Page 113 of Faking the Shot

“What you said before about treating it with humor. I was just imagining a male equivalent to my stripper shot.”

“Mmm, I’m not really sure you should be imagining that.”

“Come on. Don’t you think it’d be funny to have your head stuck on a body wearing tiny green sparkly shorts?” she teased. “You could be pumped up to the max, and everyone could see your amazing body, with muscles on the muscles you already have.”

“I’m not sure that’s a sight I want anyone to see. Except my wife, one day.” He winked.

Her heart fluttered. She broke the connection. “Okay, so that’s a no?”

“That’s a hard no.” He paused. “Besides, I don’t own a pair of sparkly green shorts. Although after his dancing career, maybe Luc Blanchard does.”

She laughed, and he smiled, and maybe she laughed alittleharder than his comment warranted, but it felt really cleansing after the stress of the day. She picked up her phone. Handed it to him. “Can you take a selfie of us?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question.”

He took a snap, and she didn’t care if she seemed fussy over getting the perfect picture. After all, with so many imperfect ones floating around the internet, this girl right now was entitled to try hard.

“See?” He pointed to the picture she finally chose. The two of them, smiling at the camera, Louie between them, like a cozy picture of domesticity. “This says you are relaxed at home, with nothing to worry about. Like you’re not even trying to glam up to prove someone wrong.”

It did. And she could see his point. Posting a picture like that would take the wind out of the sails of her nemesis.

“Do you think your agent would be okay with you posting that?”

“She’s always saying she wants more pics of us together, so this would be perfect.”

“Okay then.” He paused, then glanced at her. “Do you have a picture from the White Night?”

“Of course.” She scrolled to the photos from that night when they’d first met. Found her favorite, a still from the Glam Guru shoot. The one that had been butchered by the evil photoshopper. “I loved this photo.” In this moment when she’d felt confident and free.

“You look so poised and strong.” He tapped it. “I think your Glam guy will be suing for copyright infringements from photo-fail dude.”

“Good.”

“Maybe what you could do is to post that picture as well, like a side-by-side, of the glam photo they used your head for, then post this one of us. That way those who saw the photoshopped one will see it’s obviously cut from this picture, and you could say something like—”

“As much as I love glamming up I love snuggling up even more.”

“That’d work.”

“And it would even be true.”

“You like snuggling up?” His voice was low.

“I like this. With you. Being relaxed like this. As much as I like the outcome of those events, it’s not exactly relaxing, is it?”

“It’s still work, even if most people think it’s play.”

“Exactly! Like, I’m super happy to support good causes, but I hate starving myself just so I can look good in a photo.”

“You don’t need to starve yourself, Ainsley. I meant it before. You’re beautiful as you are.”

Her heart skipped several beats, and she had to lower her head, to pretend to focus on her phone. “What was the wording we said before?” she asked, as she prepared her post.

“As much as I love glamming up I love snuggling up even more.” His voice held a rasp.

She tagged him and posted it, then he retrieved his phone and shared it to his followers.

“You’re really media savvy, aren’t you?”

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