Page 32 of Play Fake
I slow without meaning to, watching as they cut across the lot. Beck unlocks a dark truck, the engine rumbling to life. Logan slaps the roof once before climbing in on the passenger side.
I frown, adjusting the strap of my bag. Most of the players live close to campus. Walking distance. Driving seems…unnecessary.
They pull out a moment later, headlights sweeping across the lot before turning in the opposite direction of the dorms.
Probably just an errand. A stop for food. Something simple.
Still, I find myself watching the taillights disappear before I shake my head and turn back toward my dorm.
I’ve got enough to focus on without worrying about where Beck Harrison spends his Saturday nights.
Back in my dorm, the quiet wraps around me like a blanket. I kick off my sneakers, drop my bag by the desk, and head straight for the shower. The steam helps wash away the stadium grit—sweat, turf dust, the faint sting of hairspray still clinging to myscalp. By the time I towel off and tug on an old pair of sweats with a faded PCU tee, I feel more human.
Snickers winds around my ankles as I pass the kitchenette, her soft meow sharp with demand.
“I know, I know,” I say, scooping food into her dish. She purrs the second she’s satisfied, hopping onto the windowsill to watch the shadows flicker across campus.
I settle at my desk with my laptop open after ignoring another attempted phone call from my mother, textbooks spread around me, and notes stacked in their usual color-coded order. The lamp pools golden light across the page, but before I can dive in, Snicks jumps straight onto the middle of my notebook, curling into a perfect ball.
“Not helpful,” I mutter, nudging her gently aside. She stretches, tail flicking across my arm like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I force myself to focus, pen in hand, underlining a line in my psych text. But the words blur after a while, my mind drifting back to the stadium, to the electric roar of the crowd, to the number fifty-four jersey anchoring the defense.
Beck Harrison.
I exhale, shaking my head at myself, flipping to another page. He’s just a teammate to half the campus, just a classmate to me. Nothing more.
And yet…
The room feels too quiet, the desk too big for one person. For a second, I imagine someone else here—someone steady, sitting across from me, trading notes, keeping me accountable. Keeping me company.
Snickers yawns, curling closer to my elbow as if to sayyou’ve got me.
I smile faintly, reaching over to scratch behind her ears. “Guess you’ll do, huh?”
The clock ticks past midnight, and I turn back to my notes, telling myself the only thing I need right now is to focus.
Still, the thought lingers: maybe studying wouldn’t feel so daunting if I wasn’t doing it alone.
When I blink my eyes open Monday morning, the red numbers staring back at me make my stomach drop.
6:42.
Crap.
I was supposed to be out of bed nearly forty minutes ago.
Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling for half a second, tempted to skip the gym and tell myself I’ll make up for it later. But the thought gnaws at me immediately. I hate breaking routine. Even worse, I hate feeling like I didn’t give my best.
So, I’m up in a flash, tugging on leggings and a sports bra, shoving my hair into a ponytail as Snickers blinks at me from the windowsill, her expression a mix between judgment and pity.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I mutter, grabbing my water bottle, a sweatshirt, and my bag before hurrying out the door.
The walk across campus is cool, the early morning fog still clinging to the ground, damp against my sneakers. The gym doors swing open to the familiar scent of rubber mats, chalk, and faint disinfectant. Music hums low from the overhead speakers, only a handful of early risers scattered between the cardio machines and the weight racks.
I drop my bag in the corner, stretch once, then get to work. Squats. Rows. Planks until my arms shake.
The clock ticks louder in my head with each set. If I don’t wrap up soon, I’ll be sprinting across campus to make it to class on time, sweat still drying on my skin.
