Fake It 'Til You Break It

Another boom from a drum and the girls turn sideways, each guy strategically removing the jackets and holding them out for the girls to slide into.

But Thompson suddenly drops back, falling into the line of my teammates as Trent steps out and forward.

Toward Demi, his jacket in his own hand.

I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth as he holds it out for her, and her hands slip into the sleeves.

Is he for real?

Is she for fucking real?

I squint when Trent emerges from behind her, quickly jogging this way.

“What the hell is he doing?” is hissed, and my head snaps to my left to find Miranda on her knees a few feet away, tripod perched in front of her with a video camera attached.

I look forward right as Trent reaches the sidelines, slipping directly beside me with a smirk in place.

I glare, but my eyes snap toward the field when the music kicks on, and the girls fall in line.

I try to tip my head to the side to see who is behind Demi but can’t see.

Trent chuckles and I cut a quick scowl at him before focusing back on the field.

The crowd goes crazy as the girls and their partners begin to go through the shit we’d been practicing, but my eyes stay stuck to D as she makes the same moves, a little more pronounced and all on her own. No partner.

They get to where the girls spin out, holding onto the guy’s hand, but Demi doesn’t spin. She keeps her legs planted out, her ass facing this way, but she twists her hips looking over her shoulder, right at me.

The team is trained not to move forward until she does.

So they wait.

For what?

“You even paying attention, man?” Trent whispers. “Look at her.”

Pressure falls on my chest as I force my eyes to the last name stitched across the jacket.

My stomach jumps, twisting and turning all at once.

Sykes.

My gaze flies to hers.

Baby...

“She’s waitin’, Nic.”

I look to him.

“Go.”

My feet carry me to her.The second number 24’s feet hit the turf, the crowd flips out.

When Carley, Krista, and Macy’s screams are heard above them all, I chuckle through the tears that are forming, but I’m too afraid to take my eyes off Nico to glance around.

I keep my position, my head turned, and Nico, being Nico, slides up behind me, his eyes locked on mine and far more intense than ever before.

My body aches to lean into his, but there’s no time for anything other than what we’re out here for right now, so I slide my hand into his rough one, spinning into him.

His lips press into a firm line, a sudden hopelessness filling his dark eyes, the second my body presses against his, and all I want to do is wash it away.

I will soon.

“Walk me to my spot?” I whisper.

“Where?” he rasps.

“Center.”

He steps out and around like he would have in the performance.

We take two strides forward, everyone else sliding with us but staying a space back and the announcer begins to run off the team numbers, giving their starts and ambitions, each one releasing their partner’s hand as their name is read and stalking across the field. Nico is the last on the field, and completely reluctant to let me go and walk away, but slowly he does.

The last name mentioned is Trent’s, who turns to wave up at the stands then falls back in line with the younger players on the sidelines.

Now it’s our turn.

Miranda cues the music.

We run through our routine, and my eyes stay locked on Nico’s the entire time, I fight a smirk when the end rolls around and we let the jackets slide from our shoulders, showing the numbers that were positioned inside the jackets to Velcro over the backs of our shirts, each representing our partners. A large 24 now plastered across mine.

Just as quick as it’s over, we’re hustled off the field as the captains take it for the coin toss. The whistle is blown, and the first quarter begins, Nico and the rest of the starters getting into position.

Miranda wastes no time, charging right up to me before I’ve even caught my breath. “You little bitch. Who do you think you are?” she growls.

I chuckle, taking the towel and water Carley brings me. I dab at my face, then take a small drink before giving her any of my attention. “What are you worried about? It all looked like part of the plan. Star player gets a little extra, hypes the crowd more. Nobody knows it was a last-minute change.”

“You don’t get to change my routines.”

“I created more than half of that routine while you were off trying to fuck your way into all the guys’ good graces.”

Miranda’s eyes widen and she looks to Carley then back to me.

“I changed my mind,” I tell her. “Quit, Miranda. If you don’t, well... you know what’ll follow.”