Page 38 of Make the Play

And technically, today’s situation qualifies as both.

“Nothing,” I lie, turning the glass in my hand.

Gary’s unimpressed grunt says he knows better. But before I can answer, his gaze flicks down to the other end of the bar, and his frown deepens. He knows our crew, and he knows that this isn’t normal.

I glance down the bar, too, and immediately regret it.

Zoe looks like she’s about five seconds away from breaking the glass in her hand just so she can have something sharp to stab me with. And, yeah, okay, that’s fair. Today didn’t exactly go her way.

Gary watches the silent, tension-filled moment between us, then lets out a heavy sigh.

“You know what? I don’t wanna know. Just don’t break any of my shit.”

I clear my throat and look away, ignoring the way Zoe’s eyes are burning a hole into the side of my face. Instead, I let the weight of the day settle. I thought I’d be able to check out for a while. Play a couple games of pool. Avoid thinking about the fact that I somehow—some-fucking-how—managed to trick the universe into giving me a chance to date Zoe Carlson, even if it’s fake.

Fake.

The word curdles in my brain because I don’t want fake, I wanther.I want her in a way that isn’t just fun or convenient or easy. It’s desperate. Messy. Fucking irrational. The kind of wanting that slams into your chest and sticks.

But she hates me right now, and if I don’t fix that, this whole fake relationship idea is dead before it even starts.

Which is why, when she finally slides off her stool, drink in hand and posture tense as hell, heading toward the back of the bar, I make a very stupid decision to follow her.

Because it’s been two weeks since I’ve spoken to her properly and I can never fucking help myself.

Zoe sets her drink down on the edge of the pool table, rolling her shoulders like she’s trying to shake off the day.

When I sidle up next to her, she doesn’t acknowledge me, which is unacceptable because I’m an asshole that will do anything for a crumb of her attention. So I lean against the table, hands in my pockets, and tilt my head.

Her jaw clenches. “You following me now?”

I grin. “Didn’t realize you were a dive bar kind of girl.”

“Didn’t realize you had functioning brain cells.”

God, I missed this.

“Still mad, huh?”

“Oh no, I’m fucking peachy,” she says with a saccharine tone. “Beingforcedinto a fake relationship with my least favorite person in the world? Absolute dream come true.”

I hum in appreciation. “Least favorite? Well, at least I’m at the top of one of your lists, I guess.”

She picks up a cue stick and ignores me, inspecting it like she’s trying to decide whether to use it for pool or for beating me to death.

I gesture at the table. “Didn’t realize you played.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Walton.”

That shouldn’t make something hot and dangerous curl in my chest, but it does. Because I want to know everything about her.

I glance at the table, then back at her. “Let’s play.”

She scoffs. “Not interested.”

“Scared you’ll lose?”

Her eyes flash, and she grabs the chalk, rolling it between her fingers like she’s imagining snapping my neck.

---