Page 50 of Play Fake
“I hope you’ll come to our shows again. And I really want you to hear this new song I wrote. I think you’ll love it,” he offers a small hopeful smile, and while I doubt it will monumentally shift the way I feel about him, I don’t feel like crushing his hopes like I thought I would.
“I came to your show at the Cheshire,” I remind him.
“I know, but I want you there more. You can come backstage. You can come to our practices again. She’s gone for good. So, if that’s what’s kept you away… I know Ally misses you being there.”
“I got that when she tricked me into meeting up with you tonight.”
He winces, and leans back against the wall, putting some distance between us.
“She’s just trying to be a good friend,” he smiles softly again.
Yeah. But to which one of us. Because I don’t think it’s me she’s prioritizing. I hold back from saying it, though.
“I asked if she would help. I didn’t think you’d come if I asked. Would you have come?” He looks at me hopefully.
Before I can respond, a group of drunk girls tumbles out the door, drowning us in laughter and chatter. Several large football players in tow follow their lead, their raucous laughter breaking through the quiet of the evening around us. Waylon’s last out the door. His eyes collide with mine, a knowing smile spreading across his face, and my heart breaks out into a riotous rhythm just looking at him.
I am so screwed.
Ezra steps off the wall, putting himself in front of me slightly, giving a sneering look at Waylon as he walks by. In return, Waylon gives me a little wave.
“See you tomorrow?” He asks, and I remember tomorrow is movie night.
“Yep. See you then!” I call back.
As he disappears back into the parking lot, Ezra's focus returns to me. I can tell by the way he searches my face he wants to make another comment. He wants to probe the depths of whatever is going on with Waylon and me, but he’s too proud to admit it. Something I’m thankful for because the last thing I want to do is give him any insight into something I barely understand.
Instead, he does something much, much worse. He leans in, his fingers capturing my neck and pulls me to him, slamming his lips onto mine in a possessive kiss that feels like it’s meant much more for observation than for me. It’s punishing and there’s no tenderness in it, like he might be able to bring me back to heel if he can just apply the right amount of pressure.
Unfortunately for me, kissing him is like a muscle memory for my heart. All the memories come flooding back, the good ones and the bad. I can smell his citrusy cologne. Taste his favorite whiskey on his tongue, the ChapStick he always wears on his lips. It’s all so familiar, almost like I could go back in time to before all of this happened. I freeze at the thought, my mind reeling as he finally releases me again.
“What the hell was that?” I curse, putting my fingers to lips that feel bruised.
“I miss you so fucking much. I miss the taste of you. And I’m going to win you back because we belong together.” Ezra’s eyes burn with intensity, so much so it almost cracks the stony outer layer of my heart before he takes off into the night.
SIXTEEN
Waylon
Liam:No movie night tonight. Liv is in a mood.
I frownwhen I read the text from Liam. His and Olivia’s ongoing not-fight is grinding on my nerves, mostly because it’s making it that much harder for me to see Mac.
Me:A mood or just avoiding your ass?
Liam:Don’t start.
Me:Don’t get us both banned from the house then.
I do a couple more rounds of leg presses on the machine before I finally give in and text Mac a funny meme I’d seen earlier in the day, hoping I can see how she’s doing. Easton throws his bag down next to mine and nods at the machine.
“Almost done?”
“Almost.”
“Must not have done enough the way you’re smiling over here.”
“I was just texting someone.”
