Page 29 of Faking the Shot
But deep down, I know it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a few ground rules to pull this off.
Chapter Thirteen
Kaden
How to Lose Control (and Like It)
This feels weird.
I can’t remember the last time I brought someone with me to my parents’ house. Not because I don’t like being here—it’s fine—but the idea of showing up with anyone? Not just anyone, a girl I’m supposed to be dating? Feels like a circus waiting tohappen. The minute my family realizes I’ve got someone with me, they’ll swarm her like she’s the last puck on the ice in a tied championship game. At least for now, it’s just Dad.
Killion’s training, but he said he’d swing by later for dinner—claims he wants to “meet the girlfriend.” Of course, he knows the truth. She’s fake. I couldn’t exactly avoid telling him when he literally dragged his ass to my house, demanding an explanation like he’s auditioning for an older brother role he already has. We’re only two minutes apart, but he acts like those 120 seconds make him the boss of me. It’s fucking exasperating.
“So now that we have rules, what else do we need?” I ask, hoping that’ll be enough to wrap this up so I can head to my room, take a nap, and then maybe train if Dad still wants to run drills later.
Honestly, all I wanted today was to come home and fucking relax. No press. No PR plans. No rules. Just a quiet day off. But no. She had to message me this morning, demanding we talk about the “plan.” Like I’m not already juggling a thousand things.
Valentina crosses her legs, one bouncing slightly as she looks at me like I’ve asked the dumbest question in the history of the universe. “What else do we need? Maybe an actual plan? You can’t just wing this, Kaden.”
I groan. “You just made rules. Isn’t that enough? Smile for the cameras, keep our stories straight, don’t ‘freelance.’ Seems pretty straightforward to me.”
She levels me with a look that makes my skin itch. “Rules aren’t a plan. Rules are boundaries. A plan means figuring out how to make this convincing. Body language, chemistry, shared anecdotes. And I don’t know—maybe deciding how to handle your family.”
I run a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath. “They’re not that bad.”
“They’re Crawfords,” she says, like that explains everything. “Even I know what that means, and I’ve only been dealing with you for a couple of days.”
“Right,” I mutter, rubbing my temple. “Because my family’s a fucking institution. Thanks for reminding me.”
She ignores my tone, sitting up straighter, her eyes practically drilling into me. “Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do, but if we’re going to pull this off, we can’t half-ass it. If I go in there and your brothers or Scottie or whoever asks me something I can’t answer, it’s going to blow up in our faces.”
I groan louder this time, slouching back in the chair like I can sink through it and disappear. “Fine. What do you want to know? My favorite color? How I take my coffee?”
Her brow arches, unimpressed. “Not the basics. Something important.”
“Something important,” I repeat with mock seriousness, leaning forward. “Okay, let’s go to my bedroom. I’ll give you the grand tour of young Kaden’s life. I’m sure you’ll find it enlightening.”
“Excuse me?” she asks, blinking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“You heard me,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll even throw in commentary while you’re scrutinizing. And then, while you’re occupied, I’ll take a nap.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” she screeches, standing up so fast her chair scrapes against the floor. “You can’t nap your way through this, Kaden. This takes actual effort.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” I insist, my voice rising slightly to match her energy. “We’ll kill two birds with one stone. You get your intel, and I get to sleep.”
She narrows her gaze. “Fine, let’s do it your way. Then, I’ll start making up stories about your decorative throw pillows.Hope you’re cool with me telling everyone you have ones shaped like hockey pucks.”
I push out of the chair with a groan, motioning for her to follow. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”
“Right back at you,” she mutters, trailing me toward the staircase.
We climb the wide staircase, the kind that makes everything in this house feel larger than life. The polished wood gleams under the sunlight streaming through the massive windows, and every step echoes faintly in the cavernous space. It’s annoyingly pristine—like a luxury hotel trying too hard.
I stop at the door to my room and push it open. “Here,” I say, gesturing with a sweeping motion. “The lair of young Kaden Crawford.”
Valentina steps inside and stops dead, her gaze sweeping over the room. “This can’t be the room where you grew up.”
“It was,” I say with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “My parents renovated the whole house after Greyson moved out. He’s the youngest, so once he left, the ‘rents decided they were done with the ‘we-have-six-kids’ aesthetic.”
