Page 17 of Power Play
His brows lift. “I’m listening.”
I turn my head toward him, noting the way his arm is slungacross the back of the sofa. Not touching me, but close enough to feel like a dare.
“She said…” I pause, mostly to enjoy the look of suspicion crawling across his face. “That maybe we could help your image problem by, you know… pretending to be a couple.”
There’s a full beat of silence. Then, “Wait,what?”
I grin. “You heard me.”
His face is a mix of intrigue and pure panic. “You and me. Pretending to date.”
“Fake dating,” I correct. “Just for optics. You parade me around in public, make a few social media posts about how grounded and committed you are, and suddenly you’re sponsor gold.”
He stares at me. “That’s the most unhinged PR plan I’ve ever heard.”
I shrug. “Worked in that Christmas movie Mia made me watch. The one with the fake fiancée and the snowstorm.”
“This isn’t Netflix, Soph.”
“No, but your agent’s not exactly coming up with any better ideas.”
He rubs a hand over his face, muttering something that sounds suspiciously likebloody Clarke. Then he looks at me properly, and something shifts behind his eyes. “Why would you agree to that?”
The question catches me off guard. I could lie. Could say it’s just for fun. Just to help Mia. Just to keep things interesting. But the truth is messier. Harder to say. So instead, I give him the half-truth. “Because I figured you’d say no.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well, surprise.”
We lapse into silence again. Not awkward exactly. Just careful. Finally, he speaks. “So, what would fake dating even look like? You want me to take you to Nando’s and post it on the gram?”
I smirk. “Absolutely not. I have standards.”
“Right. So more... what? Holding hands in front of cameras? Paparazzi walks outside the rink?”
“Possibly. Maybe a story or two. A few game nights like this but with more intentional lighting.”
He snorts. “I don’t even know how tolooklike I’m in a relationship.”
“You’d just have to stop flirting with waitresses for five minutes.”
“That’s my love language.”
“You’re exhausting.”
He leans closer. Not much, just a little. Enough to feel the heat rise between us. “You scared it’d stop being fake?” he asks, his voice low.
I don’t flinch. “You scared it wouldn’t?”
He holds my gaze, and for one second, everything else drops away; the banter, the jokes, the sharp edges we throw at each other like armour.
Then the moment passes.
He leans back, breaking eye contact. “Okay,” he says casually. “I’ll do it.”
I blink. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Sure. Why not? If it gets the agent off my back and gives you a reason to show off your impressive acting chops…”
“You mean lie?”
