Page 70 of Play Fake
“Waylon?” I’m confused, still in my muddled thoughts.
“Ezra,” Wren gives me a “what the fuck?” look.
“I don’t know.”
“We wouldn’t judge you if you did. If you think he’s truly sorry for it. That he’s changed. He might have, you know. He did leave her, right?”
I nod.
“So maybe he realized how fucking stupid he was. Maybe he’s in it for the long haul.”
I can’t help but wonder if Olivia is projecting right now or doing a reverse psychology bit on me.
“Maybe.”
“Personally, I think she’s better off getting dickmatized by Waylon. At least she gets what she pays for out of that one.” Wren pragmatically announces.
I choke on a laugh. “I mean, I will say Waylon practically makes me forget Ezra exists. So, there’s that.”
“Hence why I’m Team Waylon.” Wren gives me a look like I’d be stupid to do anything else.
“I mean, I think she’d be better off with someone new altogether. Fresh start. Eyes open. Don’t get me wrong. But then our girl is a loyalist, and once she’s in it…” Olivia shrugs at me.
“Unlike more pragmatic women who abandon football for hockey.” I test the waters, and she gives me a warning glance before smiling at the thought of something.
“He has some hot as sin hockey playing friends. I could hook you up.”
“As tempting as that is, I think I’ll pass. You already played matchmaker with Waylon and look where that’s got me.”
“I recall you saying it was the best sex of your life.” Olivia feigns shocked indignation.
“I said thatafterthree margaritas,” I hiss defensively.
“So you retract your statement?”
I purse my lips.
“Then you’re welcome.” Olivia flashes a perfectly bright white smile.
I fidget and look down at my phone. I’d been hoping to hear from Waylon. A joke. A stupid emoji. Something funny his mom said while she was here. Letting me know they made it back to Texas okay. Basically, any interaction at all, before I see him tomorrow with a ton of people around for a post-game party Olivia has mandated we attend. But he’s been radio silent, and so have I because when I think about his face Sunday morning I cringe.
He was tense as hell. Worried I was going to flip out again about Lauren. Turn into a stage five clinger. Fucking him after meeting his mom and pretending to be his long-term girlfriend was probably a mistake, especially after my bizarre outburst the night before. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t think. I just… Ezra had made me feel unimportant, interchangeable. And when I’d seen Lauren on that couch, I’d felt like that all over again.
I’d had to tamp down the very real freakout I was having internally about the entire situation in the morning. I’d been entirely too caught up in him the night before. Confessed way too much to Waylon about how much I wanted him. In the light of the morning, with his friends and fuck buddies acting like it was all bright lights and rainbows and we could all just swap stories and sex—it was too fucking much for me.
But I didn’t want to ruin things between us. Because when it was just us, him and me in a room, in his truck, pretending we were together. I loved it. It felt good. And I wanted more, even if it was just the occasional friends with benefits hookup. After all, I was a big girl. I could have casual relationships, just like everyone else. No biggie.
But he probably didn’t think I could. Not having been with Ezra the entire time he’d known me. Always in a relationship. Always monogamous—well me, anyway. If I really thought about it, it’s probably why he had that strange, wary look in his eyes when things got heated between us. He was probably sure I was going to cling to him and was weighing whether the sex was worth the stress of dealing with me post-hookup. It’s probably why he was avoiding me now.
Fuck.
I twirl my phone in my hands. I consider texting him. Something short. Flirty. Something that clarifies I don’t want anything from him. But even a text will probably seem like I’m nudging him. So I set it back down and focus on the show Olivia’s put on for us.
* * *
The next night,I’m exhausted from classes. I’d had two tests on the same day which, considering it wasn’t finals week, felt like a special kind of torture. But the guys play tonight, and I promised I would meet Olivia after the game to attend the post-game party. I’m half asleep on the couch, willing myself to get up and get going. Wren’s at the bar, with what I am sure is an absolutely full house of people given how important this game is. I flip the TV on, so I can try to catch what I can before I have to start getting ready. My phone buzzes, and I look down.
Olivia:I fucked up and I need you to save my football mom ass.
