Page 51 of Fake Shot

His nearly black eyes focus in on me, and the sharp lines of his cheekbones narrow as his lips press together. “You’ve been sleeping with women all over the country, all season long. And you expect me to believe that you’re getting married? To a twenty-five-year-old?”

“First of all,” I say, “no, I haven’t. I’vetalkedto women allover the country all season. I haven’t slept with anyone since well before Jules and I got together.”

“And when was that, exactly?”

“October.” I’ll have to remember to tell Jules that’s when we started our secret relationship so we can keep our story straight.

“So why were you out there pretending to be interested in other women?” He sounds more curious and less skeptical as he leans one elbow against the bar and turns toward me.

“Because we were trying to keep her family from finding out.”

“Keep her brother from finding out, you mean?”

“Yeah.” There’s no way anyone would believe Audrey didn’t know, and I’m glad Jules pointed that out before we tried to sell this whole show.

“How’s he taking this?”

“He’s ...” I almost say he’s fine with it, but there’s no way that would be believable, especially since he’s not even fine with it knowing that it’s not real. “... coming around to the idea.”

“You must really like her if you’re willing to risk your friendship with him,” McCabe says.

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

“You’re basically part of that family. You’ve always treated both those girls like they wereyoursisters.” His eyes narrow again. “How are you now dating one of them?” He really isn’t giving up on this.

Jameson isn’t McCabe’s agent, but McCabe joined the Rebels a year before Jameson retired, so they played together for a short time. And since Jameson represents nearly a quarter of the players on the team, and is good friends withAJ, he’s always around. McCabe knows him well enough to know how protective he is of Audrey and Jules, and he knows me well enough to know that I’d never jeopardize that friendship.

“Have you seen her?” I say, rolling my eyes as the bartender slides the two drinks I’ve been waiting for toward me.

“Yeah, total smokeshow. But you’re not reckless. I still don’t see you risking your relationship with that whole family just because she’s hot.”

“Obviously, I didn’t go after her just because she’s hot. She’s also brilliant, she doesn’t take any of my shit?—”

He coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, she gives as good as she gets when it comes to you.”

It’s true, and anyone who’s spent more than five minutes in our presence knows that. No one else aside from my teammates gives me shit like she does. “She balances me out,” I say, because it’s the type of thing I think you’d say about someone you were going to marry.

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around you being inlove.”

That word is like a cold rope of dread wrapping itself around my chest. In my lifetime, I’ve only told one woman I loved her, and she stabbed me in the back. The wounds may have healed, but the scars are still ugly.

“You’ll get used to it,” I tell him, even though I know that by the time he does, the whole thing will probably be over.

I hate the idea of this ending. I hate the reality that someday I’ll go back to my condo in the Seaport, and Jules won’t be there, or that I’ll go on a date, and it won’t be with her.

“Speaking of,” he says, and nods toward the end of the bar where Jules is standing, her hands on the edge as she leans forward like she’s trying to get the bartender’s attention. I watch him notice her and head straight over there, like he can’t get to her quickly enough. And watching her from here, I see exactly why—the gold V of her dress shimmers where it dips low between her breasts, and her blond hair hangs in soft waves over her shoulders. Even though I still call her Tink, like I always have, Barbie would be a more apt nickname these days. And tonight, she’s Glamour Barbie. She’s wearing makeup, which she never does, and it highlights the contours of her face, making her look even more spectacular than normal.

As the bartender talks to her, resting his entire forearm on the bar top so he can lean in as close as possible, I clear my throat.

“Better go get your girl,” McCabe says with a laugh, then tips his beer at me while I grab our drinks and turn to walk toward her.

Despite the mirror that runs the full length of the bar, she doesn’t see me coming. I’d like to imagine she’s only giving the bartender her full attention because she’s trying to be polite, but the way she throws her head back with a laugh has me about ready to punch this guy. Who does he think he is, makingmyfiancée laugh like that?

Fake fiancée,I hear Jameson’s voice in my head, and I push it away. Tonight, we’re supposed to be selling it like it’s real, and my fiancée would never laugh at anyone else’s jokes. Would she?

The bartender grabs a glass off the shelf behind him and walks a few steps away to fill it with ice, and I transfer herchampagne flute to the hand holding my beer so I have a free hand. When I come up behind her, I smooth my thumb along the ridges of her spine, loving the way this dress leaves her back bared to me. Goosebumps erupt along the backs of her arms in response to my touch.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks, her voice husky as she turns to look at me over her shoulder.

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