Page 23 of Play Fake
“Carter’s gonna roast you for that one next time he’s in town.” Logan bumps my shoulder as we climb the steps. “Ready to celebrate, hero?”
I shake my head, lips twitching. “Just don’t let me get stuck babysitting you again.”
He smirks. “No promises.”
Inside, the air is hot and thick with sweat, beer, and too much perfume. Lights flash, music pounds, people are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. The kitchen’s packed, counters lined with bottles and half-empty cases, while the living room’s turned into a dance floor.
“Defense!” someone shouts when we walk in, clapping me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth. Another guy shoves a cup toward me, but I wave it off.
I’ve decided against drinking now that the season is in full swing. One wrong swig, and I’d miss at least one game if not more. Not worth it. But Logan, of course, takes two.
I drift toward the edge of the chaos, leaning against the wall where I can see the room without being swallowed by it. Teammates swarm, girls laugh a little loud, and the whole house buzzes like it might lift off the ground.
It’s the same every week. Victory celebrated in sweat and spilled beer, or a loss consoled in the same way.
And yet, somehow, it feels different tonight.
Because across the room, slipping through the crowd with a cup in her hand and her hair loose around her shoulders, is Sophie.
She’s laughing at something one of her cheer friends says, her smile easy and brighter than it was in class. For a second, my gaze catches on her—unexpected, unguarded.
I drag it away, jaw tight.
She’s pretty. Sure, but so are a hundred other girls here. And I’m not here for that.
I’m here to play football, finish school, and figure out what I actually want for my future.
Still, when she glances up and her eyes skim across the room, finding mine for the briefest heartbeat…I don’t look away.
Not immediately, anyway.
The crowd shifts, breaking the line of sight between us, but a minute later Sophie threads her way across the room. Her cheer friends peel off toward the kitchen, leaving her with her cup in hand and that same steady look in her eyes.
“Hey,” she says, voice raised just enough to cut through the music. “Good game tonight.”
“Thanks.” My reply is simple, even, but genuine.
“You were…everywhere.” She tilts her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “That interception? Whole place was losing it. You acted fast once you saw their quarterback tuck it and try to run.”
My mouth twitches, the closest thing to a grin I’ll allow. She definitely knows football and was paying close attention. I wonder if she was watching everyone that closely? Or maybe just me? “Glad it was worth the ticket for everyone who showed up.”
She laughs softly, shifting the cup between her hands. For a second, she looks like she might say more, but someone calls her name from the other side of the room.
Her gaze flicks toward the sound, then back to me. “Guess I should go before they send a search party.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
She nods, her smile still there, and slips back into the crowd.
I exhale, leaning heavier against the wall, scanning the chaos again.
Just a conversation. Nothing more.
Logan appears a second later, two fresh cups in hand, grinning like an idiot. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I say, pushing off the wall. “Absolutely nothing.”
The music thumps harder as the crowd thickens, the living room pulsing with bodies. I shift toward the edge again, the heat of the house pressing down heavy.
