Page 67 of Power Play
Right. Mybrand.
“Right. Yeah. Good.”
Only it’s not fake anymore. Not for me. Not for Sophie either. And hearing Layla make outlike we’re still staging something forthe cameras, as though that kiss outside the restaurant wasn’t real. It twists something in my gut.
Sophie isn’t a game.
Layla barrels on, “We’ll need fresh content by next week. Candids that don’t look posed. Cozy winter vibes, hand-holding, laughing at nothing. You know the drill. You’ll smash it.”
“Sure,” I say, voice like sandpaper. “Send it through.”
When the call ends, I just sit there, helmet resting between my knees, staring at the phone as if it’s personally betrayed me.
The lads are still bantering, Jacko’s rambling about a rhubarb shortbread he saw onBake Off, but it all blurs into background noise.
All I can think about is Sophie.
How good she looked last night in that dress. How she laughed across the table like I was the funniest bastard alive. How she curled into me in the car like I was safe.
How I didn’t tell Layla the truth.
She thinks it’s still fake. Still a stunt. And I let her.
That kiss outside the restaurant? That was real. The way Sophie looked at me after, like maybe I was more than the guy who used to crash press events hungover and forget sponsors’ names... that was real too.
And I didn’t say a word.
I dig my phone back out and scroll through to her name. My thumb hovers. Then I press call.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey you.”
Her voice alone settles something in my chest.
“Hey,” I say. “Got a minute?”
“Always,” she says, softer now. “What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with Layla.” I run a hand through my sweaty hair. “She’s got the brands frothing over our photos. Wants more fake couple content.”
Sophie pauses. “Ah.”
“Yeah. And I… I didn’t tell her it’s not fake anymore.”
Silence.
“I should’ve,” I rush to add. “Iwantedto. But it was all business-speak and campaign briefs and fucking candids that don’t look posed, and I just… froze.”
“I get it,” she says quietly.
“I don’t want to keep pretending, Soph,” I say, throat tightening. “Not anymore. Not when this feels like the first real thing I’ve had inages. I don’t want to play at being your boyfriend. Iwantto be your boyfriend.”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then she says, “You already are.”
My heart stumbles. “I am?”
“You are,” she says, her voice thick with warmth. “You might be an idiot sometimes, but you’remyidiot. We already decided this.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “You really need to work on your compliments.”
