Page 58 of Play Fake
Because in less than an hour, I’ll be on the field again, the stadium lights blazing, the Storm roaring into another game. And somewhere in that chaos, Beck will be lining up across the line of scrimmage.
And I can’t help but admit—I’m looking forward to seeing him.
Ava props her chin in her hand, giving me a look that’s far too sly for someone lounging in sweatpants. “So…are you going to admit it, or do I have to drag it out of you?”
I blink at her in the mirror. “Admit what?”
“That you’ve got athingfor Beck Harrison.”
My eyes go wide and I can’t help the faint blush that creeps into my cheeks. “What? No, I don’t.”
Ava smirks, scratching Snickers’ chin. “Please. I’ve seen the way you perk up when he walks into a room, or how you’re suddenlyveryinterested in extra study sessions for psychology. And don’t think I missed that little side hug at the party last weekend.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I grab my lip gloss just to have something to fiddle with. “That wasn’t—it was nothing. He was just being nice.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ava’s grin widens. “If that’s what you want to call it. Honestly, Soph, I don’t blame you. The guy’s basically a six-foot-two wall of linebacker with green eyes and dimples. You could do a lot worse.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse betrays me, thudding harder at the worddimples. “You’re imagining things.”
“Sure I am.” Ava stretches, scooping Snickers into her lap. “But just so you know, if you keep insisting you don’t like him, it only makes it more obvious that you do.”
I toss my gloss back into my bag and turn away before she can see my cheeks flaming. “We’re going to be late if you don’t get up.”
Ava chuckles, clearly pleased with herself, and sets Snickers back on the bed. “Fine, fine. But just wait. One of these days, you’re going to admit I was right.”
I shake my head, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I sling my bag over my shoulder.
Because maybe…just maybe…she is.
By the time we reach the stadium, the sun’s bright and the temperature is bliss. Not too hot. Not too cold. The air hums with that pregame buzz—students filing in with painted faces, the marching band warming up with booming drum lines, and vendors shouting over the growing crowd.
Ava loops her arm through mine as we weave through the gate toward the locker rooms. “Smell that?” she says, inhaling dramatically. “Popcorn, hot football players, and impending victory.”
I laugh, shaking my head, but the nerves are already starting in my stomach. Game days never get old—the adrenaline, thenoise, the way the whole campus feels like it’s holding its breath until kickoff.
Inside the cheer locker room, it’s a flurry of bows, uniforms, and glitter spray. Teammates swap lip gloss and last-minute pep talks while our captain claps her hands for attention.
“Let’s go, ladies! Time to bring the energy!”
I tie my shoes tighter, heart pounding, and glance toward the tunnel where the field waits just beyond.
Because in a few minutes, we’ll be out there under the lights. The crowd will roar, the Storm will charge, and somewhere across the turf…Beck will be on the field.
And whether I want to admit it or not, I know I’ll be searching for him.
The tunnel vibrates with noise as the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers.
“And now, your PCU Storm!”
The crowd erupts, and the cheer squad runs out first, pom-poms flashing under the lights, followed by the football team bursting onto the field in a wave of purple and gray.
I search for Beck automatically, and it doesn’t take long for me to find him.
He jogs out with the other players, helmet on, his pads broadening his already massive frame. To anyone else, he probably looks the same as usual. But I see it.
The way his strides aren’t as sharp. The slight slump in his shoulders. Even under the lights, he looks pale.
My throat tightens, but the music swells, and we launch into our opening routine, the crowd roaring us on. By the time we finish and the game starts, Beck is on the sidelines, armscrossed, helmet still on. He doesn’t move much, just watching, focused but withdrawn.
