Page 30 of Faking the Shot (Love Always #1)

Wild

I'm giddy like a schoolboy on his first day out with the popular kids. At this rate, I must have set a record for how many times I've pumped my fists. Not mental fists. Real ones. On the way home, I don't take my eyes off my phone, waiting for a message from Evie.

I'm also worried about her meeting with her half-sister. But I want to follow Evie's lead on this one. She also needs to talk to Charlie about this.

There's a text from Evie waiting for me. I do a little dance and even amp it up since no one is here to see me act the love-sick fool.

Evie: Just returned from taking her home. It was awkward. And oh, I ran into Mrs. Shonda Richardson.

I wince and type.

Wild: Are you okay?

Evie: It wasn't as bad as I feared. I can't explain it. I saw her, and I realized she didn't matter.

Wild: Good. You're you, first. No one is allowed to decide your worth.

Evie: Thank you.

Wild: You're precious.

Evie: Don't make me cry.

Wild: Your half-sister. What's her name?

Evie: Ruth. She had heard my name come up over the years and was curious.

I prop my phone against my bedside table, watching for her text as I prepare for bed. There's more, I can tell, but I don't want to prod her into talking about it.

Evie: About our, uh, date. I’m sorry if it sounded like an ultimatum.

Before I can text back, she sends another.

Evie: This is awkward.

My head is twisted around the neck of my shirt as I change, but I have one eye open, and it's enough to read her message and her hesitation. I don't bother adjusting my shirt from its tangle around my head as I reach for my phone.

Wild: I want this. I want you .

My shoulders twinge as I set the phone down, waiting for her reply. I strap the ice pack to my arm and wait. She better not change her mind.

Wild: Evie Cassandra

Evie: Sorry.

Wild: Nothing to be sorry about.

Evie: I don't want to think about the end.

With a growl, I toss the ice pack and pace my room. How do I capture the intensity of my feelings for her over text? Or even in person? How do I make her see she's my only one? I've had options most of my life, a plan B for every plan A.

One club lined up for another.

An endorsement to replace endorsement.

Evie's it for me.

Wild: If I could, I would promise you forever. I know you don't believe me now, but you're my forever, my home. When I'm with you, I feel accepted and seen. I don't have to hide any part of me. You're IT for me. And I pray to be IT for you, too. It probably won't stop you thinking about the end. But I hope it helps you enjoy what we have now.

My heart is racing. Yet it still feels like I've barely scratched the surface of what's in my head. I place my phone face down on my chest and dig my hands into my eyes.

Did she get it, even the parts I left unsaid?

My phone pings, and I lurch up so quickly that my head spins.

Evie: Seven dates.

I scowl.

Wild: You said a month. And I was planning to negotiate it.

Evie: Not like we would have gone out for every one of the twenty-eight days.

Wild: You're not a prophet. And there are thirty-one days in May, no cheating.

Evie: Seven dates.

Evie: Please.

Evie: It's long enough for us to see where it goes and short enough to walk away if we want to.

My eyes burn a hole into my phone screen. I will have purple eyes tomorrow, like some of my best fantasy characters. I'm staring at the message, waiting for her to edit it.

She doesn ’ t. I can hear my heart breaking.

Evie: Wild?

I stab my finger into the call button. She doesn't pick up the first time. Jaw clenched tight against the sound of my breaking heart, I call again.

"Wild," she whispers.

To my annoyance, her voice has a magical effect on me, and I let out a breath. "Seven dates?"

"Please, I don't want to argue."

"Sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I don't want you to be sorry. Just...we will be so good together. I know it."

"And we will find out in seven real dates."

Seven real dates. When, for me, the ones Evie calls fake have felt very real. If the fake has me twisting like a skilled dribbler of the ball, what will these 'seven real dates' do to me?

"For me, there's no end,"I say with brutal honesty.

"Stop," she whispers.

"What if it's you who chooses to walk away?"

"Me?"

"It's possible,"I say, ignoring her disbelief. "But I'm going to put faith in us and cancel my order for an oxygen tank."

"Funny."

"Ihaven't forgotten our bet about making our fake engagement fun—"

"You've already won that many times over,"she says.

Ignoring my pleasure at her words because I've only won a battle, not the war, I tell her, "I'm not done."

"Willllld."

I grin at nothing, enjoying the exasperated pleasure in her voice. "Seven real dates. Tell me your ultimate fantasy. The things that appear in your dreams, make your heart full, and make you want to roll about in your bed from happiness."

She goes quiet. "Evie?"

She clears her throat. "I mostly sleep on the couch."

How could I forget that? I want to find everyone involved in that wound in her heart and crack their heads together. "Okay. Everyone has fantasies. Go."

"Think of it like playing what's your best food with your students,"I add, trying to be helpful.

"That's not very helpful." She giggles. "If I ask my kids, I bet I will hear some of the most ridiculous things ever."

I can picture her in the classroom, howling with laughter with every answer. Evie loves her job. In her teens, she used to be so eager to volunteer at a daycare center near their home that Charlie feared she would shock everyone with a sudden pregnancy.

Teaching children is more than 'basketball'for her. She wants to create a home away from home for them. Me? I will dive at the chance to be her home if she will let me.

"Your deepest fantasies, Evie. If you're giving me only seven real dates, I'm not wasting any of them."

She lets out a groan. I feel like I'm dragging her to the finish line, and it makes me smile. "Come on."

"And will tell me yours?"

"Of course."

Another very long silence follows. Then I hear her breath hitch. "I like to be praised, to be told I'm beautiful, I guess."

"You guess? You're not sure?"I tease.

"Wild!"

I grin wider. "Come on. I want specifics."

"Fine. You must tell me I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, even if it's not true. I want to hear you like my company, that you won't ever walk away from me, that I make you feel too good for you to think of walking away."

I'm holding my breath, my eyes squeezed so tight I'm seeing white spots behind the darkness of my eyelids.

When Evie speaks again, she's subdued. "That's it. Even if it's false. But bonus points if it ’ s sincere.

I swallow the mountain of emotion in my throat. "Then I want you to look me in the eyes during our date and repeat these words."

"No." She's firm.

"If you want to hear those words and believe me when I say I can't wait to say them, then you will ask for it. Looking me in the eye,"I say just as firmly.

"Fine. Your turn. Go."

The ice pack has melted into the sheets, but I don't care. I sit up in bed and relax against the headboard. I let my eyes fall closed, imagining it as I say it out loud. “I want us to share a deck chair in your garden--when it's blooming--and I will read my favorite Sanderson book to you. And you better not fall asleep.”

"Wow,"she says after a moment. "You've thought about it."

"A lot."

"You have others?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Oooookay."

And we go silent on the phone, listening to each other's breathing. I know Evie has work, and I have to report myself to the physios for ignoring my shoulder, but it's the last thing on my mind.

"Evie?"

"Yes?"

"About Ruth. There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

"Idon't know if I want to meet her again."She sighs. "Does that make me a bad person?"

I choose my words carefully. "No. How old is she?"

"Twelve."

"Then it's not up to you to decide whether you want to meet her or not. She's a minor. Whatever you decide to do, I'm here."

"Okay, thanks."

"We should say goodnight,"I say when we both go quiet.

"Yes,"she agrees but doesn't cut the call.

I squeeze my pillow and let my mouth go wide in a grin. "You go first."

"Huhuh."

"Ladies first."

She sighs. "Good night, Wild.

"Good night, Sweetheart."

After the call, I tip my head back and don't stop grinning. I look around my room, and I know I'm too buzzed to get any sleep. Seven real dates call for some research because every one of those seven must count.

◆◆◆

"I want this to be a back-and-forth thing," Evie tells me as she slides into the car.

She looks incredible. White dress, chunky earrings, and she's let her hair down, letting it fall to her shoulders. If my mouth gets any drier, we may need to stop at the emergency room.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Izaacs says, "a man should treat a lady." She seems to go over her statement and bobs her head again, like, yes, I'm absolutely correct. But it causes one of her hair curlers to fall out.

I pick it up and hand it over with a deep bow.

She giggles and pats my arm. "Why, thank you."

Safe to say, Mrs. Izaacs is highly invested in our romance. And she's not the only one.

Evie's neighbors wave and call out encouraging words as we leave. I look away from them to my date. Pride and an overwhelming swell of attraction fill my lungs, but I somehow manage to breathe.

"You're staring," Evie whispers.

"You're wearing my ring,"I say.

Her eyes fly to mine. "Shouldn't I have worn it? I know we're almost done with the fake—"

"I'm ecstatic you're wearing it,"I say gruffly.

Crossing her legs in a deliberate move that shows off her ankles and feet encased in lovely sandals, she settles in. I can't look away. When I drag my eyes up—I want her completely comfortable—she's watching me with an impish grin.

I shake my head at her. "Evie Cassandra, you're trouble."

For our first real date, I've gone traditional. It's a posh restaurant with smartly dressed patrons, background classical music, fresh flowers, and burning candles. It's a popular place to enjoy an intimate, romantic dinner and be seen. If Evie decides to walk away after, she won't be able to forget or dismiss us easily.

I help her out of the car and lead her into the restaurant with a possessive hand on her back. You would think this real date wouldn't be much different from the fakes we've had in the past, but it is entirely different. The difference is in the pulse beating at the base of her throat and the way she relaxes against my hand at her back.

It's in the way I can't stop staring.

I like what I see, and I want her to know it.

We move through classily dressed ladies, suited men, low murmurs, and clinking silverware to our table. I pull back Evie's seat and catch a whiff of her lovely hair. I want to feel their softness under my hand.

I linger behind her, savoring this moment, this gift she's entrusted to me.

"Wild?" she calls.

I move to my seat. "You look incredible."

"You too,"she tells me, lashes lowered shyly.

The dim lighting and candles and our spot near the window is just perfect.We'resmiling at each other like fools when the waiter arrives to take our orders. Our food follows soon after.

We talk in between bites.

It's so easy to be with her like this, to have her attention entirely focused on me. As I've always known, she's a great conversationalist. We discuss everything from family, my hometown, Charity, and Kristyn's pregnancy.

She's insightful, playful, and grounded. It's perfect. She's perfect.

We deliberately skirt around her biological mother and her family. But every other topic we talk about. Even basketball.

"What's that altercation you had with Reeves in the fourth quarter?"she asks.

The altercation happened in the last game. My right shoulder has been bothering me, and Reeves somehow found out and had been targeting it. I got tired of his dirty plays and let him know it. Still, it warms my heart to know Evie watches my games. I mean, I already know that. But...yeah.

"He was being...unkind."I don't want to say anymore.

“Ah."Evie drawls. "I get it. But there must be better ways to handle it than getting ejected. Imagine it was a more important game?"

She has a point, as we lost the game after I got thrown out. "I will keep that in mind, Coach."

"Please."

There are no smiles or eye rolls. She's seriously concerned. Unable to help myself, I reach across the table and touch her hand. It's a simple touch, but she gets this stunned look and pulls back.

I follow her lead, clenching my hands into fists under the table. "Now tell me what you told me over the phone."

Expecting to coax her into repeating those words, I lean forward, eager to do just that. But Evie shocks me. She tells me everything in even more detail.

My smile slowly disappears as she speaks. I can read the vulnerability in her eyes. And the courage. She trusts me. Evie Cassandra trusts me with this.

Biting down hard on her lip, she returns my stare. "Are you crying?"

I shake my head and blink back the 'very light'film of tears in my eyes. "I think it's the candle,"I joke.

She plays with her napkin and continues damaging her lips and lipstick. "Sooo..."

"Sooooo...?" I tease.

"Are you going to tell me?"

I lean away, taking my wine glass along. I hold her gaze as I take a leisurely sip of my wine. If this is important to her, then I want her to know it just became my number one priority.

Then I tell her how beautiful and profound she is, how she makes my life better just by existing. I tell her she's my oasis, and I've felt lost without her during my years of wandering. I tell her I'm complete and only breaking records on the court because I'm home. With her.

I project as much sincerity into my voice as I can. And I pray Evie hears it because she's like the hot chocolate Mom makes during the winter: perfect for me.