behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Twelve

MILLIE

"What do we say?" Harper calls out from her room, her voice carrying down the hallway. "If someone ask how we met?"

Her door's cracked open just enough that I catch flashes of movement—her pacing back and forth, probably giving the final touches to her hair like she said earlier. Or panicking. Honestly, with Harper, it could go either way. I stand in front of the mirror by the entryway, fiddling with my tie for the third time tonight. It's too tight. Then too loose. Then perfect, until I look at it again and suddenly it's wrong. Fake girlfriend nerves, apparently, are just as real as real ones.

I smirk to myself. "I guess we just tell them the truth. You insulted me right before a game and I told you to fuck off."

From her room, there's a loud, exaggerated groan. I can practically feel her rolling her eyes without even seeing her, and it makes me grin wider, a warmth unfurling low in my chest. "Or," I call out, voice lighter, "we could say we met through Audrey. Normal. Boring. Safe."

There's a beat of quiet, filled only by the occasional swish of fabric. I shift on my feet, adjusting my jacket sleeves.
The suit's dark charcoal with a slight sheen under the lights—subtle but sharp. Audrey helped me pick it out last year and I've been saving it for something important. Guess pretending to be in love qualifies.

"Or," I continue, tugging once more at my tie, "you could tell people you knew Audrey was my best friend, and you became impossibly obsessed with me. Begged her for my number. I rejected you—obviously—but you followed me around until I finally gave in."

Her laugh rings out, bright and real, and it tugs a smile right out of me without even trying. God, that sound. I swear it makes everything heavy in the world gets a little bit lighter for a second.

"So much for a realistic story," she teases.

"I don't know," I shrug, still facing the mirror. "I think most people would buy it—"

The words catch somewhere in my throat as her door swings open and she steps out. My reflection disappears. Everything disappears, except her. "What do you think?"

The first thing I notice are her shoes—white strappy heels, delicate and almost criminal against the hardwood floor.
Red-painted toes peek out, and then my eyes trail upward, helpless. Sun-kissed legs, endless and unfair. The black satin of her dress hugs her hips and falls away in a high slit that reveals even more skin with every step she takes toward me.

The fabric clings to her like it was made just for her body—elegant, shimmering, devastating. One strap crosses over her shoulder, leaving the other bare, and it makes me want to trace the line of her collarbone with my mouth— wait, what?

She's...
She's unreal. I forget how to breathe. How to move. How to think.

Harper stands there, hands smoothing down the sides of her dress, looking at me with those big grey eyes—bright and stormy—and she tilts her head slightly when I don't say anything.

"Amelia," she asks again, voice softer now, almost shy.

"Hmm?"

"I asked, what do you think?"

I swallow thickly, yanking my gaze up from her body like I've been burned.
Jesus Christ, Bennett, get it together.

I stand straighter smoothing down the front of my jacket with shaky fingers I hope she doesn't notice. "You look..." I clear my throat. "You look beautiful, Harps."

Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, blooming slow and lovely across her skin. She bites her bottom lip for a second, then smiles, all soft and radiant. "You look beautiful too," she says, almost too quietly.