Page 1 of Play Fake
ONE
Mackenzie
“Hell yeah. Shake that ass baby!”An oversized linebacker yells at the top of his lungs before he turns around far too fast for someone on his third round of beer pong.
It happens in slow motion, and I wonder for a second if I might have just-discovered premonition skills because I can see what’s about to happen before it does. I’m powerless to stop it, or do anything to change the course of events, but I know it’s coming.
He trips over the edge of the beer pong table, losing his grip on the plastic cup in his hand, and it goes sailing through the air, spraying an arc of sparkling golden foam in an almost artistic display, right before it hits its target: me.
I should count myself lucky because it misses my face and hair, but it perfectly covers the dress I’m wearing. The one I’ve only worn this once. A sparkling sequined number Olivia had me put on tonight now adorned with an extra layer of reflective decoration.
The linebacker catches himself on the wall and looks up to see me drenched and his cup rolling across the floor. A look of confusion eventually morphs to understanding as he stares.
“Shit, sorry. Watch out though, yeah?” He mutters and then stumbles away.
I sigh, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the sideboard and unsuccessfully blotting the dress. Realizing it’s hopeless and I just need to change, I start to head upstairs. Before I can get far though, someone else bumps the beer pong table and two beers go sailing to the floor. I bite my tongue, and say a brief prayer to the party gods, asking that I might at least have a bit more time in between each party foul to react appropriately.
“Be careful what you wish for,” I mumble to myself under my breath as I sweep the spill up with a pile of flimsy paper towels.
There’d been a time in high school when I’d secretly wished for this — to be more popular than I was and have the opportunity for linebackers to spill beer on my floor. I’d wondered what it would be like to be at the parties where all the popular kids got together. I could barely fathom the idea of one football player showing up at my home, let alone half the team on a Friday night.
I dodge between the legs of a giggling sorority girl, presumably the ass shaker herself, who was too busy slinging her arms around the Spiller-in-Chief’s thick football playing neck to notice me. I didn’t wonder anymore, and I regret having ever wished for it.
“Please,don’t let me get in your way.” I roll my eyes, muttering some more as I get down on my knees to get the part of the spill that was quickly making its way under the table. Old houses like this one always had a nice lean on them, it made cleaning up an Olympic sport.
“Kenz, are you cleaning up again? Please don’t worry about it. I promise I’ll help clean in the morning.” My roommate - the birthday girl - responsible for the current guest list, leaned her head down to me, peering at me under the table. Her eyes already getting glassy from the alcohol, but her smile was still bright as always.
“It’s fine. I just happened to have a towel.” I wave her off, giving her my best fake smile to reassure her.
“You need to stop cleaning and come play a round. We could use you on our team!” She grins.
We were strange roommates and even stranger friends. Olivia was normally not the person I’d have picked out in a lineup as my future bestie. We’re opposites in about a half dozen ways, but we’d shared a dorm sophomore year and just clicked. Somehow, eating ice cream over bad dates and breakups, a shared love of Indian food, and our agreement that Jess really was the right one for Rory all along created an inseparable bond.
Bad breakups.My gut churns at the reminder.
“Sure thing, just let me throw this out in the kitchen.” I motion behind me, knowing full well if I just stall in the kitchen for a bit, she’s drunk enough she’ll forget what she needed from me.
I slide past a kegger in the middle of the kitchen floor - and the group of five guys arguing over the best way to tap it - to drop the towels in the trash. Before I head upstairs, I decide to make sure everything’s in order.
I check the chip bowls in the kitchen and fill them up, grab the veggie tray from the fridge and put it out—as if anyone would actually eat it—and put out a fresh container of dip. Then I restock the cooler on the floor and put out more cups while glaring at the number piling up around the dining room table instead of making their way into the trash can.
“Hey you. Are you catering? Do you have any hard seltzer?” A voice comes from behind me, and I turn around to see two sorority girls in what look like expensive form fitting dresses and heels behind me.
“No, and yes.” I point to the cooler on the floor. “But it’s not cold yet.”
“No worries, easier to chug that way anyways.” A laugh bubbles out of her before she locks arms with her friend, and they chase after the seltzer.
“What about a Fat Tire?” a voice like warm thick honey spread over gravel asks from behind me. One I recognize. A voice that is attached to one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen, and the only bright spot on evenings like this one.
“Hidden behind the Chinese takeout box on the right side of the fridge,” I say as I turn around, smiling before I can help myself.
“You are always so good to me, Mac.” Ben Lawton’s gigawatt smile is on full display and his gorgeous dimples pop. If football doesn’t work out, the man only needs his face to launch an entire career.
“Yes, well, I have to reward good taste.” I can’t help it when my cheeks heat a little.
Not all football players are the same. I need to remember this. Ben, for example, is gorgeous, smart, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
“Is that what I have?” His eyes roam over me inquisitively, taking in the dress I’m wearing despite the spill. One Olivia insisted on buying me for my birthday for “parties and going out and things”. I only agreed to wear it today because it was her birthday, and she’d insisted on a dress code.
