Page 38 of Faking with Three

But my stomach knots anyway.

The ice-skating video is doing way better than we expected. The comments section is blowing up, and it’s not just about Olivia’s charm or the production quality—it’s about her and Jax. People are shipping them hard. “Jalivia,” “Jaxie,” or whatever else they’ve cooked up. It’s all anyone can talk about, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s making me a little… insecure.

I’m older than Olivia, by a solid decade at least. I’m not flashy like Jax or effortlessly charming like Ethan. I’m just… me. And while I know this whole thing is supposed to be fake, I can’t helpbut wonder if anyone out there is rooting for “Molivia.” Probably not.

I shake off the thought as we reach the table where the cameras are already set up. Ethan and Jax are fiddling with the equipment.

Jax glances up as we approach, his gaze flickering to Olivia before settling on me with a nod.

“You’re late,” Ethan says, his tone teasing but not unkind.

“Had a call,” I reply shortly, not wanting to dive into the disaster that is my co-parenting arrangement right now.

Olivia takes a seat, gracefully crossing her legs, and I watch her for a moment. Then, I pull out the chair across from her and sit down, forcing myself to focus. Tonight needs to go perfectly, not just for the audience but also for me.

The soft twang of a country guitar hums through the bar. They’ve picked a great place. Though, personally, it’s not my scene.

Across the table, Olivia is animated, her green eyes gleaming with excitement as she talks about something I only halfway hear. It’s easy to talk to her—or rather, to listen to her. She has this knack for filling silences in a way that feels natural, unforced.

But I can’t help the nagging distraction tugging at the back of my mind. Her and Jax at the rink. The looks they shared, the way they moved together like they’d been doing it for years, and the way she’d smiled at him, wide and genuine. It was chemistry, undeniable and effortless.

Here, though? I’m not so sure. Olivia seems relaxed, leaning on her elbows, her skirt riding up just enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my seat. But I can’t tell if that same spark is here with us.

“Are you even listening to me, Marcus?”

I blink, snapping back to attention. “Of course,” I lie, though she’s clearly not buying it.

She narrows her eyes but doesn’t press further. Instead, she smirks, sitting back in her chair and tapping her fingers against the table. “You know what? Let’s try something different.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but she’s already standing, smoothing her skirt with one hand and extending the other toward me.

“Come on.”

Before I know it, she’s dragging me across the room toward the bar. The lights above the counter cast a warm glow, illuminating rows of gleaming bottles and the occasional neon sign. I glance back at Ethan and Jax, who are watching us like hawks, their expressions unreadable.

“What are we doing?” I ask Olivia, who’s looking around, trying to find something.

“You’ll see,” she says, finally pointing at one direction. “Let’s go.”

The crowd near the center is particularly rowdy, gathered around a large table where an ongoing drinking game has everyone cheering and jeering in equal measure.

I should’ve known Olivia had a plan when she dragged me over here.

“Let’s join them,” she says, her green eyes sparkling as she takes in the scene.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I murmur, glancing at Olivia as she steps forward with zero hesitation.

“Oh, come on, Marcus,” she says, her voice laced with mischief. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I embarrass myself in front of a room full of strangers,” I deadpan.

“Strangers who are drunk and won’t remember by tomorrow,” she counters, her grin widening.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, hesitating as I take in the animated group. “I’m not exactly... the drinking game type.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. “Besides, you’ve got me as your partner. I’m great at these.”

There’s no room for argument as we step into the circle. A tall guy with a cowboy hat notices us and waves us over. “New challengers!” he declares, slapping the table. “You two are in. Rules are simple—take the shot, answer the question, or face the penalty.”

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