Page 18 of Faking the Shot

He couldn’t lie. But then, even talking about this was dumb. What was the point when she had a boyfriend? Although maybe this discussion was the opening to getting the answers he’d wondered about before. “Look, I know that I am still new at this Christian thing, and even if I was interested in her, I don’t think I can afford to be. I don’t really know how to be a Christian boyfriend, and I don’t think it’s fair to be implying things when I don’t think I could be good for a woman right now.”

Chris stared at him, then nodded slowly. “That’s actually really wise. Okay, sorry for asking.”

“It’s okay. I should probably go.”

“I’ll be praying for you regarding this as well, okay?”

“Thanks. And um, yeah, I’ll pray that Tanner and Jack’s new medication works better.”

“Appreciate it.” Chris fist-bumped him and waved from the front door.

His heart was a tangle of knots as he drove away. Tonight’s study had raised all sorts of questions, not least to do with the woman he’d been teased about. Was Franklin right? Was Cassie asking on behalf of Ainsley? If so, why? And if not her, then who’d be asking such a thing?

He returned home, tried to watch TV, but the game between Detroit and Florida was one-sided, as it always seemed to be whenever Brent Karlsson played.

His phone buzzed with a notification. He pulled it out, then stared. What the—?

Ainsley Beckett had sent him a message?

What—why?

He scrolled up a little further. Whoa.

No way. She’d replied—to a message he hadn’t sent? What the actual heck?

Who’d sent her a message on his phone? Whoever it was, they’d made him look like some random dude who slid into a woman’s DMs. And he wasn’t trying to be that guy anymore.

Someone had messed with his phone. Chris? No. Drew, probably. Drew definitely. That mandefinitelyneeded Jesus now, and Zac would be praying God would get him good.

But Zac couldn’t be too mad at him.

Because now there was a message from the woman of his dreams.

CHAPTER5

This was a bad idea. This was such abadidea. What was she doing imagining she could do something like this—going rogue on her agent, no less. Rosie would likely have kittens. If she didn’t combust first in a puff of joy-drenched glittery rainbows. Taking ownership of her life had felt brave at the time, but since sending that message—and delaying just long enough so she couldn’t press unsend—she’d gnawed her nails to the quick in worry.

And now nearly a week had passed since she’d sent that message. Five days since she’d received his reply. Four days since she’d suggested this café, one she’d frequented because it was near her apartment and offered a degree of privacy, especially later at night. Three days since he’d agreed, while away on a road trip that had seen him play several games, including two she might’ve watched on TV as he’d scored the game winners. All during a week when she was trying to focus on shooting interiors for the Christmas mystery show, yet had found far too much time to look him up online, read some of the hundreds of articles about him, watch some of his interviews, and thoroughly second-guess herself.

The man had dated dozens of models and actresses younger and prettier than her. Women literally threw themselves—their clothing—at him. He was supposed to have a secret child! What was she doing? Except she—better than most people—knew the internet recycled a lot of lies, so perhaps he wasn’t quite the player he’d been made out to be. And if he really was a Christian—as Cassie had assured, and why would she lie?—then the benefit of the doubt should be extended, alongside grace.

The door opened, and she glanced across. But no, it was an older couple, gray-haired.

She angled her body away, the stiff cardboard menu providing a pitiful amount of screening from curious eyes.

Her stomach knotted. Would he even show? She hadn’t dared send another message since the last; barely dared to check if he’d replied. What if he didn’t show? How humiliating that would be.

She drew out her phone, checked the Insta messages, but no. Nothing to indicate why he was late, even if she—ever-anxious she—was early, so technically if he showed up in the next five minutes it’d still count as right on time.

This was such a mistake. She should go. He must think she was crazy. Desperate. Which was true. Rosie had sent a reminder text today with an ultimatum that she had three weeks left to meet. So if not Zac, then who?

She propped her elbows on the table, her head in her hands, and closed her eyes.Lord, I really need Your direction, because this feels overwhelming. Please lead my steps, and if Zac isn’t the one, please show me who is.

“Ahem.”

She jerked upright, knocking over the menu, her eyes widening as she took in the man.

The very handsome man, whose small smile she remembered from the White Night last week.

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