Page 51 of Play Fake
“I’m standing in the corner with you,” I point out.
“Exactly,” he fires back, grinning.
I roll my eyes, taking a slow sip from the bottle just to keep from answering.
The door opens, and a wave of cooler night air drifts in.
Sophie steps inside.
Jeans, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, a soft sweatshirt in Storm colors. She looks like she belongs here, but somehow…brighter. Easier. My chest tightens before I can shove the thought away.
Logan lets out a low chuckle beside me. “Never mind,” he says, leaning closer. “I was gonna give you shit all night, but the reason just walked in the door.”
I keep my eyes on the bottle in my hand, refusing to rise to it. “Drop it, Logan.”
But I know the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth means he won’t.
And if I’m being honest, the heat creeping up the back of my neck probably gives me away anyway.
I stay posted against the wall longer than I probably should, nursing my water and half-listening while Logan’s story winds down.
Across the room, Sophie’s still with the cheer girls—until a couple of guys from the soccer team drift over, sliding into the circle. One of them leans too close when he talks, and even from here I can tell it makes her shift back a little, the edge of her smile tightening.
Something in my chest tugs.
I don’t move. Not yet. I tell myself she can handle it, that it’s not my place to interfere. But my jaw sets anyway, shoulders going tight.
Next to me, Logan follows my gaze. He goes quiet for a beat, then elbows me—not the sharp, mocking jab he usually gives, but a lighter one. “You gonna stand here all night or go make sure she’s good?”
I cut him a look. “She doesn’t need me hovering.”
“Maybe not,” he says, tone casual but not unkind. “But I think she’d rather see you than them.”
My grip tightens around the bottle. He’s probably right, but it still feels like crossing a line.
Then one of the soccer guys leans in again, making her laugh too loudly, and I see the flicker in her eyes—the quick scan of the room, like she’s looking for an exit.
That’s all it takes.
I push off the wall. “You better not make me regret this,” I mutter to Logan.
He just grins, not smug this time, but like he knows I’m doing exactly what I need to.
I weave through the crowd, keeping my pace even, my expression unreadable. No need to make a scene—just close the distance.
By the time I reach the group, one of the soccer guys is mid-story, arms flailing as he exaggerates something that doesn’t sound half as funny as Sophie’s forced laugh makes it seem.
I step up beside her, close enough that my shoulder brushes hers. She glances up—and the relief that flashes in her eyes nearly knocks the air out of me.
Without hesitation, she slides an arm around my waist, leaning in like I’ve been here all along. A side hug, casual to anyone else, but it roots me to the spot.
She feels…right. Warm and soft, fitting against me in a way that makes the noise of the room dull.
“Hey,” she says brightly, looking up at me instead of the guys. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I answer, my voice calm, even as my chest feels anything but.
The soccer guys glance between us, conversation stalling, and Sophie takes the chance to excuse herself. She pulls me with her, hand brushing against my back as we slip out of the circle.
