Page 113 of Play Fake
I grab my mascara wand like it’s a shield. “It’s just…tonight’s the first time I’ll be seeing him since last night, and?—”
Ava’s eyes widen. She drops her curling iron onto the counter with a dramatic gasp. “Oh myGod. What happened last night?”
“Nothing happened,” I say quickly, which of course only makes her grin widen.
“Nothing?” She folds her arms, tilting her head. “Prescott. You’ve been practically glowing since this morning. And the second I said Beck’s name, you turned the color of a stop sign. So try again.”
I groan, pressing my palms against my face for a second before peeking out at her between my fingers. “We just…got to know each other a little better. That’s all.”
A beat of silence. Then Ava’s jaw drops. “Oh.”
My blush deepens. “Not like that. I mean, okay, kind of like that, but not…” I wave my hands uselessly. “We were texting, and things got…flirty. Way more than flirty.”
Ava blinks. Once. Twice. Then she throws her head back andlaughs.
“Girlfriend,” she says between cackles, “the only thing you need to be worried about tonight is him leaving that jersey on you long enough to get you back to his place so he can take it off in private.”
“Ava!”
“What?” She’s laughing so hard she has to lean against the desk. “You should’ve seen your face just now. You are gone for this boy. It’s kind of my new favorite thing.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile but failing. “I just don’t want it to be weird, you know? Things were…intense last night. What if it changes how we act around each other?”
She softens, stepping closer and giving my arm a squeeze. “Soph. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching youtwo dance around each other these last few weeks, it’s that he doesn’t do weird with you. He doessmitten. Big difference.”
I exhale slowly, tension easing just a little. Ava grins again, mischief back in her eyes.
“Now,” she says, pointing toward the jersey draped over my chair, “put that on and let’s make some hockey boys jealous.”
The second Ava and I step through the door, the noise hits like a wall—music thumping through the old wood floors, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, string lights zigzagging across the ceiling. Someone’s dressed as a giant banana dancing on the counter. Classic hockey house.
Ava leans into me, eyes sparkling. “Okay. This is perfect.”
The team’s gathered in their usual spot near the back patio, a cluster of jerseys mixed with costumes—some elaborate, some clearly thrown together five minutes before the party. The familiar smell of cheap beer and sweat hits as we make our way through the crowd.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Beck: Logan is taking forever. pretty sure he’s doing his hair again. I’ll be there soon.
I can’t help but laugh, thumbing out a quick reply.
Tell him it’s a party, not a press conference.
Beck: you don’t understand. the man has a routine.
I shake my head, sliding my phone back into my pocket. Just knowing he’s on his way makes my stomach do that nervous, fluttery thing again. The jersey I’m wearing suddenly feels heavier, like every step is a countdown to him seeing it.
Ava spots someone ahead and immediately perks up. “Coleson’s here,” she says, smoothing her hair with one hand.
Coleson Richards. Senior defenseman. Co-captain of the hockey team. Tall, built, handsome, and perpetually noncommittal.
They’ve been in this…thingsince the start of the semester. Late-night hookups. Flirty texts. Some weekends together, some weekends radio silence. It’s the kind of situation that could either crash spectacularly or surprise everyone.
I glance at her as she tugs me forward. She’s glowing and confident, knowing exactly what she’s walking into.
Still, a small part of me worries about what happens when the season ends and Coleson’s off chasing his pro dreams. Ava doesn’t let people in easily, and he’s the kind of guy who can make someone believe they’re the exception—until they’re not.
But she’s also my best friend. She knows what she’s doing. And if she’s choosing to have fun with him tonight, I trust her to handle it.
