Page 98 of Fall Fake-Out

I quickly shove that thought away. We’re fake dating. And also, Wade doesn’t do commitment. I’d be wise to remember that.

Suddenly, Wade pushes his way through our row, running down the bleachers.

“What’s he doing?” I ask.

Nobody answers.

Because, apparently, everyone already knows, like this is a tradition they’ve seen from Stevie before. Wade reaches the front railing and turns toward the stands.

He raises both arms. “Wave on me! Wave on three!”

The entire section rises to its feet.

I start laughing before he even begins counting.

The crowd yells with him. “One! Two! Three!”

The wave explodes across the stadium. Students jump up, rolling their arms through the air above their heads. Even people across the field are participating. The motion circles the stadium once, twice, three times before the student section loses its collective mind.

Wade throws both fists into the air in victory, as if he personally invented the wave.

Then he looks straight at me.

And my world stops.

For the life of me, I can't understand why anyone would look at this man and think fun is his downfall. It’s his biggest strength.

It’s just Wade, standing at the bottom of the bleachers with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and me smiling right back.

Wade

THE GAME has been over for nearly twenty minutes by the time I finally escape the postgame chaos. Most of the crowd has already filtered out. The band is packing up their instruments. Players are scattered across the field in small groups, taking pictures and reliving every big play with their families. A few parents linger near the track. Teachers sell the last of the concessions.

And I’m looking for Ari.

“Miss Langford!” I call when I finally spot her talking to the Ednas. I nod for her to come join me on the field. A few minutes later (because that’s how long it takes her to extricate herself from the Ednas), we’re standing on the twenty-yard line beneath the stadium lights.

People are still everywhere, but nobody seems particularly concerned that the principal and the English teacher are loitering in the middle of the football field.

“Who can do a better Tom Cruise run?” Ari asks from out of nowhere.

I blink. “A what?”

“You know, Mission Impossible, Tom Cruise. The way he runs.”

“Probably me.” I smirk, trying to tease her.

Without warning, she demonstrates. Arms stiff. Back straight. High knees. Tiny, determined steps.

I immediately start laughing. “That’s not even close.”

“That’s exactly what he looks like. Let’s see you do better.”

“I will.” Now it’s my turn to run like Ethan Hunt, but the results have Ari choking on her laugh. “Does this mean I look terrible and you won?”

“It absolutely does.” She bows dramatically, and when she comes back up, the stadium lights catch her smile in a way that takes my breath away.

Something big settles in my chest—the aha moment that makes me realize this woman is different than all the rest. I mean, I’ve known that about Ari ever since I’ve known her. It’s why I never dated her in high school. But now things are different. Now we’re adults, and she’s back in Autumn Ridge, and the feelings feel bigger. But that means so do the stakes.