Page 152 of Play Fake
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, dropping his arms and sitting up.
Before I can respond, he grabs my chair, pulling me closer, his knee brushing mine. “I’m thinking,” he says, lowering his voice slightly, “we need to take a break.”
I laugh. “That is definitely not on the schedule for right now. Do you really need one?”
“Yep. Pretty badly, in fact,” he repeats, leaning in like he’s testing me to see how close he can get before I close the distance from my mouth to his. “Breaks are scientifically proven to reset the brain. Or, you know, something like that.”
I pretend to consider it, tapping my pen against the table. “Hmm. I don’t recall that being in any psych textbook.”
“Guess we’ll just have to conduct our own experiment and see if we can do a little…reset.”
And then he kisses me.
It starts soft, just a brush of lips, but then lingers. His hand finds the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw ashe deepens it slightly—not enough to get us totally distracted, though it’s a near thing, but enough to send a warm, tingling rush down my spine.
When he finally pulls back, I’m a little breathless. “Okay,” I murmur. “Maybe thatwasnecessary.”
He smirks. “Told you.”
I roll my eyes, trying to fight the smile tugging at my lips as I turn back to my laptop. “Fine. Kiss break over. Back to work.”
We knock out the last two slides quickly, both of us a little more relaxed than before. Once everything’s saved and backed up twice, because I’m not taking chances with university Wi-Fi, Beck closes his laptop and stands, stretching again.
“I’ve gotta head to practice,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Film first, then on-field work. Coach wants everything sharp this week.”
I nod, closing my laptop too. “Go make sure they don’t score and all that.”
He leans down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Later, pretty girl.”
As he walks away, I catch myself smiling like an idiot.
I’m still thinking about Beck’s kiss break yesterday and our finished psych project as I walk down the hallway toward my dorm. My shift at the foster agency ran longer than expected, though it was a good kind of busy, the kind that leaves me tired but fulfilled.
I’m scrolling through my texts when I see the one from Ava that had me rushing home sooner than I originally planned.
Ava: Can you come to your room? I need you.
My stomach dips more and I pick up my pace.
When I push open the door, the sight that greets me stops me in my tracks.
Ava’s curled up on my bed, knees pulled to her chest, a hoodie hanging loose around her frame. Her makeup is streaked down her cheeks, and her eyes are puffy from crying.
And she has a very angry black eye.
“Ava,” I breathe, crossing the room in two quick steps. “Oh my God.”
She looks up at me, embarrassed, like she’s been caught doing something wrong instead of what actually happened to her.
I drop my bag to the floor and sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
For a moment, she just shakes her head, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her hoodie. Her lower lip wobbles, and then the words come out in a rush.
“It was Coleson.”
My heart lurches. “What?”
She presses the heels of her hands against her forehead, like she can block it all out if she pushes hard enough. “I know. I know how bad that sounds. I just…I don’t even know how it got to this.”
