Page 2 of Fake It Til You Break It

Once the girls agreed to pass along my message, I turned and motioned for a volunteer to join me. After outlining the situation and receiving assurance from Miss Florence that she could handle things outside, I made my way back to the court.

“Count me out of the next game. I have to go see a guy about a thing.”

The younger boys laughed, while some of the older ones seemed to be working out if my words held some hidden meaning. None of them protested, however, apart from making me promise to return for a rematch as soon as I could.

“Thanks, Mr. Ryan,” Caleb said as I started to walk away.

That simple statement of gratitude held a lot of weight, and it could have pertained to any number of things. The kid didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, however, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

“Anytime, Caleb.” I held his gaze, making sure he understood I meant more than just the game.

Seconds ticked by, but eventually, he smiled. I smiled back. It felt like we might have made a little progress.

“Mr. Ryan?”

Ah, Jessa and Amber were back.

“I know, I know.” I chuckled as I turned. “I’m coming.”

The laughter died in my throat. The air leached from my lungs. And my heart attempted to crawl out of my mouth.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a crooked smile, Beckett Shaw stood just behind the girls. He appeared relaxed, his arms resting at his sides, and when our eyes met, his smile stretched a little wider.

He dipped his head in greeting. “Jasper.”

My name, spoken with casual familiarity in that deep, smooth voice, made my head spin and my pulse stutter, but I brushed it off. Probably just nerves from being caught off guard.

I had seen Beckett Shaw at different parties and events around the city, and we had spoken once or twice in passing. I wouldn’t, however, consider us friends, or even on a first-name basis.

Clearly, he thought differently.

“Thank you, girls.”

I gave them each a pointed look, indicating they should head back inside. The last thing I needed was an audience to my awkwardness.

They leaned against one another and giggled, but they didn’t argue. The dirty little traitors. They knew exactly what they had done, and judging by their expressions, they were quite pleased with themselves, too.

“Jessa and Amber said you were working,” Beckett explained. “I thought it would be easier if I came to you.”

While the second part of that statement could be debated, it didn’t escape my notice that he had taken the time to learn their names. It might not seem like much, but for these kids—kids who had so little—identity meant everything.

And it raised him a couple of degrees in my estimation.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” No sense in pretending I hadn’t been in the wrong. “And I apologize for my appearance.” As I spoke, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and tugged self-consciously at the hem of my shirt. “I promise I’m usually better about managing my time.”

The fact that he had also dressed casually in a pair of dark wash jeans and a simple blue V-neck did nothing to lessen my anxiety. Not when he wore it so well, andespeciallynot when the soft material hugged every hard muscle of his upper body.

“You’re a busy man. That’s nothing to apologize for.” A quiet, indulgent chuckle rolled off his lips. “It’s not like I expected to find you playing basketball in a jacket and tie.” His gaze raked over me. Slow. Assessing. “This suits you.”

My entire being short-circuited at the unexpected flattery, and I had no idea what to say in response. To thank him meant I agreed. Which sounded a little conceited. To say nothing, though, felt rude.

“That’s nice of you to say.” That seemed neutral enough.

“I’m not nice,” Beckett corrected. “I’m honest.”

I blinked at him, malfunctioning like a faulty light switch while I grasped for, and failed, at something to say. Thankfully, I had a lot of practice faking social competency, even if I wore it like an ill-fitting cardigan.

“Should we head to my office?”

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