Page 27 of Faking the Shot
“You can’t go on dates with other women while we’re together,” I say, crossing my arms and holding his glare. “If you want to sneak around, that’s on you, but if it leaks to the media, you’ll look like a cheating asshole, which completely defeats the purpose of this.”
He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need secret trysts. What else?”
“Everyone has to believe we’re together. Even your family.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. They’ll know,” he says flatly.
“Maybe,” I say, lifting my chin, “but as long as there’s some doubt, they can say they thought I was your girlfriend. That’s all that matters.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working. “Anything else?”
I hesitate. “Just . . . don’t make me look stupid, okay? This is my reputation too.”
he tilts his head slightly, studying me like I just said something surprising. “Fine. But I’ve got a rule too.”
I blink, crossing my arms. “You? A rule? This should be good.”
He smirks, and for once, it’s not annoying. It’s almost . . . soft. “If we’re doing this, we have to have snacks. Non-negotiable.”
“What?” I ask, taken completely off guard. “Snacks?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug, his grin widening. “If we’re faking this whole relationship thing, then I’m calling it: no serious conversations without snacks. Preferably popcorn or ice cream, but I’m flexible.”
I stare at him, trying to keep a straight face, but it’s no use. “That’s your big rule?”
“It’s important,” he says, completely serious. “Snacks make everything better. Stressful day? Snacks. Awkward fake relationship talk? Snacks. If we’re going to be stuck together, we might as well make it less miserable.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Okay, fine. Snacks. But if I get to pick, it’s gonna be chocolate.”
“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand like we’re shaking on a business agreement.
I shake my head, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” he says, grinning as he heads to the kitchen.
“Probably,” I say, smoothing down my jacket. “Now, where’s that drink you were so desperate for?”
Kaden snorts, shaking his head as he strides toward the kitchen. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Valentina Holiday, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I call after him, “but you’re stuck with me.”
Before I can follow him, a voice stops me in my tracks. “That’s certainly true.”
A man walks into the room, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he takes me in. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed, and his casual but tailored outfit makes it clear that, while he’s approachable, he’s still the kind of man who expects the world to listen when he speaks.
“Kade, is that you?”
“Yes, Dad,” Kaden answers from the kitchen doorway, his tone flat as he steps into the room with two glasses of orange juice. His gaze flicks to me, lingering for a second, his expression unreadable but curious, like he’s trying to piece something together.
“You must be Valentina,” Mathieu Lafferty says, his voice warm. “I remember you from Jacob’s wedding. How are you?”
I smile and shake his hand. Noelle and Jacob’s wedding was small by some standards and yet huge. He invited several of his clients, plus there was his family which is huge and then half of Maple Ridge was there too. Hence, they used the townhall for the reception.
“I’m well, thank you,” I say, offering him a polite smile. “It’s nice to see you again.” I fake that I remember him, because there were a lot of people. I wonder if Kaden was at the wedding too. But maybe he wasn’t. After studying the hockey schedule, I realized that around the holidays these players are too busy with games. No time for celebrations—or a wedding I guess.
“Likewise,” his dad says warmly before turning back to Kaden. His expression shifts slightly, more measured. “I didn’t think Jacob would involve family in a stunt like this.”
“Stunt?” I echo, my brow furrowing. I glance at Kaden, who’s gripping the glasses like he’s resisting the urge to throw one.
