Page 105 of Make the Play

She turns toward me, her skin kissed by the haze like the night itself is in love with her. Her lips part in awe, and then she laughs, like happiness itself just cracked her open.

Her hand finds my arm, fingers curling tight around my bicep, eyes still locked on the scene unfolding around us.

“Wow,” she breathes. “This is fucking amazing.”

And for one suspended moment in time, I forget it’s fake. I forget that this is supposed to be a PR stunt, a bet, a bluff.

I forget that I’m not allowed to feel this.

Because the way she’s looking at me feels real, holding my arm like I belong to her. Because she’s so damn happy, all I can think is how I’d give anything to be the reason she looks like this.

She turns back to me, grinning like she’s high on starlight.

“You ready?”

I look down at her, eyes dragging down to the sparkles dusting her collarbone. The wind tangling her hair, the flush in her cheeks, and the fire in her eyes.

And I swear, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be hers.

But I can’t say that.

So I just smirk. “Let’s go find the Vinyl Saints.”

She lets out a delighted squeal, fingers sliding down my arm to loosely wrap around my wrist. Then she tugs me into the crowd as if she knows exactly where she’s going.

And I follow. No hesitation, no second-guessing.

Only Zoe.

Chapter twenty-one

Core Memory Girl thinks I’m important

Zoe

I’m having the time of my fucking life.

We’re in the drinks tent, but the entire clearing is alive with people drenched in glitter and paint, shrieking lyrics to a remix I’ve never heard before. A dude in rollerblades skates past, offering glowstick necklaces out of a fanny pack labeled “emotional support rave gear.” Someone’s wearing a wedding dress. There’s a group of people in inflatable dinosaur costumes. I think I saw a ferret.

It’s pure, unfiltered chaos. And it’s glorious.

I lean toward Chase, grinning as I sip my drink. “I love it here.”

He exhales, clearly questioning every choice that led him to this moment. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Oh, come on, Walton. Live a little.”

He gives me a long-suffering look. “I lived through the most unhinged scavenger hunt known to man, surrounded by people who look like they were birthed from a Fraggle and a confetti explosion. I think I’ve met the brief.”

I laugh and nudge him with my shoulder. “You’re such a grandpa.”

Which is a lie. He’s definitely not. Not even a little. A few minutes ago, I convinced him to get blue glow-in-the-dark paint swirled over the tattoos on his arm. Now he’s standing here, hair messy, sleeves rolled, mouth crooked in a way that should be illegal. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I let them paint a tiny pink carnation on my wrist.

His eyes trail down to where it’s glowing. “What’s that color mean again?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the heat that rushes to my cheeks. “Admiration.”

He leans in just a fraction, voice low and maddening. “You admiring me, Zo?”

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