Page 6 of Play Fake
There’s something in his voice that makes me glance over. He’s not joking anymore. His eyes are on the pavement, his jaw tight, like the words dug up something he didn’t mean to share.
I should leave it, but instead I ask, “Football wasn’t your choice?”
He gives a little laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “Depends who you ask. My dad thinks it’s the only option I’ve ever had. NFL or bust.”
“And you?”
He pauses, then shrugs one shoulder. “I love the game. I really do. But sometimes I think about what comes after, and it’s like…” His voice trails off, leaving the thought unfinished.
I nod slowly. “Like the script’s already written.”
His eyes cut to mine, sharp. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
For a second, it feels like the air between us shifts. Like he really sees me. Not the smiling cheerleader version, but the girl who stayed too long in a relationship because it kept her parents happy. The girl who’s still trying to figure out if she belongs to herself or to them.
My stomach twists, and I force myself to look ahead. “That’s kind of why I stayed with Zach,” I admit, the words scraping on the way out. “He was perfect on paper. The kind of guy my parents wanted me to be with. And I was…good at pretending. At smiling through it.”
Beck’s brow furrows. “Even if he treated you like crap?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Especially then. They don’t care about that part. They just care about what people see.”
He shakes his head, muttering, “That’s messed up.”
The simple conviction in his tone makes something in my chest tighten. No one ever says that out loud. Not Ava, not even my sister. They just tiptoe around it, like maybe if we don’t name it, it won’t sting so bad.
We pass under another streetlight, and for a moment the glow catches on his profile—sharp jaw, steady eyes, a line drawn too deep for someone who’s supposed to be coasting through college with the world at his feet.
“Sorry,” I murmur, hugging my arms around myself. “I don’t usually dump all that on strangers.”
“Guess I’m not a stranger anymore.”
The words are light, almost teasing, but they land heavy anyway.
I clear my throat. “So, Beck Harrison, linebacker…is the playboy thing true?”
That earns me a bark of laughter. “Wow. Straight to it.”
I smirk. “Just curious.”
He tilts his head, grin tugging at his lips. “Some of it. People like their stories. Makes it easier than asking for the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?”
His gaze lingers on me for a long moment, then he shakes his head. “You’ll have to stick around to find out.”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps up my neck all the same.
We fall into silence again, but it’s different this time. Not heavy. Not uncomfortable. Just…there.
When Emerson Hall comes into view, my stomach dips. I should be relieved—I’m almost home, safe behind a locked door, and out of the chaos of tonight. But part of me wishes the walk were longer. That I had more time to peel back the layers he keeps tossing out one at a time.
We stop at the bottom of the steps. I fumble for my keycard. “This is me.”
He nods, rocking back on his heels. “You good?”
“Yeah.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Thanks again. For…all of it.”
His mouth curves, softer than before. “Don’t worry about it. Good night, Sophie. I hope this term gets better for you.”
