Faking It

A/N: Hey, this is a FIRST DRAFT, completely unedited book. I haven’t read it back. Please keep that in mind when reading. There will be mistakes. Please do not compare to a highly edited, properly published book.

Callum:

My feet hammer the turf, blood thundering in my ears. We're down 14–6 to Durham, and the roar of the crowd is insane—boos, chants, my name getting screamed from every direction. It’s too loud to think.

Rugby's my sport. This is my game. I should be in control.

"Come on!" I shout at the lads, clapping my hands together in manic succession. "Pick it up! PICK IT UP!”

First game of the season and we're behind with only fifteen minutes left to fix it. I use the hem of my top to wipe my brow and hear a familiar voice call through the stands.

"Put it away, Ten! No one needs to see that!"

That would be Paige. My best mate's little sister. She would be the loudest person in the bloody crowd. I don't even have to look to know she's grinning.

I shake my head, let out a laugh, before I refocus. Durham are lining up the restart. The kick goes high, drifting deep. I track it, chase it and then leap, taking it clean to my chest. Two of their lads smash into me straight away, driving me back. Boots skidding, studs tearing, lungs burning. I twist and get the ball away just in time.

We reset. Jack drives it up, sets it quick, and the ball's back in my hands. One of their defenders barrels at me. I dummy, step inside, and break the line. Adrenaline hits, crowd roaring, but doesn’t matter that I am a bullet, I know I won't make the distance.

"Cal!" David's screaming for it on the wing.

I sling it out, and his fingers graze it before dragging it into him. David’s also a bullet. He’s gone. The crowd lifts with him, bodies on their feet, noise doubling. He dives, slides, grounds it.

The whistle shrieks.

14-11.

We're back in it.

"Come on!" I yell whilst fist bumping the air, smacking Alfie's back as the lads pile onto David.

I can barely breathe, sweat pouring, but the momentum's ours now. We can claw it back. Jack sets up the next kick, calm as you like. Three steps, run-up, perfect strike.

14-13.

The roar is deafening.

"Back in it now, lads! Keep the line tight," Alfie shouts, clapping me on the shoulder as we jog backwards into position.

Durham come straight back, going long again. I call it, mark it, and boot it back. They throw fast, try to go wide, but Alfie gets up and spoils it. The ball drops to the ground, and I'm there first, scooping it before their nine reacts.

"Go on, Brucey!" someone yells.

I put my head down and charge. The try line's in sight, but their forwards hit me hard—one up top, one around the waist. Air blasts out of me, legs fighting to stay up. I twist, shove the ball back before they drag me down.

Alfie's there, roaring like a lunatic, smashing through, dragging us forward five metres before he's pulled down too. The ball is set, recycled, then back to me.

I glance left—Jack's free—but the gap's open in front of me. It’s small, but it is there. I dive through with a big thrust towards the line, the ball slammed down just as hands grab at my legs. The whistle goes again.

17–14.

Rolling onto my back, I stare at the floodlights above, trying to catch my breath. Alfie leans down, grinning at me, and drags me to my feet. The lads are all over me—shoving, shouting, thumping my shoulders.

The crowd is going fucking ape shit, a saxophone is playing, drums being bang, and, "Brucey! Brucey! Brucey!" is being chanted. There’s mud all over me. I can smell grass and earth and sweat but none of that matters. We can win this. Jack sets the ball, takes his steps, and strikes it sweet. The flags go up.

19–14

With two minutes left now Durham throw everything at us. Their big lads hammer the line, backs darting left and right, looking for a break. We give them nothing. Every tackle met with rebuttal, every scramble covered. They're frantic; we're united. When the knock-on finally comes, the ref's whistle goes long and piercing.

Game over.

We've beaten Durham.

Holy fucking shit. We won. First game of the season and we've taken down the best of them.

"We fucking love you, Brucey!"

"Nice game, number ten!"

The whistle's still echoing when we bunch together, arms over shoulders, jerseys heavy with mud. Someone runs across for a photo and we all throw our fists up, chanting like idiots. It’s utter chaos on the pitch as the crowd screams in celebration. Five minutes we’re given before the coaches wave us off and we head for the sideline.

Students are pressed against the barriers, shouting, slapping hands as we pass. Paige is at the front, half-standing on the railing, one arm in the air.

She’s yelling at me, hand cupped around her mouth, "Wahoo! Number ten! Looks like you've got as much brains as you do abs!"

"Shut up, Paige," I call as I walk past.

"You shut up," she shoots back, then swings herself over the rail and drops onto the pitch.

She's always been like this—loud and impossible to ignore. Blonde curls all over the place, brown eyes that go straight to mine, and the kind of grin that makes me forget to look away. She's filled out since school—curvy, confident, dressed to get noticed. I hate that I notice. Hate even more that I've noticed since I was fourteen.

"Seriously, Paige," I mutter. "You can't just jump down here."

"What's the worst they'll do, Callum? Send me off?"

"Ban you from the pitch for life."

"Oh no," she drawls, hand over her heart. "The heart bleeds. What would I do with myself?"

My eyebrows shoot up as I take her in. She’s seriously fucking good looking. She was one of the best looking girls in our school and she’s absolutely one of the best looking girls in this place.

I smirk as I ask, “What? You'd happily never come and show your support again?"

"Easily."

"Even for me?"

"Especially for you."

"And your brother?"

"He'll survive."

I step in, crowding her. She doesn't back away. "Do I need to carry you off the pitch myself?"

"I'd like to see you try."

Without warning I lunge for her. She shrieks and dodges, then I catch her round the waist. We wrestle for a second—nails on my arm, her jacket bunching under my hand, breath hot and close—and it's stupid, it’s electric.

"Get off!" she squeals, laughing, trying to shove me back.

"Not until you're off my pitch.”

She kicks her legs, but she's not really fighting me. I'm grinning like an idiot, pretending it's just banter when every nerve in me's lighting up.

"Brucey! Paige!" Alfie's voice booms towards us.

We freeze. Her laughter dies, and she tilts her head up at me, those big brown eyes gleaming with mischief even as her chest is pressed against mine.

"Busted," she whispers.

"So busted," I say, wanting to kiss her, knowing Alfie would kill me if he saw. I shove her back, hard enough to make it obvious I'm being proper matey, not whatever else.

"Why is it always you two?" Alfie snarls as he gets to us.

"It's not always us," Paige says, voice bored.

"It fucking is." Alfie hisses, picking up the pace as he closes in. "Day before he got his licence, you convinced him"—he jabs a finger at me—"to take my car out for a joyride. Dad nearly killed me when he found out. Then there was the time we almost got arrested because you thought it'd be funny to nick a bottle of tequila from the cabinet and drag us into town with it. And don't even get me started on when you swore cow tipping was a real thing and had us sneaking through fields like idiots. I got grounded for a week because of you."

"Sorry, Dad," she grins.

"Don't you start," Alfie says. "We agreed when you came to uni you wouldn't trail me and Cal everywhere."

"I'm hardly trailing you. Get a grip, Speckles—"

"Don't call me that.”

"—I’ve only been here a month, and this was your first match. A big one too." She smiles so wide it nearly wrecks me. "Well done, by the way. You guys smashed it."

"Thanks," Alfie mutters. "But you shouldn't be down here."

"I know," she says, unfazed, "but I've got a favour to ask."

Alfie shoots me a look, jaw tight with annoyance. I don't get it. Paige is a laugh, funny, quick on her feet—and nowhere near as unbearable as he makes her out to be. If it were my choice, she'd be around all the time. Sometimes I prefer hanging out with her over Alfie. I definitely prefer looking at her.

Jesus Christ. This has to stop.

She's my best mate's little sister. Only a year younger, but that doesn't matter. Off-limits. Not to be touched. Definitely not to be fucked. And it's not like she'd ever want me anyway.

Even thinking about it feels wrong. It’s a cardinal sin. I watched her grow up. I drove her to her Fifth Form Ball. Looked after her with Alfie when their parents worked late. I even taught her how to tie her bloody shoelaces. I was the one who stepped in when kids at school picked on her. I know too much. I've seen too much.

"Spit it out then," Alfie snaps, voice pissed. "What do you want?"

"Alright, Alf." I throw him a look. "Give her a break, there’s no need for the attitude."

"Why are you always defending her?" He fires back. "She shouldn't be on the pitch, and she shouldn't have been play fighting with you."

"It was a bit of a laugh."

"I didn't think it was funny." His eyes are hard on me now, not her.

"Because you're a boring sod."

Paige steps in, shoulder grazing my arm. "I can defend myself, Cal."

"I know you can," I say, looking back at her. "You've got the personality of a bulldozer and the mouth to match. Doesn't mean I won't call out the Grinch over here now and again."

Her smirk widens, but Alfie doesn't rise. He just fixes her with a glare. "What do you want, Paige?"

"You see those girls over there?" She waves toward a cluster of them hanging back by the railing.

Right in the middle is Daisy—Paige's best mate—preppy blonde, low-cut top, skirt that barely qualifies as one. I let out a groan.

Daisy's been harassing me for years, and not in a flattering way. Shes a serial clinger. There's only so many polite brush-offs a guy can give before you have to start being a dick.

"What about them?" Alfie bites out, all snooty.

"Alf," I say, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We just won. Will you chill out for five minutes?"

He shrugs me off like I've burned him. "What is it, Pidge?"

Paige shifts, eyes darting between us. Her cheeks start to colour, and that's how I know it's something ridiculous. "Well...I might've told them I had a bit of pull with the rugby lads—"

"Why would you do that?"

His tone grates, and my patience snaps. "Alfie, let her fucking speak."

Paige looks at me, knowing I'll give her more leeway than he ever will. Then she blurts it, fast, like ripping off a plaster. "I told them I could get you all to come to a party."

"A party?" I repeat, because I need to hear it again.

She nods, biting her lip—and it takes everything in me not to stare. "Yeah. A party."

Alfie barks out a laugh with no humour in it. "Absolutely not. No way in hell am I dragging the lads to some fresher bash just so you and Daisy can show off."

"You were at a freshers' party two days ago." Paige folds her arms, unimpressed. "Don't be such a killjoy. My mates are fit, it's a massive house, and they'd love the chance to flirt with a load of rugby players who just beat Durham."

"It's not happening."

Her eyes cut to me. "Come on, Cal. Don't you think the team deserves a bit of glory—a bunch of girls falling over themselves for you?"

The team would absolutely love to be surrounded by a bunch of girls who want to stroke their egos. Or stroke other parts of them too. Especially if those girls look like Paige.

I glance at Alfie, shrugging. "She kind of has a point."

"I'm not partying with my baby sister!" he snaps, like the idea alone insults him.

"I'm only a year younger than you!" Paige fires back, her voice rising. "God, why are you such a fucking prick sometimes?"

"Because you always throw a tantrum when you don't get your own way," he says. "And I don't want my teammates hitting on my sister."

"They don't—you warned them off," Paige says.

Alfie blinks, then gives me a look that says, how does she know about that? I shrug, throwing him a look of my own that says, I don’t know.

Because I don’t. It wasn’t me.

Paige doesn’t miss it.

"Mikey Gatley told me," she says fast. "And anyway I wouldn't touch your lads. After Lewis, I'm not going near anyone ever again."

At the name Lewis, Alfie goes flat. "I thought you and Lewis broke up amicably? You said there was no bad blood? Do I need to break his face in?"

I'll happily break Lewis' face in. He's a Prick with a capital P. Came to uni with us, joined the football team. Good player, ego the size of the pitch. Everyone knows he treated Paige like shit, even though Alfie and I both warned them off each other.

He strung her along for three years, and she still followed him here. The day she arrived he dumped her—in front of everyone. Full screaming match on campus. That's when she found out he'd been shagging some girl called Alicia all through first year.

I knew that. I told her that and she didn’t believe me. I told Alfie and he said it wasn’t true. Then I hauled Alfie over to Lewis’ dorm. Lewis denied it, mouth full of lies, and I nearly broke his jaw for it. Alfie had to drag me off him. I also knew there was bad blood, but Paige kept insisting everything was fine.

"I'm not talking to you about Lewis!" she snaps at us, looking wild and uncomfortable.

It stirs something in me.

"Paige." My voice comes out low, taking a step towards her. "You know if he hurt you, we'd fuck him up. You know that, right?"

Her face hardens for a second. "Trust me. Lewis McIver isn't worth the hassle. He's a waste of space. What I want to know is if you two will help me out—come to this party, let the girls fawn over your teammates, and make me look half as cool as you lot."

I go to tell her she's the coolest person I know, but Alfie would actually kill me if I compliment her in front of him.

Instead, because I've never had any willpower against her, I nod. "Okay, we'll come."

"What?" Alfie snaps, head whipping toward me. "No."

"Alf—"

"No chance. Not a party. Not with her mates." He jabs a finger at Paige. "Not happening."

Paige cheeks are all flushed in a way that makes her look younger. "Oh come off it. You're being so dramatic, Speckles. I'll beg if I have to. Do you want me to beg?"

Alfie smirks, "Yes."

At the same time I say, "No. We will be there."

Paige's face lights up and she practically bounces on her heels. "Yes! Thanks, Cal." She throws her arms around me and plants a kiss on my cheek. Heat rushes up my face, and I know I've gone red.

Alfie's watching. His eyes narrow, and it takes me straight back to when we were fourteen. He asked me point blank if I liked his sister. I swore I didn't. He said good—because if I did, he'd bury me and our friendship would be done.

That's carried me to my current state. A girl—no matter how good she looks, no matter how funny she is or how she makes me feel—is not worth losing my best mate over. Especially when Paige has never given me the slightest hint she feels the same.

I set her back on her feet, moving my hands to behind my back so I can’t keep touching her. "We've got to go shower and tell the lads. Can you text me the address? We'll head over in about two hours.”

Her eyes widen. “Two hours? But the party starts now.”

I shrug. “We're going for drinks at The Pav first, like we always do.”

“We’ll be there in two hours.” Alfie’s voice is colder. “Take it or leave it.”

Paige is undeterred by him, grinning up at me. "Done. I'll text you. And don't be any later, please. I'm going to be telling everyone that you're coming!"

"Brilliant," Alfie mutters, dragging a hand over his face. "We've been stitched up."

"See you later, Cal," Paige says, and there's a spark in her eyes that makes my stomach turn over. “Bye, Speckles!”

“Don’t call me that!”

Then she's gone, marching back to her mates, hips rolling, sexy as hell.

Alfie waits until she's out of earshot before turning on me. "Why do you always back her up?"

"I don't."

"You do. Every single time."

I shrug, trying for casual. "Because you're always on her case."

"She deserves it half the time." He shakes his head, breathing out hard through his nose. "I'm holding you responsible if she gets with one of the team. If I have to see any of those fuckers with their lips on her—"

The thought alone makes my knees go weak. "They won't," I say quickly. "You already warned them off, didn't you? You're too valuable for anyone to double-cross you. And you're too much of a headcase for anyone to risk it."

Alfie gives me a sideways look, somewhere between a warning and a dare. "That includes you too, you know. You're too soft on her and it worries me."

"Because she's like a sister to me too, Alf," Liar. “I’m just looking out for her.” Double liar. “I care about her and think you should go a bit easier on her.” Not a lie.

“Mm.” Is all he says in response, studying me.

If he knew the things that have run through my head about his sister, I'd be six feet under already.

"Come on," I mutter, needing to look away from him. "We stink. And we have a party to get to.”

Alfie grunts and starts toward the tunnel. I fall in behind him, staring at the back of his jersey, trying to shove the guilt and the images of Paige out of my head.

It doesn't work.

I’ve been gone on her for years