Page 3 of Play Fake
Zach’s eyes flick past her and land on me for a split second, confusion creasing his forehead. I lift my brows, take a slow sip from my cup, and don’t bother looking away.
This isn’t my fight.
But I’ll be damned if she has to stand in it alone.
Zach shifts on the couch, straightening like he’s suddenly trying to play the victim.
“Look, Soph, you’re overreacting. It’s not like we’re married yet and?—”
She lets out a sharp exhale and shakes her head, cutting him off before he can finish whatever excuse he’s scrambling for. “Save it, Zach. I’m done.”
She turns, slipping her bag higher on her shoulder, clearly aiming for the door.
But he doesn’t let her get far.
His hand shoots out, fingers closing around her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt—but firm enough to stop her cold.
“You really want your parents hearing about this?” His voice drops, low and biting. “About you blowing up at me in front ofeveryone? You know how they already think you can’t keep your emotions in check.”
That’s it.
I don’t even think about it. One second I’m leaning against the wall, the next I’m across the room, my drink abandoned on the nearest table.
“Let go of her.Now.”
Zach blinks up at me, still holding her wrist, his confusion sliding into a glare. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who doesn’t like cheating assholes who can’t comprehend the word no.” My voice comes out firm, low enough that it cuts through the music without me having to raise it.
He looks me over, trying to size me up. Bad idea when I’ve got at least thirty pounds on him, most of it muscle I’ve earned in the weight room.
Sophie tugs her arm free, taking a step back toward me without hesitation.
“She told you she’s done,” I say, my eyes locked on his. “So…she’s done.”
For a moment, I think he might push it—say something, stand up, make me really spell it out. But then his jaw flexes, and he slumps back into the couch, muttering something I don’t bother catching.
I glance at Sophie. “You good?”
She hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
“Come on,” I say, tilting my head toward the door. “Let’s get you some air.”
She doesn’t argue—just falls into step beside me as we start weaving through the crowd. The music swells again, bodies shifting, conversations resuming like nothing happened.
We’re a few steps from the front door when Zach’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Sophie—”
She keeps walking.
“Soph—”
Still nothing.
Then, louder, “Fucking bitch.”
I stop, the word hitting my back like a slap. Slowly, I turn back toward him.
