Page 72 of Play Fake

“You all right?”

“Yep!” I turn as I hear him getting closer, hoping my body can shield the cakes in the back seat. “Just waiting on Olivia to help me bring some things in.”

“I can help.” He pulls up around the backside of the car and I finally get a good look at him.

He’s dressed in a dark blue Henley and jeans that hug his thighs as he walks. His hair is pulled up, still damp from a post-game shower. A few wisps of it have come free, and he flashes a pantry dropping smile as he looks me over. It’s unfair how quickly my body reacts.

“I’ve got it. She’ll be out any minute. Go with your friends.” I smile and nod my head toward them because out the corner of my eye I can see the blonde hesitating, waiting for the birthday boy.

“I’m right here, though. Ready and willing.” He winks at me, and it melts me just a little.

“It’s fine. Really. Your friend is waiting for you,” I argue.

He looks up now and sees her, bouncing on the sidewalk as I imagine she’s probably just as cold as I am.

“Go on in London. I’ll be there in just a sec!” He waves her on.

London.I guess he took direction well then. I did basically tell him to fuck her this weekend. She doesn’t look like she really wants to leave him out here with me, but she nods and takes off toward the door.

Then he turns back to me, “See? Let me help.”

“Waylon, seriously, I’ve—“ I protest, but he gently nudges me aside and I pinch my eyes shut to brace for his reaction.

“Aww. Mac Truck. Did you get me a birthday cake? Was it a surprise, and I ruined it?” His voice takes on a melodic quality as he teases me.

“No,” I say in a clipped tone because I don’t particularly feel like being humiliated and teased after I’ve just seen him with his gorgeous date. “Your football mom Olivia got them for you. It’s just I was the only one not at the game, so I picked them up. Just the courier.”

I make sure I emphasize the last sentence. I can’t believe I was going to give this man a present. I can’t even believe I came to this party at all. He looks back at me, studying my face for a second, something like disappointment crossing it before he reaches in to pull out the cakes. I have no idea what he has to be disappointed in. I’m doing my damnedest to keep things chill between us.

His giant hands can take both cakes in one go, so I resign myself to this fate and reach in to grab the bags of ice cream, slinging my purse over my shoulder.

“You didn’t watch the game?” He asks as I close the door to the car and hit the locks.

“No, not tonight. Rough day. I caught a few minutes, though, before I went to pick things up. It looked promising. Did you win?” We walk together up the sidewalk, me a few steps ahead because I really didn’t even want to look at him right now.

“Yeah. We were up by fourteen points by the end.”

“Damn. You guys are having a killer season,” I praise.

“We are. Too bad you missed it,” he admonishes.

“Next time,” I respond, but it’s a hollow promise because I’ve already made a little promise to myself that after tonight, I’m avoiding Waylon and all football players like the plague. I need to make a return to my own league, my own little pre-breakup world where I am not so out of my depth.

I hit the doorbell, but before it even gets in a full ring, it opens to reveal Olivia standing there, jacket on, ready to come outside to help me.

“Oh, shit,” she says as her eyes bounce back and forth between me and Waylon.

Oh shit.I silently mock her words with my lips and shoot daggers at her.

“I’m really sorry. I got held up,” she apologizes.

“No worries,” Waylon smiles at her. “I got her. Thanks for the cake,Olivia.”

He emphasizes her name in a way I don’t love.

“Of course. Happy birthday, Waylon!” she leans forward and kisses his cheek.

“Thanks mom!” He answers and heads into the party.