Page 93 of Play Fake
She tugs lightly on my hand, tilting her head toward the back of the house. “Want to get some air?”
“Yeah,” I say instantly, like I’d follow her anywhere.
We weave through the crush of bodies, shoulders brushing, her fingers still looped loosely through mine. Someone yells about flip cup in the kitchen, and a couple of guys nearly knock into us on their way past, but Sophie just laughs and keeps going.
The second we push open the sliding glass door, the noise dulls to a hum. The porch light casts everything in a soft glow, and the cool night air hits my skin like a reset button. She walks straight to the railing, leaning against it with her elbows propped, looking up at the sky like she’s been waiting to breathe all night.
I stop right beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
“Better?” I ask.
Her smile is small but real. “Yeah. I love cheer, and I love being around people, but sometimes it’s a lot, you know?”
I nod. I do know.
For a minute, we just stand there, the sounds of the party muted behind the glass door. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her hair’s a little frizzy from the night air, but she looks…perfect. My gaze drifts down before I can stop it—mouth, jawline, the soft dip of her collarbone.
She turns her head right as I’m looking.
Our eyes lock.
The tension hits like a punch to the gut—sudden and sharp and completely unplanned. Neither of us looks away. Her breath catches; mine does too.
I clear my throat first, because if I don’t, I might do something stupid. Like lean in.
“So,” I say, shifting my weight against the railing. “You always sneak out to porches at parties, or is this a special occasion?”
She laughs quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I only do it with people worth sneaking out with.”
My heart stutters in my chest.Get it together, Harrison.
She leans back against the porch railing, the distant thump of music pulsing through the house behind us. The night air is cool, the glow from the patio light turning everything warm and soft.
“Tell me something real,” she says suddenly, her eyes focused on me.
I huff out a quiet laugh, crossing my arms. “You first.”
She squints. “Why do you always make me go first?”
“Because,” I say, fighting a grin, “watching you overthink is entertaining.”
She lets out a fake gasp. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, but you like it,” I shoot back, enjoying the way her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.
Her eyes narrow playfully. “You wish.”
“I know,” I say simply, and the corner of my mouth lifts just enough to make her roll her eyes.
She sighs dramatically. “Fine.” She looks away for a second, like she’s gathering her thoughts. “Okay, something real…” Her voice softens, losing the teasing edge. “I pretend like I have everything figured out, but half the time I feel like I’m winging it and just hoping no one notices.”
I tilt my head. “That’s pretty relatable.”
Her gaze snaps back to me. “Your turn.”
I make a show of thinking, tapping my chin. “Hmm…something real.”
“Don’t stall,” she warns, pointing at me.
