Page 77 of Play Fake
Still, there’s a lightness in my steps as I weave through campus, the crisp coastal air cool against my cheeks. After a weekend of vineyards, floral arrangements, and endless talk of wedding timelines, stepping back onto PCU’s stone pathways feels grounding. Familiar.
And if my stomach flutters a little at the thought of seeing him again…well, that’s nobody’s business but mine.
I spot him as I round the corner toward the psych building. He’s standing under the oak trees, hands tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie, talking with Logan. His head tilts back as he laughs at something, sunlight catching in his hair, and for a second I forget how to keep walking.
Like clockwork, his gaze shifts—and lands on me.
The smile that spreads across his face is subtle but unmistakable, like it’s meant just for me.
I don’t even realize I’m smiling back until Logan says something to him, and Beck nudges him away, starting toward me with an easy stride that makes my heartbeat pick up for no good reason at all.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me, voice low and warm.
“Hi,” I reply, maybe a little too breathlessly.
We fall into step, side by side, our arms brushing lightly now and then, each touch sending tiny sparks through my skin.
“How was Napa?” he asks.
“Loud and fancy, with alotof wine.” I grin up at him. “Not sure I was built for that lifestyle.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Somehow, I can picture that.”
“And your game?” I ask, even though I already know the answer—having watched the entire thing on my phone like a lovesick idiot.
His grin edges toward smug. “We crushed them.”
“I saw,” I tell him before realizing my mistake and quickly adding, “Parts of it anyway.”
That gets me a raised brow, and something flickers in his eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked pleased. “So, youwerewatching, not just keeping check on the score.”
I shrug, but my smile gives me away. “Maybe.”
We approach the psych building steps, students streaming past us, and he reaches ahead to pull the door open. My hand brushes his arm as I step inside, and it lingers there—barely half a second too long—but it’s enough.
It’s in the small things. The way his gaze lingers just a beat too long when I look up at him. The way our shoulders line up perfectly when we walk. The quiet undercurrent that wasn’t there a couple weeks ago.
By the time we reach our classroom and slide into our usual seats, my pulse is unreasonably loud in my ears. I open my notebook to distract myself, but his knee bumps mine under the table, casual but warm.
When I glance up, he’s already looking at me. Neither of us look away.
I turn my head, trying to focus on the notes in front of me, but the longer his eyes stay on me, the hotter my skin feels. Finally, I blurt the first thing that pops into my head.
“Do I…have something on my face?”
The corner of his mouth kicks up, and he lets out a quiet chuckle that seems to warm my body from the inside out,causing my stomach to swoop low. He shakes his head, still smiling.
“No,” he says simply.
My stomach does this ridiculous little flip. “Then why are you?—”
Before I can finish, Professor Nelson strides in and starts setting up at the front of the room, the murmur of conversation fading. Beck shifts his attention forward, but there’s still a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. I duck my head, biting back my own grin.
The lecture passes in a blur of bullet points and case studies. Normally, I’d be scribbling notes like my life depends on it, but today I keep catching myself sneaking glances sideways. Sometimes he’s jotting something down, jaw tight in focus. Sometimes he’s leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. And once—just once—his gaze catches mine again.
When class ends, we walk together like it’s the most natural thing in the world, slipping into the stream of students pouring out of the building.
“So,” I say, adjusting the strap of my bag. “Do you want to meet up after my next class and get started on the project?”
