Page 123 of Faking the Shot

“Looks like we’re getting dessert,” Zac murmured.

Looked like the night would be prolonged even more.

They were still on show for a little while, so she moved beside him, tempted to slip her arm around him, then realized that would only prolong the agony and lead to confusing already messy feelings, so it was best not to do that.

The waiter returned, handed Zac the dessert, already bagged in a brown paper carryout bag. Zac went to pay, but the waiter waved off his card. “No, there’s no charge. I apologize for the disturbance from the other guests.”

“They didn’t disturb us,” Ainsley said. “I insisted.” The ensuing chaos was her fault. Ainsley’s fault. Again.

Zac tried to pay again but the waiter only smiled. “If you feel like mentioning our name when you post about your wonderful date, then we won’t object. And you know you’re always welcome to come again.”

“Sure.” Zac’s tone was flat. “Thank you.”

She slipped the dessert bag from his hand and peeked inside. Then gently lifted out the tray of deliciousness, and posed it in front of the sign. Then took a picture. Yep, that would do. Then thanked the waiter and assured him she’d post something very soon.

She walked with Zac to his Porsche, and spent the trip back to her apartment writing a quick post, then scheduled it to appear in two days, with appropriate tags and hashtags.

“All done?” Zac asked.

“Yes.” Honestly, what was she doing posting about a restaurant in the dying minutes of their last date? Sometimes she really had no clue.

He pulled into her apartment’s parking area, and parked. Then hesitated.

“Did you want to come up?”

“Sure.”

Once upstairs, she shifted the vase of his red roses from the table and got two plates and spoons. The desserts needed to be eaten before they melted any more.

“Want some?”

“No.”

“Still eating clean?”

He sighed. “Ainsley, eat it or don’t, but you and I both know we need to talk.”

She sank onto the dining chair, and carved off a piece of chocolate Milano cake. Ate it. Savored the sweetness she’d need for the next part of this evening.

“Was that good?”

“It’s really good. You should try some.”

He shook his head. Sighed.

So this was it. “Zac.”

“Ainsley.” He studied her, his eyes dark and sad. “Can we please stop with the games?”

She pressed her lips together. Nodded.

“I’m dying here,” he said. “I know we agreed to date until Valentine’s Day, but here we are, and I don’t know about you, but it feels all kinds of wrong and weird.”

“Wrong and weird?”

He exhaled heavily. “Look, we should’ve been out on a date, enjoying ourselves like every other couple there, but instead we’re still playing these stupid games of pretend and I… I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Fear gripped her. He was about to dump her. Just like all the others. She was too much, too broken, always making mistakes. Panic crept higher, as her chest tightened, the bodice of her dress swelling as she struggled to breathe.

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