behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Sixteen

HARPER

If there's anything I've learned over the years, it's how to play a part.
The easygoing friend. The girl who laughs a little too loudly at the right jokes, who knows when to sparkle and when to step aside. I've played the attentive girlfriend at dinners where I didn't recognize the version of myself sitting across from him. I've smiled through champagne toasts and white tablecloth conversations, mastered the art of being visible—but not too much.

But tonight? Tonight I'm someone else.

Tonight I'm playing the captain's girl. And I think it might be my favorite role yet.

The jersey hangs off my frame like it was made for someone else—which, of course, it was. White and light blue, with the name Bennett stretching bold across my shoulders and the number 13 stamped just beneath. I found it hanging off the back of Millie's desk chair, half-forgotten under a hoodie, and maybe I should've asked. But something about slipping it over my head made the whole thing feel real.

Like maybe—just for tonight—it is real.

I pair it with soft, baggy jeans, the kind that bunch comfortably at my ankles, and clean white sneakers. My hair is still slightly damp at the ends, soft waves curling around my shoulders, not trying too hard. No makeup beyond a little mascara and the sheer gloss I found on the bathroom counter this morning. I'd tried not to overthink it, but I still checked my reflection twice before we left.

Now, Audrey and I are climbing out of Lucas's car, and my stomach is doing slow, anxious flips. The kind that start deep and rise steadily, coiling in my chest.

"You've got the tickets?" Audrey asks, slamming her door shut behind her.

I nod and pat the side pocket of my jacket. "Yeah, front row. Right in the splash zone."

She snorts, looping her arm through mine as we start toward the glowing entrance of the stadium. The air is crisp with that mix of concrete, smoke, and excitement. Floodlights glow above the building like a beacon, people bustling past us in jerseys and hats, clutching plastic beer cups and paper trays of fries.

"It's family exclusive. Don't worry," she adds, like that should help.

But it kind of makes it worse.

My eyes scan the crowd until I see them—Aurora and Summer standing with their wives and kids near one of the private entrances, chatting, laughing, a cluster of warmth against the cold. I recognize Luna, tall and sharp-eyed even in casual wear, and Mia, smiling with a water bottle in her hand. The little girl I met the other night–Lia– is perched on Summer's hip, her chubby hand clutching the edge of her aunt's coat. My chest tightens.

This isn't just a game.
It's a Bennett game. It's Millie's game. And I'm walking straight into the family section, wearing her name on my back.

Pretending to be in love with Amelia Bennett in front of twenty thousand people is one thing.
Pretending to be in love with her while her entire family watches from a few feet away? That's a whole different game.

Audrey gives my arm a squeeze, like she can sense the panic. "You okay?"

I nod, but it's automatic. Because truthfully, I have no idea how I'm supposed to act cool when my heart's doing somersaults under a jersey that still smells faintly like Millie's perfume.

We barely have time to say hi before Mia and Luna greet us, warm and easy, ushering us inside with a kind of practiced grace.
They're all so composed. Effortless, even with children hanging off them and fans trying to sneak pictures from a distance. They move through the space like they belong here—which, I guess, they do. And I—