. A pretty name for a pretty girl.
That earns a short, humorless laugh from her. “Really? Because it looksexactlylike what it looked like the last time.”
There’s a beat where no one says anything, but everyone’s listening.
The girl in his lap shifts again, clearly uncomfortable. “Um, maybe I should?—”
“Nah, babe. You can have him,” Sophie says, her tone still calm but her eyes bright with that glassy, too-full shine that’s not tears—not yet—but close.
The other girl ignores her, slides off his lap, and disappears into the crowd, and for the first time, Zach actually looks rattled. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”
Sophie leans down just enough to meet his gaze head-on. “Oh, honey, bless your little heart…you haven’t seen a scene yet.”
Damn.
I don’t know her, but I feel my mouth curve into something that’s almost a grin. Not because this is funny—hell, it’s not—but because it takes guts to stand in the middle of a packed house and call someone out like that.
And maybe because I remember the version of me thatdidn’t.
