Page 32 of Faking the Shot
“It’s a publicity thing,” I say quickly, already bracing for impact. “Your husband’s idea if you must know.”
Sorry for throwing you under the bus, Jacob, but if I’m going down, I’m not going down alone.
“Uh-huh.” Her tone drips with skepticism. “Because if you look at the pictures online, you’re staring at him like he’s chocolate frosting, and you’re about to lick the bowl clean.”
“No, I’m not,” I say defensively, too quickly.
“It’s me you’re talking to, Val,” she counters, her voice teasing but laced with the kind of knowing only a sister can have. “So, you’re lifting the man embargo, huh?”
“The man embargo stays in place forever,” I mutter, pacing as I press a hand to my forehead. “This isn’t real. It’s a job.”
“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England,” Noelle quips. “Come on, I saw the way he looked at you in those photos. Like he wanted to rip your clothes off and then eat the chocolate frosting off you.”
I groan. “Can you please stop bringing up frosting? I’m begging you.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “It’s an accurate metaphor. You look like you want to devour each other. When was the last time you had that kind of chemistry with anyone?”
I don’t respond right away, because she’s not entirely wrong. That kiss did something to me, and I hate that I can’t stop replaying it. “It doesn’t matter,” I finally say. “This is business. Strictly business.”
“Okay, but hear me out,” she says. “What if he’s rebound guy?”
“You’re so off. I just met him, and I’m already annoyed by him,” I insist, my voice a little too loud. “This whole thing is a nightmare. Kaden’s . . . well, he’s Kaden. Moody. Difficult. Impossible. And I’m supposed to make it look like we’re the perfect couple.”
He clears his throat, as if saying, hey, I’m here. But I totally ignore him. It’s not like I’ve made it pretty clear that he’s not my favorite person. He’s hot, yes, but that’s all. Okay, he kisses like . . . I don’t have anything to compare him with. His kisses area level I’ve never encountered. Yet, I’m not using him as rebound guy or any guy.
“Well, at least you’re not alone,” Noelle says gently. “You’ve got me. And I can tell you from experience, people like Kaden—grumpy, closed off, all walls and no windows—they’re like that for a reason. He’s probably terrified of letting someone in. Most guys like that are.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, her words sinking in more than I want to admit. “I think he just doesn’t care, which is a problem when you’re trying to tell people that he cares.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he cares too much and doesn’t know how to handle it.” Her tone is calm, soothing, like she’s reading my mind. “Either way, you’ve got this. You’re smarter and tougher than you give yourself credit for, Val. You’ll clean his image and more.”
I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected pep talk. “You really think that?”
“Of course I do,” she says with zero hesitation. “You’ve been through worse than this and come out stronger. Just remember, if it ever gets too messy, you can always walk away. No one’s going to fault you for protecting yourself.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, a warm reassurance settling over the nerves I didn’t even realize were still buzzing. “Thanks, Noelle. I needed that.”
“Anytime,” she replies brightly. “And hey, if things do get interesting with Mr. Chocolate Frosting, I want every single detail.”
“Noted,” I say with a laugh. “But don’t hold your breath.”
“I never do,” she says breezily. “Love you, Val. Call me if you need to rant—or gush.”
“Love you too,” I reply, ending the call.
I set my phone down, exhaling slowly. I glance up at Kaden who’s leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed overhis ridiculously chiseled chest. The play of muscles in his naked torso is almost as distracting as the look on his face—somewhere between amusement and something a lot darker.
“You have a man embargo?” he asks, his voice low and edged with teasing, like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Divorced, remember? And why are you listening to other people’s conversations?”
“You’re in my room, remember?” he says, his smirk widening. “But I got an idea. Have you heard about getting back on the horse after you fall? You should ride a horse soon.”
“I’m fine like this,” I reply, lifting my chin defiantly. “Almost two years post-divorce and I’m perfectly fine.”
“You should be riding a horse,” he says provocatively, the suggestion dripping from his tone. His lips curl into a cocky grin as he adds, “I volunteer to help you get back in the saddle, baby.”
I gasp, his words sparking an entirely inappropriate visual in my head. And by inappropriate, I mean the kind of image that’s going to haunt me for days. My gaze drops without permission, landing on the unmistakable outline of his hard cock against his jeans that I touched just a few minutes ago. It’s not just prominent—it’s intimidating. Long, thick, and so mouthwatering I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like on my tongue.
