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

I THROW THE DOOR OPEN, and we sprint down the hall, away from Owens.

“Oh, ho, ho,” he calls after us, and Hazel lets out a shriek of laughter that sends happiness and joy streaking through me.

I’m flying. I’m on top of the world with her laughing with me like this. She’s holding my hand as tightly as I’m holding hers as we swing around the corner, and this feels like everything I’ve been missing in life. My pulse pounds in my ears as I take in Hartley’s bright eyes and face, flushed from exertion. Her chest rising and falling fast. The slender line of her throat as she swallows, still watching me.

“Hartley,” I hiss, picking a fully loaded Nerf gun off a side table.

She gasps in delight, and I feel like king of the universe. I hand it to her. She takes aim, and Owens bounds around the corner. Hartley lets the pellets fly and they hit him in the chest.

He deflates with disappointment. “Come on.”

Hartley shrugs, beaming. “Pay up, Owens.”

He pulls his Polaroid out of his jacket and hands it to her before hooking his arm around her neck, pretending to choke her as she laughs.

“See you two downstairs,” he says, letting her go and handing me his Nerf gun. He lowers his voice and leans in. “McKinnon’s on the third floor.”

Hartley’s eyes light up with competitive focus, and we creep up to the third floor, quiet as thieves, listening with rapt attention as we move through the rooms.

A phone dings in the next room over, and we freeze.

“That’s gotta be him,” she breathes, looking over at the door that leads to that room. She chews her lip, probably thinking the same thing I am: he could be waiting and ready on the other side.

“There’s another door from the hall,” I whisper in her ear, smiling when she shudders.

“It’s too risky.” Her mouth tilts. “This is so stupid.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “But it’s fun.”

She nods, smiling up at me.

“I’m going to lure him out.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What? No.”

“Yes.” I want her to win this. Fuck that guy. “You want to win, don’t you?”

“I want us to win.” She blinks. “Together.”

The thing is, watching Hartley win would feel like winning.

“We’re a team,” she adds, and that’s all I need to hear.

“So let me be a team player.”

Off her reluctant nod, I walk out and stride down the hallway, hands in my pockets, whistling a cheerful tune. When I pass the room where he’s lounging on a couch, texting on his phone, his head snaps up. A moment later, a foam pellet hits my back.

I sigh, and when I turn, his nostrils flare with irritation at my stupid grin. “Gosh darn it. You got me, McKinnon.”

Behind him, Hazel steps into the hall, standing tall with eyes full of fire. The hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

McKinnon gives me a dirty look. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I won, motherfucker.”

The crack echoes in the hallway as Hartley sends the Nerf pellet flying, and McKinnon flinches, turning. “What the—”

Hartley’s grin stretches ear to ear, and I match it.

“You’re out,” she says to him.

The look on his face when he realizes we played him? It’s fucking glorious.

“Fuck,” he snaps. “Stupid fucking game.”

Hazel holds a hand out. “Give me your picture.”

He rips it off the chain around his neck and tosses it at her. She catches it, watching with a feline grin as he stomps down the hall.

“He was always a sore loser,” Hazel says quietly, and her nose wrinkles.

Fuck, I love that she won. “You’re ruthless.”

She’s smiling up at me, and I could stay right here in this moment forever. “I’m a dragon, aren’t I?” Her eyes linger on mine, teasing me, lighting my blood on fire.

She glances over her shoulder at McKinnon still walking down the hall, before she loops her arm around my neck and hauls my mouth to hers.

A groan rips out of me from deep in my chest as her lips meet mine. Her mouth is hot, soft, so fucking pliant and sweet and giving as I sink into her. My hands frame her jaw, tilting her open more, and when I suck on the tip of her tongue, she makes a startling, needy moaning noise that goes straight to my cock.

Holy shit. Holyfuckingshit. Hartley’s kissing me and there’s not a soul around to see.

“Fucking hell, Hartley,” I rasp between kisses. “You kiss like a fucking champ.”

Her laugh is light and breathy against my skin, and I nip her bottom lip, watching the way her eyelashes flutter.

“So do you,” she gasps, and I take her mouth again.

While I’m tasting her over and over again like I won’t get another chance, my hand drifts over her, touching the sheer fabric, ghosting my fingers over her throat, her collarbone, the swells of her breasts.

Lower. Over those teasing arcs of fabric covering her cleavage. She shivers as I skim over the seam, pausing in the dip between her breasts. She arches toward me, and something pleased and smug twists deep inside me.

“Oh my god.”

Her words are a desperate whisper, and I like to think she’d whisper those words exactly that way in the seconds before I make her come. Making her react like this feels like victory. She pretends to hate me, but she’s pushing against me for more. It’s supposed to be fake, but she’s the one who kissed me.

God, she’s so sweet. So hot and slick and needy, and I’m fucking dying here, cock straining in my pants as I taste every inch of her mouth.

“It’s taking every ounce of my control not to bend you over and fuck you right now.” My voice is hoarse as I lean my forehead against hers, taking a deep breath.

She blinks up at me with a swollen mouth and a hot, glazed look to her eyes that makes me even harder, and I run my thumb over her bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter again, and I feel a sharp pulse of need.

“And if we don’t stop, I might just do that.”

She tenses before she backs up a step, pulling out of my touch. She blinks, clearing whatever lust I saw in her eyes. “This is fake. I don’t know why I did that.”

I sink, remembering what she said in the gym when we set the terms. Don’t catch feelings.

“Yeah.” I nod stupidly.

She looks away. “Sorry.”

“No. We were just, um.” I clear my throat. “Caught up in the moment. From winning.”

“Yeah.” She nods, playing with her stack of photos. “Exactly.”

I slip my hands in my pockets, searching for my usual swaggering cockiness. If I keep acting like an awkward teenager, she’ll know how much she rattles me.

And for the first time, the prospect of something real with Hartley fucking terrifies me. Watching her walk away would crush me.

“It’s okay, Hartley.” My mouth slides up into a sly grin, and I send her a wink. “I have that effect on women.”

She snorts, and my pulse settles.

“Come on,” she says, mouth tipping up in a cool smile. “The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner you can go home and jerk off to your own reflection.”

And like that, we’re back to normal, the teasing back-and-forth we’ve always had.