The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)

ONE MONTH later

“This studio will be used for dance classes,” Hazel says, leading the party into the second room.

Hazel got possession of her studio yesterday, and today we’re having a party in the space to celebrate. The sign isn’t finished yet but her website and social media is up, and gaining momentum and interest.

Ember Studios. Spark your love of movement.

Everyone is here—her family, my family, the Storm players, the team staff, and her yoga students. Someone turns the music up, champagne is popped, and people wander over to the big windows overlooking the North Shore Mountains, talking and laughing.

At my side, Hazel smiles with a wistful look, like she can’t believe it’s real.

I know exactly how she feels. I’m still pinching myself that Hazel Hartley fell for me.

“I’m so proud of you, Hartley.” I press one, two, three kisses against her mouth. “So proud.”

“Thanks.” Her palms flatten on my chest and she gazes up at me, biting her lip. “I love you.”

I would have thought the thrill of hearing it so often would wear off, but no. Every fucking time Hazel Hartley tells me she loves me is the best moment of my life. “I love you, too. So fucking much, Hazel. You have no idea.”

Her smile turns teasing. “I have some idea.”

The grin I give her is pure arrogance. This morning, we played the how many times can Hazel come before begging for mercy game, and I’ve been thinking about it all day. Especially the part where she got on her knees and sucked my cock so well I’m pretty sure my soul left my body.

“You sure?” My lips brush her neck, and she shudders. “Because just say the word and I’ll remind you.”

“Cocky.” She smiles. “So fucking cocky.”

I press another kiss to her neck, addicted to her. “You know it.”

My parents appear in front of us, and we straighten up.

“Congratulations, honey,” my mom says, wrapping Hazel in a big hug, and when she pulls away, my dad gives Hazel a firm handshake.

“Great job, Hazel.”

She grins. “Thanks, Rick.”

He steps back beside my mom and takes her hand, holding on like she might get away again. My mom meets my eye before smiling down at their joined hands.

Seeing my parents holding hands is still a little weird. They never did it before, but they never went to couples’ therapy either, or went on date nights or smiled at each other the way they do now.

I’ve gone a few times with them to therapy. Slowly, we’re putting our family back together in a better way than before.

“Hazel said you’re a dancer,” my mom says to Hazel’s mom. They all met last night when Hazel and I took our families out for dinner.

“Oh.” She blanches but recovers, laughing a little. “I’m not the dancer I used to be.” Her throat works and Hazel gives her an encouraging smile. “But it’s just for fun, even if I don’t look like I used to.”

Hazel beams, eyes shining bright. “Exactly.”

Our moms make plans to have lunch later in the week while Ken and my dad pull Streicher into a conversation and Pippa and Owens wander over from the group of players.

“Look at this place!” Pippa practically jumps on Hazel, hugging her. “It looks so good.”

Hazel sighs as they pull apart, looking around the space with that sparkling, wistful expression again. Over the past month, she’s put every spare moment into her studio plans.

“Thanks.” Her mouth twists and she glances at me and Owens. “I’m glad I made the decision to stay on with the team part time, though, even if it’s busy.”

When Hazel put in her resignation so she could start studio renovations, Ward must have seen her reluctance to leave a position she loved, so he made her an offer. Part time, as many or as few players to work with as she wants, and flexible hours. Streicher, Owens, and Volkov all volunteered to come to her studio for physio sessions, which made her decision easy.

“Aw.” Owens gives her a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “We’re going to miss you at the arena.”

She chuckles. “You’ll see me at games. I’ll be the one wearing Miller’s jersey.”

We smile at each other, and my heart beats with pride and affection.

Owens’s phone rings and he pulls it out, frowning. “Darce?” He steps away, still frowning as he listens, and when he returns, worry is written all over his face.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He blinks, shell-shocked. “Darcy and Kit broke up.”

Hazel, Pippa, and I fall silent. Owens stares at the floor, distracted, before he shakes himself.

“I need to go,” he tells Hazel. “Congrats on the studio.”

He gives her a quick hug before hurrying out the door, and the three of us watch him leave.

“Where’s he going?” Pippa asks.

Hazel shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

My conversation with Owens back at the bar the night I got my dragon tattoo is hazy, but I remember the basics, so I clamp my mouth shut and don’t say a fucking word. Like they smell blood in the water, Hazel and Pippa whirl on me, cornering me.

“What do you know?” Hazel asks, gaze boring into me.

I put my hands up like I’m innocent. “Nothing.”

“He’s lying.” Pippa’s eyes narrow, but she’s smiling.

“He’s absolutely lying.” Hazel runs her tongue along her bottom lip like she’s thinking of all the ways she can use her mouth to torture the information out of me later.

I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing that I have plans for us after this.

“Streicher,” I call. He looks over, mouth twitching in amusement when he spots the Hartley sisters interrogating me. “Your fiancée needs another drink,” I say, testing the word out.

I like the way it sounds. I think I might start using it myself soon.

Streicher pulls Pippa away. She mouths I will find you while Hazel and I laugh, and I slip my arm around Hazel’s shoulder while we take in the party—our families, our friends, our people.

“Is it everything you expected so far, Hartley?”

She smiles, looking so happy and at peace. “Miller, it is everything and more.”

“We’re going to get in trouble,” Hazel hisses late that night as we sneak into the dim outdoor rink near our apartment, lit only by the moon and the stars.

“We’re not going to get in trouble.” I sit her down on a nearby bench and start lacing up her skates.

The staff know we’re here because I arranged for this months ago. They know to stay out of sight, though, because that would blow the surprise.

I move to my own skates, and Hazel gazes at the stars with a wistful smile. “Every time I look up at the stars on a cold night like this, I think about skating outside after the League Classic.”

When she turns to me, holding her hand out with that searing look of adoration, I think my heart might burst.

I press a quick kiss to her mouth but pull away. “Hold on a second,” I murmur before heading to the control box the staff showed me and flicking the switch labeled RORY.

Around the boards, twinkle lights illuminate, bathing the rink in warm, sparkling light.

Hazel stills, a tiny smile curling up on her mouth. “Rory.”

“Hazel.” I make my way back to her, holding a hand out.

With my heart beating up into my throat, I help her onto the ice and we glide, hand in hand. My focus is torn between the way her hair flutters in the wind, how her eyes glitter in this lighting, and the velvet box in my jacket pocket.

I spin her and she laughs, clutching my hands.

“I’ve been thinking,” I start, pulse beating hard in my ears.

She sends me a curious glance.

“You have your studio now, I’m with the team for probably the rest of my career,”—I signed a seven-year contract a few days after the trade rumor fiasco—“and we share a home.”

Curiosity and amusement rise in her expression.

“What’s next, Hartley?”

I wait for her response, listening to the sound of our skates hitting the ice.

“I love your smile,” she says on a happy sigh. “I love it so much, I think about it all the time.”

A chuckle slips out of me. “You didn’t answer me.”

“You’re going to ask me to marry you,” she says, lifting her chin and looking me in the eye.

Butterflies burst into motion in my stomach and I suck in a deep breath, narrowing my eyes at her, teasing her. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She looks so confident, so certain. “Rory, I saw the ring. And now this?” She smiles wider.

“You saw the ring?” My eyebrows shoot up, but I’m grinning.

“I didn’t mean to find it. Honestly.”

“Did you like it?” I dragged Pippa and Streicher to the jeweler about ten times to make sure the white gold band with a cluster of rare blue-gray diamonds was perfect, but if she doesn’t like it, I’ll toss it out the window and get her whatever she likes.

“Yes,” she says quietly, throat working as she glances at me. “I loved it.”

“It isn’t too flashy?”

She rolls her eyes. “It is, but—” She laughs, shrugging. “It reminds me of you.”

A sly, arrogant grin hitches on my mouth. “Huge, expensive, and gorgeous?”

She shakes her head, smiling ear to ear, and my heart lifts up into the starry sky. “Yes. All those things. Also,” her smile softens and she swallows, “one in a million. Perfect for me. Everything I didn’t realize I wanted.”

“It isn’t too soon?”

I know I’m reckless and impulsive and we should probably date for at least a year before getting engaged, but Hazel’s it for me.

Again, she smiles to herself, shaking her head. “Not for us.”

I hum, nodding with a casual air like I’m not brimming with emotion. “So, say I ask you to marry me. Then what?”

Her eyes soften. “Then I’ll say yes.”

I move so I’m facing her, skating backward, and when my hands come to her hips, I slow us to a stop, gazing down into her stunning blue-gray eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“You can change your mind.”

She smiles. “I won’t.”

“I won’t, either.”

“I know.”

She tracks my hand as I slip the box from my pocket, and when I kneel, her eyes shine.

“Hazel Hartley, will you make my goddamned life and marry me?”

Her smile? It’s everything, and I’ll remember this moment forever.

“Yes, Rory Miller, I will.”

I take her left hand and slip the outrageous sparkling ring onto her finger before I stand and kiss the woman I love. The woman who made me into the best version of myself. The woman I fell head over heels for years ago, and who’s finally caught up.

The woman I can’t wait to live the rest of my life with. Get married to. Have kids with. Grandkids.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.

“I love you, too, Hartley, and I’ll never let you forget it.”