Page 132 of Play Fake
Her smirk softens into something warmer. “Yeah. It kind of does.”
She turns back toward the mirror, fluffing her hair dramatically. “Okay, Maid of Honor. Let’s give your sister the wedding weekend she’s always dreamed of. And maybe figure out what kind of bra I can wear with this dress that won’t turn into a weapon by the end of the night.”
I laugh again, but the image of that bruise lingers in the back of my mind. Not forgotten. Just…waiting.
Thanksgiving morning is quiet in the way only college dorms can be during the holidays. Most people have cleared out, leaving behind a handful of stragglers, a few squeaky pipes, and the smell of someone burning toast down the hall.
I’m in Beck’s shirt—the soft one I “borrowed” and never gave back, curled up on my bed with a giant tub of vanilla yogurt balanced on my knee and a spoon in hand. My hair’s up in a messy bun, my socks don’t match, and honestly? It’s perfect.
When Ava asked me last night what my Thanksgiving plans were, I’d told her the truth.I planned to stay in and play the sick card. My parents would be too busy hosting to question it too much, and the idea of sitting at that table with the Pierces was…unbearable.
Which is why the sharp knock on my door makes me freeze mid-bite.
I glance at the clock. Ava isn’t due back from her family brunch yet, but that doesn’t mean she won’t pop by early and try to drag me home by my ponytail. She’d one hundred percent do it.
“I swear, if that’s you, Ava—” I mutter as I set the yogurt down and pad barefoot to the door.
But when I pull it open, it’s not Ava.
It’s Beck.
He’s standing there in dark jeans and a hoodie, hair still damp from a shower, hands shoved into his pockets. There’s a little grin on his face, the kind that says he knowsexactlywhat he’s doing.
“Hey,” he says casually. “Figured you might bail on your family Thanksgiving.”
I blink. “You…figured correctly.”
He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, glancing around my small dorm room like he’s been here a hundred times—which, to be fair, he basically has. “So,” he says, turning back to me. “I’m here to pick you up.”
My brain short-circuits. “Pick me up?”
“For Thanksgiving,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “At my dad’s. With the whole family. I thought I’d save you from eating yogurt in bed all day.”
I cross my arms. “I wasn’t?—”
His eyes drop pointedly to the yogurt tub still sitting on my nightstand.
“Okay, fine. Iwas.”
He chuckles, then softens a little. “Look, if you really don’t want to go, I’m not gonna make you. But…I’d love the chance to introduce you to the rest of my family.”
The way he says it, warm and gentle, without a trace of deceit, gets me. Hemeansit. And honestly? The image of his family, warm and loud and inclusive, has been lingering in the back of my mind since he first mentioned them.
I exhale, trying to pretend I’m not already caving. “You’re too good at this.”
“Yeah,” he says, grin widening. “I know.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Give me twenty minutes.”
His grin turns smug. “Take your time, Prescott.”
He drops onto my bed like he owns the place, leaning back against the wall, long legs stretched out and hands tucked behind his head. Watching him settle into my place, completely comfortable and at peace, makes me happy. Snickers quite enjoys the extra petting too.
I grab some clothes and retreat to the tiny bathroom, my heart beating faster than it should for what was supposed to be a low-key holiday.
43
SOPHIE
