Page 30
Story: Fake the Shot (SLC Sting #2)
CHAPTER 30
DID YOU WAKE ME UP TO STARE AT MY CROTCH?
KAYDEN
When I knock on her bedroom door for the second time, I finally hear her stirring around on the other side. The stirring sounds mostly like her cussing at me as she pads over to the door, but I'll take it.
"What?" She throws her door open. Her red hair is a tangled mess. There's a tiny black smudge in the corner of her right eye where she didn't get all of her makeup off last night. And she's only wearing a tank top and panties. I've never seen anyone more attractive. "Well? Are you going to actually say something, or did you wake me up to stare at my crotch?"
It takes an embarrassing amount of effort to meet her eyes. "Your thighs, not your crotch. I'm not a sexist pig." Although she makes me wonder about myself sometimes. When all I can think about is the way those thighs feel wrapped around me. Or when I wish I could just feel her next to me at night. But she hasn't slept in the same bed with me in two weeks. Not since the night I found her on the roof.
I already know it's going to be hell giving her up at the end of all this. But I have to. I'll destroy her if I don't. There's too much of my dad in me. I found that out when I was with Hannah.
So even though I want her in my bed, I convinced myself it was for the best that she moved to the guest room instead. And since I've been on the road for nearly all of the last two weeks, I almost had myself believing I wouldn't miss having her beside me.
But when I couldn't sleep last night, I knew that was all a lie.
So here I am, standing at her bedroom door at eight in the morning.
"Looks like you didn't sleep last night either."
She sniffs the air. "If you woke me up just to insult me, you could have at least cooked breakfast for me. Or made coffee." She huffs and pushes past me to walk toward the kitchen.
I want to grab her by the waist and pull her into me. To brush her hair aside and expose the side of her neck that I just can't resist. It would be so easy. But I can't give in and do the easy things. "I'll make coffee while you get ready. We're going out."
"Seriously? It's my day off. I just want to relax." I can tell from the way she splays her foot out when she turns to look at me that she wants me to think she's annoyed. "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
She blows a hair up away from her face, but it settles back in the same place. I can't help myself as I brush it to the side for her. "The kind of surprise where I need to dress up or the kind where I can wear leggings and a sweatshirt?"
I walk backward so I can keep my eyes on her as I make my way to the coffeemaker. "You dress up for everything, but leggings." I let my gaze drift down, tracing the curve of her thighs. "Definitely leggings today."
She rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue. She just marches down the hall to her bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear the water of the shower running. And what seems like an hour after that, she finally comes back out to the living room. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and there is not a single strand out of place. She's wearing a full face of makeup, like she almost always does. "Aren't you going to change?"
I look down at my t-shirt and joggers. "Nope. This is good."
"Your shirt says SLUT. "
"No. My shirt says SL,UT. As in Salt Lake, Utah. Do you have something against this city?"
The corner of her mouth twitches, and I can tell she wants to smile. "Fine. If you want to wear a slut shirt all day, be my guest. Why should I care?"
"Emory Hopkins, don't you dare slut shame me." I tease her. "Using the word 'slut' as a pejorative is a tool of patriarchal oppression designed to divorce women from their desires and allow men to control their bodies by defining what is and is not acceptable. I refuse to participate in that, and you shouldn't either."
She flips me off as she picks up the travel mug of coffee I have sitting on the counter for her. She raises it to her lips, but it doesn't hide her smile as she follows me to the elevator.
It's only a few minutes' drive before we pull into a parking lot. "Here we are."
Emory leans forward to look around. "You're taking me to a grocery store?"
I just nod.
"Grocery shopping? As in the buying of food?"
I step out into the parking lot. Slushy patches still hang on from yesterday's snow, and the clouds are so thick, the sun might as well give up. This is a mistake. Of all the places I could have taken her, we're here in the dirty and wet parking lot of Harmon's Grocery. It seemed like a good idea when I thought of it, but that was after an overtime game in Montreal when I was too exhausted to even move.
"You're rich. Don't you have people who do these things for you?"
I bite back my doubts and hold my gloved hand out toward her. I know I'm encouraging a dangerous attachment, but I can't help myself. "We're in public, so we should." I don't have the courage to tell her that the reason I want to hold her hand has nothing to do with who might see us.
She stares at my hand and worries the corner of her lip, but finally she takes it. Probably reminding herself of our deal, telling herself this is just temporary. It's what I should tell myself too .
"We need to hurry. They have frozen berries on sale. I just hope we're not too late."
As soon as we're in the store, I make a show of unzipping my jacket and opening it wide to show the shirt underneath. Emory rolls her eyes and walks past me toward the produce section. "What are we buying?" she asks.
"What do you want?"
She stares at me for a moment before shrugging and studying the celery.
Fine. I can up my game. "We definitely need some of these. Catch." Just as she looks back at me, I toss an apple underhand toward her. She turns away and holds her hands up as a shield, as if I'd heaved a rock as hard as I could. The apple bounces off her hip and thuds to the ground. "Good effort. Try again." I toss another one, throwing it higher so she has more time to catch it. She still doesn't.
"Kayden! What are you doing?" There are only a couple of other shoppers in the produce section, but they're staring at us now. Since none of them have their phones out to film me, I know they don't recognize me.
"Shopping. We need bell peppers too. Toss me a red one."
"I'm not throwing things at you. At least not here in public. I reserve the right to throw a lamp at your head when we get home." An older lady cackles and then pretends to examine a bag of onions. "Now quit being a child."
"Not until you throw me a bell pepper. Please?"
Her frustrated sigh is adorable. She takes the pepper and flings it at me, but her throw is so far off, I nearly have to dive to catch it. I can't help laughing.
"Are you trying to make me mad?" She holds the angry look on her face as long as she can, but finally, she bursts into laughter too. "That throw was really bad, wasn't it?"
Seeing the carefree smile back on her face is like seeing a painting someone created just for me. I walk over to her, picking up the apples and dropping them into the cart. This is what I've been missing since she agreed to stay.
I want to know what's wrong, but I'm afraid asking will cause her to close me out even more than she already is. I draw in a deep breath before deciding to just ask, "Why have you been ignoring me for the last two weeks?"
She tries to turn away, but I lift her chin and make her look at me. "I haven't. You've just been gone so much."
"You never answer my calls, you barely type three word responses to my texts, and you almost never leave the guest room when I am home. When you do, you're so quiet you could sneak up on a mouse."
She stays silent so long, I'm convinced she's not going to answer. "I have reasons," she finally whispers.
I don't realize how close my mouth has gotten to hers until I feel her breath on my lips. Now that I'm this close, I never want to move.
"Tell me, Emory. I want to know everything about you."
I already know her no kissing rule. I already know this is all fake for her. But I also know the way my insides tremble whenever I think about her. I know the ache I feel right now, wishing I could cup her cheek and press a kiss to those gorgeous red lips.
"It's because—the berries." She sounds almost relieved to have settled on that instead of whatever she was going to tell me. "I'd hate for you to miss that sale."
A frustrated sigh escapes from me, and I close my eyes, thinking that might make it easier to take a step back from her. It doesn't. "Damn it, Nyx. I don't know if I can do this."
When she doesn't respond, I open my eyes. She's got the cart and is pushing it away from me like she's in a race. "You know what sounds good? Mac and cheese. The cheap box kind. Are you allowed to have that on your fancy athlete nutrition plan?"
Just a minute ago, I would have loved to hear her teasing voice. Now it makes my stomach sink.
We tease each other through the rest of the store, but our jokes seem empty. Barriers to keep us from saying what we really want to say. At least they are for me. I'm not deluding myself into thinking she has hidden feelings about me.
Before we finish our shopping, I stop at the floral department, in front of the enormous display of pink tulips I ordered for just this moment. Emory laughs as I lift the entire box into the cart, but it fades when she realizes I'm serious.
"You can't just buy a hundred flowers."
One hundred and forty-four to be exact. And yes I can. "They're your favorite, aren't they?"
Her jaw drops almost imperceptibly before she catches herself, but she can't stop the blush spreading across her cheeks. "How do you know that?"
Does she really think I didn't notice the way her face lit up when I handed her that single tulip outside Olive Garden on our first fake date? "Just a lucky guess."
I don't give her a chance to say anything more before I continue on to the checkouts.
There are only three lanes open, and I study each of them before settling in behind a man whose cart is so full the double chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream on top threatens to crash to the floor.
"That one would be quicker." Emory points to our right. "Only one customer there, and she's not buying much. She'll be out of the store before we even move forward here."
"I like this lane."
The cashier smiles when he notices me. It's not the first time I've been in his line, so he knows what to expect. He scans and bags the first customer's groceries, but when she tries to tap her credit card, the cashier waves her off.
She argues, just like they always do. Tilting her head and crossing her arms across her chest. But when she takes a step back and looks, I know she's starting to believe him. To his credit, the cashier is already greeting the man in front of us and scanning his groceries. Now the woman has no choice but to take his word for it. She casts one last glance over her shoulder as she gets to the door, hesitating for just a fraction of a second to make sure the alarm doesn't go off.
The man in front of us saw what happened with the woman before him, so he doesn't argue over his free groceries. But he still leaves the store so fast, you'd think the police were coming for him.
"Morning, Kayden," the cashier greets me as I put my groceries on the belt. We only have a few things, so Emory gasps when he announces our total is almost five hundred dollars.
But we're outside before she says anything. "You bought those people's groceries. That's why you picked the longest line. And the cashier knew you, so this obviously isn't the first time you've done it."
I push the cart beside her. The only sound is the rough bounce of its wheels on the pavement.
"Every time you come here?"
"Every time," I finally answer.
"And you never tell anyone what you're doing?"
I unlock the SUV so she can get in and warm up while I load the groceries in the back, but she stays with me.
"It's not about the publicity. I just want to help people in some small way that will make their day better."
"If people knew about this… if the Sting's owners knew the kind of man you really are…"
I shrug. "It doesn't feel right. I don't want anyone to know."
"But you showed me."
"I did." I pluck a single tulip from the box and hand it to her. She bites her lip, twirling the wet stem between her thumb and forefinger as we stand in silence.
Just before I turn to walk the empty cart back to the store, her gaze catches on mine for less time than a heartbeat. Then she twists away, shaking her head.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
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- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30 (Reading here)
- Page 31
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