Page 5 of Play Fake
I shift, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. “Thank you, though. For stepping in back there.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t like the way he was speaking to you and figured you deserved someone in your corner.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I look away, my gaze fixed on the sidewalk.
“You live on campus?” he asks after a beat.
“Yeah. Emerson Hall.”
“I’m headed that way. Want me to walk you?”
My first instinct is to say no, to insist I can handle myself. But something about the night—the stares, Zach’s voice still ringing in my ears—makes the offer feel less like pity and more like protection.
I nod once. “Sure.”
He smiles, small and genuine, before pushing off the railing.
And as we start down the steps together, I realize I don’t even know his name.
Falling into step, I glance at him again, trying to place his face. He looks familiar, but not in the way Zach ever did. More like someone I’ve seen from a distance but never close enough to study.
I clear my throat. “So…what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve officially met and you know what they say about talking to strangers.”
“Beck.” He laughs easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Beck Harrison.”
The name clicks immediately. I’ve heard it shouted from the student section, seen it printed across the back of a jersey when the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium. Linebacker. One of the big names this season, if the chatter around campus is right.
My brows lift. “You play for the football team.”
His mouth quirks like he’s used to that being the first thing people say. “Yeah. Linebacker.”
I nod once, hugging my bag closer. “I’m Sophie Prescott. I’m actually on the cheer squad.”
That earns me a grin. “Figures.”
I narrow my eyes. “Figures?”
“Just…you’ve got the posture. And the smile.” His tone is light, but his gaze lingers a beat too long.
I scoff, tugging my cardigan tighter around me. “It’s called doing my job.”
“Doing it a little too well, maybe,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s meant as a compliment or just an observation.
Either way, it makes my stomach flip, and I’m not sure I like that.
He kicks at a crack in the sidewalk, like the conversation doesn’t matter either way. “So, what’s it like? Cheer, I mean. You actually like it, or are you just doing it for the uniform?”
I glance at him, surprised he even asked. Most people just assume. “Depends on the day.”
“That’s a no,” he says, grinning.
“It’s not a no.” I chew my lip, considering. “It’s just…complicated. My parents think it looks good. Makes the family proud. But I actually like parts of it. Being out there. The rush when a stunt hits clean. For a few minutes, nothing else matters.”
His grin softens. “That’s not nothing.”
I shrug, tugging my jacket tighter around me. “Still feels like I didn’t exactly choose it.”
He hums low in his throat, thoughtful. “Parents have a way of doing that. Choosing for you.”
