Page 53 of Play Fake
Finally, I say, “I had a counselor in junior high. And another one in high school.” My thumb brushes over the cap of my water bottle. “They were good. Really good. The kind of people who listened and made me feel heard when no one else did.”
Her expression shifts, the teasing gone, her eyes soft.
“They helped me figure some stuff out,” I add, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Made me think…maybe I could do the same for someone else one day.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I meant them to be, but not uncomfortable. Just true.
Her lips part like she’s going to say something, then she closes them, studying me for a beat longer. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “That makes so much sense.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You’ve got this…calming thing about you. Like people could trust you with the stuff they don’t tell anyone else.”
I look away before she can see the way that lands, the faint tug in my chest. “Maybe.”
I tip my chin at her, lips curving faintly. “Your turn. You owe me one now.”
Her eyes sparkle, mischief slipping back in as she says, “Okay, fine. Something no one else knows…”
I wait while she drums her fingers against her water bottle.
“I still sleep with the same blanket I’ve had since I was four.”
That pulls a laugh out of me before I can stop it—low, surprised, real. “Thesameone?”
She nods quickly, grinning now. “Don’t judge. It’s vintage.”
“Vintage,” I echo, shaking my head. “That’s one way to put it.”
She bumps my shoulder lightly with hers, like she’s daring me to tease her more. And for the first time all night, the heaviness in my chest eases into something lighter.
We stand there a while longer, side by side, sipping our water under the string lights. And I can’t help the thought creeping in—that for a fake thing, this feels a little too easy. A little too good.
The sliding door creaks open behind us, spilling music and voices back onto the deck. One of the cheer captains pokes her head out. “Sophie! Come inside, we’re about to play!”
Sophie smiles apologetically, lifting her water bottle. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head home.”
Before I can say anything, Logan materializes in the doorway, grinning like he’s been waiting for his chance. “Bailing already?”
“I’ve got practice tomorrow,” Sophie says with a shrug. Then she turns to me, softer now. “Thanks for the quiet company.”
The words hit harder than they should. So I clear my throat and say, “I’ll walk you.”
Logan’s brows shoot up, his grin widening. Sophie doesn’t hesitate—she just nods. “Oh, that’s right. It’s on the way to your place.”
Logan’s head snaps toward me, his expression somewhere betweenexcuse me?andsince when?I shake my head sharply, mouthingdon’t start.
He just smirks even more, stepping aside so we can pass.
Out on the sidewalk, the air is even cooler, quieter. We fall into step, our shoes scuffing against the pavement in rhythm.
We head out, the street quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under our shoes. For a while, neither of us speaks.
Finally, I glance at her, voice low but even. “It’s really none of my business, but…what were you doing with Zach in the first place? The guy doesn’t seem to have treated you very well.”
She exhales a laugh, short and self-deprecating. “That’s an understatement.”
I don’t say anything, just wait.
