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

THE NEXT MORNING, I’m so deliciously warm. Everything is just right, and I’m so fucking comfortable. Rain taps on the roof. I’m on my side with the pillow molded perfectly to support my head and shoulder, and I’m in that hazy zone between asleep and awake.

I sigh, easing back into the warm chest behind me. Clarity cuts through and my eyes snap open.

Rory’s spooning me. That’s his warm, hard chest pressed up against me, softly rising and falling with his steady breathing. That’s his breath tickling the back of my neck.

That’s his hard, thick length urgently pressing into my ass.

His hand is wrapped around my front, fingers resting just inside the waistband of my panties.

Between my legs, heat and liquid pools, and the familiar twist of arousal stirs low in my belly. I am very turned on.

Every muscle in my body tenses and my eyes are the size of dinner plates as I lie there, listening to his breathing. From the steady rhythm, I’m sure he’s still asleep.

He shifts, grinding his erection against me, and heat spirals inside me. His fingers brush an inch lower. He’s still breathing steadily, still sleeping.

Carefully, I turn my head. His shirt is off. His socks and pants are off. He’s just wearing tight black boxer briefs.

My t-shirt? It’s ridden up to my waist, and my pink panties are on full display, not that that matters when Rory’s hand is halfway inside them.

A throb pulses between my legs. God, his hand is so big, fingers dipping inside, resting just above the sensitive areas. My lips press together in a flat line. I’m getting more turned on by the second.

The sex would be hot, I know it would be. Something wakes up inside me, demanding attention.

Once wouldn’t hurt, as long as it’s only once.

My hips press back into Rory’s cock and he sucks in a sharp breath. He’s so stiff against my ass. That thing is fucking huge. I’ll be sore for days.

Arousal tightens between my legs. I love that idea.

A memory from last night flickers in my head—Jamie asking Rory to be his best man—and my thoughts still. They’re becoming best friends again. They’ll be in each other’s lives for years. And Jamie’s so head over heels for Pippa, he’ll never let her go.

I picture their wedding, and Rory and I are seated next to each other. I picture them hosting dinners, and Rory and I make awkward small talk. Children’s birthday parties. Christmas. New Year’s. Group vacations.

A cold chill runs through me. Rory’s going to be in my life forever, and I’m cuddling with him. We have an end date to this fake relationship, and yet I’m getting far too comfortable.

Connor’s ugly words from years ago loom in my head, and I’m out of bed in a shot.

“Good morning.” His voice is gravelly with sleep as he squints at me in the morning light.

“Morning.” I whirl around, digging through my dresser for clothes.

“Despite your terrible mattress, Hartley, I had the best fucking sleep.” He stretches with a low, rasping groan, and my gaze snags on his defined, muscular arms, the carved lines of his pecs and abs, and—

My thighs clench. That thick length that pressed into me earlier strains against the fabric of his boxers.

I meet his eyes, and he winks. He knows exactly what I was looking at, and I don’t think he minds one bit.

My clit aches.

I have got to get out of here before I do something stupid, like take my underwear off and sit on top of him.

“I’m going to have a shower,” I manage, scampering across the room toward the bathroom door.

He shoots me that lazy, panty-melting grin, gaze dropping to my bare legs and probably part of my ass, visible from under the t-shirt, and there’s another warm squeeze between my legs. “Want company?”

With his towering height in my tiny shower? “We wouldn’t fit.”

His grin turns feral and smug. “We’d make it fit.”

Heat streaks through me, and my mind whispers just one time as my gaze lands on his straining erection again.

It would be so good with him. I know it would.

I don’t sleep with guys I know, though. I hook up once and then we part ways. I definitely don’t hook up with guys who I’m fake dating or hanging out with on a regular basis or who will be the best man in my sister’s wedding.

I slam the door closed and lean against the inside, collecting my common sense.

My blood pumps hard as I walk up to my apartment, catching my breath after my run. Moving usually helps clear my head, but today, my thoughts still slingshot around my brain.

This thing with Rory is getting away from me. We can be friends, but we can’t be more, no matter how my body responds to him, or how I feel when he lights up like he’s actually having fun for once.

I need to remember what this is for him: a chase. He wants what he can’t have, and the second he gets it, I’m old news.

“Hazel Hartley?”

Two guys wait outside my building. A delivery van is parked on the street. “That’s me.”

“Delivery for you.” He hands his electronic tablet to me. “Sign here.”

My eyes narrow. “I didn’t order anything.”

The guy glances at the tablet. “Charges went to Rory Miller.”

Of course they did. I sign the tablet, and while the delivery guys unload a new mattress and bed frame from the truck, I pull out my phone and call him.

Rory answers the phone a moment later, as I’m holding the front door open for the guys.

“Seriously?” I ask in lieu of greeting.

“You are so welcome.”

I don’t know whether to scream or laugh as I climb the stairs after them. He doesn’t seem weird about this morning, so that’s good. I can pretend if he can. “I can hear your stupid smug grin through the phone.”

“I’m not sleeping on that lumpy old mattress again.”

My mouth falls open in shock. “You’re not sleeping on the new one, either.”

Especially not after this morning.

“Hartley, I gotta go. The plane’s going to take off soon.”

“What am I supposed to—”

“The guys will take the old bed.” There’s an airport announcement in the background. “I’ll call you when we land.”

I stare at the disconnected call. That dick hung up on me.