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

“LOOK AT YOU GO, HARTLEY,” I drawl as she glides toward me on her skates. “You’re kicking those toddlers’ asses.”

She snorts with laughter and I grin, skating backward in front of her. We’re back at the community skate, circling the rink while the disco ball spins and early 2000s pop music plays. After our FaceTime call, I came so hard my vision blurred, and now that she’s in front of me, I just want to touch her.

Ward glances over and I take the excuse to slip my hand into Hazel’s. She looks down at our joined hands with a small smile before her gaze goes to him.

“Has he said anything?” she asks. “About the captain thing?”

I shake my head. “Ward’s a fortress. I have no idea if I’m living up to expectations.”

A feeling I can’t name twists through me, clawing and nagging. I hate failing. Challenge motivates me, but I don’t even know what Ward wants from me. Even with this arrangement with Hartley, I feel like it’s not enough to make Ward proud.

She frowns. “I wonder if that’s why he paired you with Connor.”

“I don’t know if that was the best idea.” My grin turns wicked. “Hartley, he was in the worst mood after our call.”

She laughs but her face goes pink, like she’s embarrassed.

“Was that whole thing okay?” I ask.

The long line of her neck moves as she swallows, not looking at me. “Yep.”

My eyebrows slide together. “Hartley, if I ever push you too far, just say the word and I’ll pull back.”

She shakes her head quickly. “You didn’t.” She’s still blushing. “It was fun.” A secretive, pleased smile flashes across her face before her gaze meets mine and her expression turns innocent.

The possessive male instinct in me lifts its head, interested, and now I’m wondering what Hartley did right after the call.

“Fun,” I repeat, picturing her lying on that big bed I bought her, making the noises I’ve been hearing for days.

She clears her throat and again glances over at Ward, who’s encouraging a kid to skate toward him. “You’re a good skating teacher. That has to count for something with Ward.”

“Oh, really?” I raise my eyebrow, pulling her closer to me. “You think I’m a good teacher?”

“You’re gloating.” Her lips curve, and we’re back to familiar territory.

“Of course I’m gloating.” I puff my chest out and she rolls her eyes. “McKinnon couldn’t get you onto the ice.”

Ward glances over at us and I slip my arm around her shoulders.

“I like skating with you,” I admit before pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

Her scent teases my nose, trickling through me. Her eyes meet mine and the corners of her lips slide up into a small, guarded smile.

“I like skating with you, too.”

When the skate is over, I take photos with the kids and parents from Ward’s group before I head over to Hazel, who’s sitting on the side with a quiet smile.

“Hey, Miller.” One of the guys from last week’s pickup game, Ed, heads to the ice. Guys are already out there, warming up.

I stiffen. “Hey.” More players greet me as they head out there, and there’s that clawing, nagging feeling again that I can’t shake.

Hazel lifts her eyebrows with meaning at the ice, and my instinct to try again fights with my embarrassment at how I played last time.

I can’t quit, though. That’s not who I am. My blood pounds with the need to figure this out.

“Is it okay if we stick around for a bit?” I ask her, watching the guys warm up.

Her smile lifts higher, eyes full of encouragement. “Play as long as you want.”

I step onto the ice and skate over to Ed.

“Room for one more tonight?”

I’m fully prepared for him to let me down easy after how last week went, but he gives me a quick nod and a welcoming smile.

“You bet.” He points over to the bench. “Extra sticks on the bench.”

Ten minutes later, we’ve warmed up and split into teams, and the whistle blows. I keep my distance from the puck, playing less aggressively, fighting every instinct my dad has drilled into my head, but the feeling of wrongness persists, like I’m not doing what I should. The guy I’m covering goes for the puck, and I knock it back to one of my teammates.

This feels wrong. I’m not the star, but this isn’t even fun. It feels like I’m hiding. There’s no point to being here if I’m going to sit on the sidelines.

A memory from the team dinner filters into my head—watching Hazel step into the hall and shoot McKinnon with the foam pellet, winning the game, and the victory in her eyes. The intense, expansive feeling of pride in my chest.

Watching her win felt incredible.

The other team has the puck, but I swing past, snagging it before passing to Ed, who’s open. I skate to the net.

“Open,” I call, and he passes back to me.

The players scramble between me and the net, blocking my shot.

Here’s where I would normally score. That’s what I’m paid for, that’s what I’m trained to do. Ward isn’t here, though, and my dad’s not watching on TV. There’s no media. It’s just Hazel, and she doesn’t give one shit if I score goals.

I pass back to Ed. Surprise flares in his expression before he sends the puck toward the net. The goalie lunges, but it sails past.

Our team cheers, and Ed gives me a triumphant smile. Something opens in my chest—pride and reward and delight. Happiness. It’s the same feeling as sprinting up the stairs with Hazel. It’s the tight coil of joy in my chest when she shrieked, and when she slapped a palm over her mouth during our FaceTime call, muffling her laughter.

She watches from the stands with a proud, pleased smile, and I think I just figured it out.