Page 75 of Faking the Shot
And she’s right.
“Okay, Kaden. Bye.”
I don’t hang up right away, holding the phone to my ear for a beat longer than necessary. The sound of her voice lingers, warm and teasing, and I can’t help but grin to myself. Yeah, she’s going to be on my arm at that ball—and maybe, just maybe, this is more than a ploy after all.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Valentina
Overanalyzing 101: Advanced Edition
The aroma of coffee and freshly baked muffins wraps around me as I sit at the island in Noelle’s kitchen, absently peeling the label off my water bottle. My sister is, without question, the best baker in the family. I mean, I can hold my own, but Noelle? She’s in a league of her own. Pretty sure she inherited that from GrandmaJane—Mom’s mom. Meanwhile, I take after Grandma Holly. A free spirit who can bake but would much rather hit up the nearest bakery. Why bother when someone else can do it better?
At the stove, Noelle hums Jingle Bell Rock, completely oblivious to my inner chaos. That’s Noelle for you. It doesn’t matter the time of the year, there’s always a Christmas tune on repeat in her head. It’s both endearing and maddening.
“You’re quiet,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. Her tone is casual, but her raised brow tells me she’s already dissecting me. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug, taking a long sip from my water bottle and refusing to meet her gaze. “Nothing.”
Noelle snorts, the sound loud and unladylike—classic Noelle. It tugs a reluctant smile from me despite myself. “Bullshit. Spill it, Val.”
I sigh, letting my shoulders sag as I give in. Noelle is relentless when she smells something’s up, and I just don’t have the energy to dodge her today. “It’s about Kaden.”
Her head tilts, curiosity lighting up her face. She turns off the stove, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and slides onto the stool across from me. “The hot hockey player you should definitely be banging?” she asks, drawing out the word with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“Yes,” I groan, my face heating. “My client,” I add, grimacing. “Who I shouldn’t . . . ugh, fuck. It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” She leans on her elbows, chin resting in her hands. “Go on.”
I hesitate, my fingers twisting the cap of the water bottle. “It was supposed to be just a PR thing, right? Fix his image, put on a little show for the media. But now . . . now it doesn’t feel like just that.”
Her eyes widen, and a grin tugs at her lips. “Oh my God. You like him.” Then her gaze narrows. “Oh my god, you did fuck him.”
“I don’t . . . didn’t—” I start, but her knowing look stops me. “Okay, maybe I do like him a little. A little.”
Her grin widens, stretching into something downright smug. “A little?”
“Fine, a lot.” The confession slips out before I can stop it, and I drop my head into my hands.
“And you crossed the line already, didn’t you?” she presses, her voice dripping with amusement.
“Not exactly,” I mumble, peeking at her through my fingers. “I mean, we’ve fooled around.”
Noelle gasps, loud and theatrical, clutching her chest like she’s on stage. “Details. Now.”
“I’m serious,” I groan, slumping against the counter. “I’m his publicist. This is so unprofessional. What happens if this blows up in my face?”
She waves me off like I’m speaking nonsense. “Forget professionalism for a second. Was it good? And what does ‘fooled around’ even mean? Like, ‘We kissed on the couch and he grazed second base,’ or are we talking, ‘He touched my pussy, made me so wet I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want his cock inside me’?”
I choke on air, heat rushing to my face. “Oh my God, Noelle.”
“What?” she says, her grin practically splitting her face. “I need to know what level of unprofessionalism we’re dealing with here. Spill, Val.”
Spill? Like I’m going to tell her what I’ve done with Kaden.
I let him spank me while he fingered my pussy, and it was so good that sometimes I catch myself imagining the sound of his palm on my skin, the way his voice got low and demanding. It makes me want to drive to his house and beg him for a secondround. Not just of that, though. I want his cock—deep inside me, filling me up, making me forget my own damn name. I want it in my mouth too, stretching my lips as I taste him, hear him groan my name.
I’ve done things with him I never thought I’d want until I tried them. Sucking his cock wasn’t just sex—it was something else, something intimate. The way he looked at me, like I was his entire fucking world, sent shivers through me. And his words? God, his words were filth wrapped in heat, a promise and a command all at once. I hate how much I loved it. How much I still love it.
