Page 42 of Play Fake
My pulse is thrumming so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo across the quad. “It’s…new,” I say quickly. “Plus, you two are really set on me being with someone else, so I don’t really know why I would mention it.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but Dad’s arms fold tighter across his chest. “Let’s meet him then.”
Students are passing by, the fountain splashing in the background, and there’s no escape route in sight. Beck is only a few strides away now, heading straight toward the psych building, oblivious to the fact that I’m about to throw a major plot twist into his morning.
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Of course.”
Before my parents can say anything else, I step away, jogging a few paces toward him. He glances up at the sound, brows pulling together slightly when he sees me heading right for him.
I plaster on a bright expression, stand on my toes, and press a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin is warm, faint stubble brushing against my lips.
Leaning close, I whisper, fast and panicked, “I’m so sorry. I’ll owe you whatever you want if you can play fake with me for a minute.”
When I pull back, my stomach is in knots, waiting to see if he’ll even go along with it.
For half a heartbeat, Beck freezes.
His eyes widen, shock flickering across his face, and my stomach drops straight through the floor. What if he says no? What if he calls me out right here in front of my parents?
But then, like it clicks, his expression shifts. The confusion smooths away, replaced with that calming look he always wears, the one that makes it feel like nothing can shake him. The same one that seems to ground me for reasons I can’t quite explain.
He glances past me, toward where my mom and dad are waiting, then back down at me. His jaw tightens once, and then he gives a small nod.
My chest floods with relief so strong I almost sag against him.
“Everything okay?” he asks, voice even, pitched just loud enough for my parents to hear.
I force a bright smile, though inside I’m still unraveling. “Perfect. Come on, Beck—my parents want to meet you.”
When I loop my arm through his, it feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into a play and forgotten all my lines. His arm is solid beneath my hand, even as my pulse races out of control.
I steal one quick glance up at him as we walk back together. His expression is unreadable, but his presence—confident, unhurried, unbothered—makes me believe, for just a second, that maybe I can pull this off.
We cross the quad together, and I can feel my parents’ eyes on us, sharp and assessing. My grip on Beck’s arm tightens, partly to sell the illusion…partly because if I let go, I might actually collapse.
“Mom, Dad,” I say as casually as I can manage, even though my voice is higher than usual. “This is Beck. Beck Harrison.”
Mom’s smile is thin, practiced. “So,thisis the boyfriend.”
Beck doesn’t miss a beat. He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder, extending his free hand to her first. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.” His tone is calm, even respectful, the kind that would disarm almost anyone.
Her brow lifts, clearly surprised at the courtesy, but she takes his hand. “Nice to meet you as well. Please, call me Trisha.”
Dad steps forward, his handshake firmer, testing. “Bill Prescott. Sophie’s father.”
Beck meets his grip without flinching. “Sir.”
The silence that follows stretches, my nerves screaming at the edges. Then Beck glances down at me, just for a second, before looking back at them. “Sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet sooner. Things have been…busy.”
The words are simple, but they land with a weight I didn’t expect. Like he actuallymeansthem.
Mom tilts her head, still scrutinizing him. “And how long have you two been…involved?”
My throat goes dry, but Beck answers before I can choke on the lie. “Not long,” he says easily. “But sometimes the best things don’t need years to prove themselves.”
Heat rushes up my neck. He says it so smoothly, so calmly, and he has no idea what it does to me.
My mom studies him, clearly looking for cracks, but Beck just stands there—polite and impossible to rattle.
