Page 39 of A Shot at Love
“How did you know that?” I demand and then freeze. If we’d truly been dating six months, he’d likely have fedme those very waffles in bed. “I love all takeout,” I finish lamely, hoping to cover up my misstep.
Daniel’s eyes are twinkling at me, his half-dimple popping and taunting me. “You like taking pics of it, Anna-banana.” And there it is, a small and unimportant memory of Jadea bringing me the meal when I was in bed, sick, a few months ago, and posting it to her Instagram stories. She even called me Anna-Banana in the video. Damn Daniel’s ridiculously hot brain for remembering.
Taherah doesn’t even bother hiding the laugh in her voice when she continues. “Daniel, what records does Annie hold at Stanford?”
This question is in his wheelhouse, and yet I’m still slightly turned on when he rattles them off easily. “First freshman to have 150 assists in a season, career assist record for the women’s basketball program, All-Academic team Junior and Senior year.”
Some of the competitive juice has depleted, leaving behind softness. Daniel and I were going to pretend we knew each other, wing it the best we could. Instead, we’re doing well. We’re crushing it. I’m so busy looking at him with heart-eyes that I don’t hear Taherah’s question. “Sorry,” I apologize, giving her my full attention. “What did you ask?”
She raises a brow knowingly. When my gaze darts to Jadea, I’m surprised to see she doesn’t look happy. Maybe our acting is too convincing.
It’s certainly starting to fool me.
Taherah repeats her question. “Annie, what made Daniel want to run track?”
The question catches me off guard in its simplicity. I know the answer; Daniel has told me the story a dozen times. However, post-accident, I imagine it’s now a very painful story. I dart a glance his way, and he gives me a small nod, as if to say, “go on.”
“It was the 2008 Olympics.” My voice is a little softer, and I try not to look away from the camera. “Track and Field excitement was at an all-time high. Usain Bolt had just set world records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. The U.S. 4 by 400 team had set an Olympic record that had the announcers shouting with excitement. I know because he made me watch a clip of it early on in our relationship.” A true story from our days at Stanford. I look at him teasingly and find he’s already looking at me. His expression is so affectionate that I almost falter. His eyes are like pools of ink. “He asked his mom what Track and Field was. His mom said—”
“Track and field is the purest form of sport in the world.” Our voices mingle together over the words.
I stutter a bit as I finish the story. Daniel’s eyes never leave me, and it’s making me nervous. In a good and bad way. “And so, he joined his middle school’s track and field team. He tried every event he could, but the 400m sprint and hurdles suited him best. He ended up competing in hurdles at Stanford. And then…” I gloss over the accident, “When his time competing was over, he set his sights on broadcasting about what he loved. He’s always wanted to go to the Olympics. I know he will one day, even if it’s a little different than he imagined.”
The words surge out of me, fierce and protective. I should take them back or apologize, but I think Daniel needs to hear them. He always wanted to compete in the Olympics, and unfortunately, the accident got in the way. But he can still get there. He can cover it. He can go behind the scenes. He can still see the magic he saw before.
“Is that true, Daniel?” Taherah asks him tentatively.
Her question draws his attention back to the game and the camera. “Yeah,” he says, sounding a little dazed. “It is. I hope it is.”
We manage to get through a few more of the lighter questions and end the video with the expected tie. The girls didn’t seem to notice the strange shift in the mood, except Jadea, whose expression is puzzled. They put the camera away, finally separating to leave practice.
Taherah is practically bouncing with excitement. “That was great, you guys! I’ll send this to social today.”
Daniel, who has been lost in thought, focuses on her. He smiles. “Thanks, Taherah. That was fun.”
“Absolutely!” I chirp, though really, I’m focused on Daniel’s strange mood. Should I not have mentioned the Olympics at all? I crossed our unspoken line by bringing up the past. We’ve been swerving those topics as much as possible in our fake dating bubble.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Daniel says, that polite smile still on his face. He gets up from his chair before I can say anything, heading back into the hallway that houses the locker and laundry rooms.
I’m about to follow him when Jadea corners me. “What was that?” she demands.
“What was what?” I say innocently, hiding a wince. This lie gets worse and worse every day. But surely this isn’t the time or place to come clean.
“You guys scored 100 percent. Neither of you even wavered.” Her tone is accusing. I curse Daniel and I for not coming up with a better strategy. We should have answered at least one or two wrong, squabbled about our answers a bit.
“We did know each other a little bit at Stanford, remember?” I try to rationalize it. “And you made us go on those dates.”
It’s a weak argument, but not impossible. Her aggressive posture softens a little. “I guess.” It’s hard to read her expression, something I don’t usually struggle with when it comes to Jadea. Does she believe my lie? Does she believe that Daniel and I are falling in love during our fake dating scheme?
None of it makes sense anymore.
Unfortunately, I can’t get into any more with her. “Talk later.” I give her a reassuring smile. “I’ve got to find Daniel.”
She gives me one more suspicious look but then waves me away good-naturedly.
15
I speed off the court and into the attached hallway. I can hear my teammates getting ready in the women’s locker room, so I know he’s not in there. The men’s locker room would be a great guess, but some of the coaches and practice players are in there. Daniel was probably looking for a place to be alone. Either he left the facility, or he went into one of our two laundry rooms. I look in the first one, but it’s empty.
