Page 36 of Play Fake
The screen goes blank, the cursor blinking at me like it’s laughing. I lock my phone, toss it onto the desk, and bury myself back in my textbook.
Safer this way.
At least for now.
I’m half awake the next morning, clutching my coffee like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, when I feel him fall into step beside me.
Beck.
“Morning,” he says, voice low and even.
“Morning,” I manage, tugging the strap of my bag tighter.
We slip into our usual seats, notebooks out. The professor isn’t here yet, which leaves a few minutes of silence. I busymyself with uncapping a pen, but when I glance up, Beck’s eyes are on me.
“You never texted,” Beck says, his tone so casual it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
My pen stutters across the page. “I—” My cheeks heat instantly. “I meant to. I just…wasn’t sure what to say.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to work out an equation. Then he shrugs, easy and unbothered. “Didn’t have to be much. Could’ve just been, ‘Hey, I’ve got twenty minutes free.’”
I blink at him. He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like helping me out would never be an inconvenience.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I admit, my voice smaller than I mean it to be. “You’ve got football and classes and a life…”
That’s when it happens—he smiles. Not the guarded, polite kind I’ve seen a few times before, but something freer, lighter. It softens his whole face, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a little.
“If I didn’t want you to use it,” he says gently. “I wouldn’t have given it to you.”
My stomach does a ridiculous flip. He says it so simply, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
Having someone say what they mean and mean what they say is so foreign to me at this point in my life. He’s always said exactly what he means and never leaves me guessing. Unlike my parents, only saying what they think people want to hear and never really making an emotional connection, even with their own children.
Zach trying to tell me one thing while obviously proving every word was a lie with his actions.
Beck is like a breath of fresh air I didn’t really know I needed.
And he has no idea what that smile is doing to me, how it makes the noise of the room fade until it feels like there’s only the two of us sitting here.
I duck my head quickly, flipping to a clean page in my notebook. My pulse is too loud, my thoughts tangled.
“Noted,” I mutter, hoping the professor walks in soon before I combust.
I tell myself to focus on my notebook, but my gaze flicks up anyway—just for a second.
Big mistake.
Beck’s still smiling, that easy curve of his mouth softening his whole face. And there it is—a dimple, barely there, but enough to make something flutter low in my chest.
Up close, I notice more than I should. The faint stubble shadowing his jaw, like he shaved yesterday but not this morning. The way his eyes catch the light from the tall windows—green and sharp, like they miss nothing.
It’s unfair, really. He doesn’t even have to try. He just sits there, calm and self-contained, and the entire world tilts a little without him realizing it.
I snap my eyes back to the page before he can catch me staring, scribbling nonsense in the corner of my notes like that’ll erase the image branded into my brain.
He has a good smile.Toogood. And the worst part is, he has no idea the kind of effect it has.
I press my pen harder into the page, willing myself to focus.
