Page 38 of Play Fake

“Yeah, I know, but you know why I don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t think he’ll make a big deal out of it.”

“You don’t think the guy who loves to torture me will use the fact I drunkenly propositioned him for sex against me?” I make a snarky little noise at the back of my throat.

“I think he likes you.”

“Please. He likes torturing me. It’s a game for him, and I’m tired of it. He needs to find someone new to be the butt of his jokes. I’m just incredibly sorry I momentarily found him attractive. It won’t happen again.”

“Momentarily?” Wren says the word like it’s the last thing on earth she believes.

“Fine. He’s hot, but he’s also an asshole, so it doesn’t matter how good he looks.”

“He meant well, you know. He just didn’t want you to do anything you might regret.”

“So, he embarrasses me in front of a room full of people, repeatedly?”

“I think people are more likely to remember their beloved QB hitting their number one D-man, breaking his nose, and then kissing you like his life depended on it immediately after than anything Waylon did.”

I wince, “Ugh. Right. Excellent point. I don’t really want to see Liam either.”

“Did he apologize?”

“Yes, profusely, when he saw me in class. And I know why he did it, or at least I can guess.” I glance at Olivia.

“She insists they’re just friends.”

“Rightttt,” I roll my eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“You’ll live. And hey, it’s probably your turn to randomly hit on or make out with Liam or Waylon. Pick your poison!” I laugh and she tosses a couch pillow at my face.

“No way. No athletes for me. Ever. Unless Tobias Westerfield ever gets bored with dating supermodels. Otherwise, give me a nerd with a pocket protector and glasses who can wield a marketing spreadsheet like a weapon.”

I smile, “Ah. What a dreamboat.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and then goes back to flipping through her phone.

* * *

My heart sinksa little when I pull into the driveway after drinks with Ally, and Liam’s car and Waylon’s truck are still on the street in front of our house. I’d hoped I’d been gone long enough, but they must have decided to do a double feature. Since they were thankfully in the backyard, I could just sneak in the front and up to my room without being noticed.

When I step out of the car, I can still hear the speakers from the backyard—which I give a little thanks for as it means it’s likely no one heard my car pull up—and as I open the front door all the lights are off in the house.

I glance out through the back windows to see a movie playing on the makeshift screen, pausing to watch a few moments to try and figure out which one it is before I tiptoe through the dining room toward the back hall to hit the steps.

“Hiding from someone?” A deep voice comes from the kitchen.

I recognize it just in time to stifle a scream with my hand and place the other on my heart to try to still the racing beat before I turn around to see an unmistakably large figure sitting on one of the kitchen stools drinking a soda.

“You could have given me a heart attack.” I gripe.

“You’re lucky you weren’t tackled as an intruder.”

“An intruder in my own home?”

“You’re the one sneaking around in the dark. Why is that?” I can hear the accusation in his voice.