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

SOMETHING’S different about Rory when he walks into the Filthy Flamingo after the game.

He’s lighter, more relaxed, and there’s an easy tilt to his mouth that I mirror as he makes his way to me.

“Hi.” My gaze flicks up to his black baseball hat, turned backward. Against his ash-blond hair and bright blue eyes, the effect is intoxicating. “Great game.”

“Thanks.” He steps into my space. “Now be a good fake girlfriend, Hartley, and let me kiss you.”

His lips are gentle, soft, and sweet, and my body relaxes against him. The bar fades away, and there’s just the scrape of stubble under my fingers and the tickle of his breath on my cheek. My other hand flattens against his firm chest. His hoodie is so soft, and I wonder what it would feel like to wear it. Every inhale floods my system with his dizzying scent of clean laundry and body wash.

I forget we’re in the bar. I forget this is fake.

When Rory Miller kisses me, I forget what it’s like to have my heart broken.

He nips my bottom lip, and I pull back before he can deepen the kiss and truly shatter my senses. My face is flushed, and when his finger slides to the pulse point on my neck, his gaze flares with interest as he feels my racing heart rate.

I like him. This is bad.

Also, I’m wearing the lingerie he sent, even though I said I wouldn’t.

Bad. So bad. Very, very bad.

“Hartley,” he murmurs in a teasing tone. “Nuns kiss with more tongue than that.” He arches a knowing brow.

He’s goading me, but it’s working, and I fist the front of his hoodie and pull him back to me.

This time, I don’t hold back. I kiss him as if that FaceTime call was real. He props an arm on the pillar behind me as I taste him, and when I suck on the tip of his tongue, a low, desperate groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against my fist still holding his hoodie. Urgent, insistent need hums through my blood as his free hand grasps the hair at the back of my head. He tilts my head back to open me up more, and between my legs, arousal gathers.

I didn’t expect to like him pulling my hair so much.

“Better?” I whisper, looking up into his eyes.

“Yeah.” His breathing is ragged, pupils blown wide. His gaze flicks behind me and his expression turns wicked. “McKinnon.”

I stiffen. I forgot he was here.

Rory tilts his chin at Connor. “You should get a better drink. It doesn’t look like you like that one.”

Connor’s expression looks like a storm cloud, but Rory’s already pulling me over to the table with the others. Pippa and Jamie are at a bigger table than normal, and sitting with Hayden are his friends, Kit and Darcy. Kit Driedger plays for Calgary, the team Vancouver played tonight, and Darcy is his girlfriend from when all three of them met in university.

“Hey,” Rory says to Kit with a playful grin. They played together last season. “Only Vancouver players allowed in here.”

Everyone rolls their eyes. “Like that ever stopped you,” I tell him, and he chuckles and shakes Kit’s hand.

“Good game tonight, Driedger.”

“You, too,” Kit says with a nod.

“It’s hard enough to get this guy out with us without your chirps, Miller,” Hayden says. “Darcy had to drag him here tonight.”

“Kit likes to go to bed early like a grandpa,” Darcy teases, and Rory gives her a big hug hello before she steps over to me, her platinum-blond hair practically sparkling under the dim bar lights.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” I tell her as we hug. We’ve hung out a few times after games but I never get to talk to her long enough. “You could have sat with me and Pippa during the game.”

“Yeah, Darce.” Hayden tips his chin at her, eyes bright. She barely comes up to his shoulder. “Then you could have seen my goal up close like Driedger did.” He elbows Kit in the gut and Kit laughs quietly, shoving him off.

“Next time,” Darcy says with a shy smile before her curious gaze swings between me and Rory. “I heard about this, but I didn’t believe it.”

Rory’s hand rests between my shoulder blades, and when he looks down at me, his smile is so gentle and handsome. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, and a thin layer of dark blond stubble spans his strong jaw.

“It’s true.” My eyes lift to Rory’s backward baseball hat. His eyes are bright, and the tops of his cheekbones are a little flushed from the game still. With him wearing that hat, I stand no chance against Rory Miller.

People make room, and I move to sit down, but Rory pulls me into his lap. Jordan swings by with a soda water for Rory and a drink for me, and while he’s thanking her, Pippa’s eyes widen as she sips her drink, watching us with a smile.

Shut up, I tell her with my eyes.

I won’t, she says right back with hers.

I try to slide off his lap, but his hands tighten on my waist, keeping me close.

“No,” he murmurs in my ear. “You stay where you are, fire-breather.”

Another flush of heat moves through me, and I force myself to focus on the conversation at the table.

“I read an interview with a porn star,” Hayden’s saying, “and he said if he’s having boner problems, he smells the back of his female co-star’s neck.” He gestures at the back of his neck. “It’s a pheromone thing or something.”

“No way,” Rory scoffs. “That’s not real.”

“It is,” Hayden insists, making me laugh with his earnest expression.

Rory gathers my hair off my neck, moving it aside. My smile falters when his lips press against my skin, and as he takes a deep inhale, his stubble scrapes me.

Shivers run down my spine as he exhales over my skin, and something twinges between my legs.

Rory straightens up, dropping my hair.

“Well?” Hayden asks as everyone watches.

Rory shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you, buddy.”

Hayden’s face falls. “I’ve been telling this to everyone.” Darcy starts laughing, and he tilts his chin at her, giving her a flirty smile. “Come here, Darce. Let’s test it.”

He makes grabby hands at her and she laughs harder, swatting him away. Kit shakes his head, smiling.

Hayden’s eyes linger on her for a moment too long, beaming like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

They’re friends. Best friends, he tells everyone. And she’s with Kit.

Hayden doesn’t look at her like they’re friends, though.

She slides against Kit, saying something to Pippa, and Hayden takes one look at Kit’s arm around her and glances away, expression tightening.

Huh.

My thoughts are interrupted as Rory stiffens against me. I twist to look at him but he locks me harder to him, jaw tight.

“What’s going on?”

“Can you stay still for a second?” His voice is strained.

“What’s going on—”

Oh.

A thick, hard length presses into my lower back. My thoughts fizz, and there’s another warm twinge between my legs. Rory’s hard. Like, really hard. Pressing into me. Hard.

“Oh,” I say, staring straight ahead. Every cell in my body is hyperaware of the insistent press of his cock against me.

“Yeah.” He makes a hoarse noise.

Liquid warmth pools low in my belly. I picture a thousand dirty things. What it would feel like to fuck Rory. To sit on top of him and ride him. Jesus. My eyes close for a moment and I see it—him holding me down, wrists pinned above my head as he fucks me slowly, staring into my eyes with that lazy, knowing grin as I unravel around him.

My hips shift, searching for friction instinctively, and he sucks in a sharp breath as his hands tighten on my waist.

“Do not do that, Hartley,” he groans, and his length pulses. “That’s not helping.”

My skin is too hot, and yet I feel the urge to laugh.

Against my back, his chest rises and falls as he searches for control. “Why do you smell so good?” He says it like it pisses him off, and a warm flush creeps up my neck.

“I just smell normal.”

“You definitely fucking don’t smell normal, Hartley.”

His frustrated tone does weird things to my body. My skin tingles all the way down my back, and arousal tugs low in my stomach.

We pretend to listen to the conversation at the table while I sit very, very still. Jordan swings by and I order some food, still hyper aware of Rory’s erection. Eventually, the thick rod against my backside goes away, and I can think again.

“Want one?” I ask him when my fries arrive.

He shakes his head, gaze lingering on them. “No, thanks.”

“No drinking, no fries,” I list, popping one in my mouth. He’s like my mom, always putting herself on a diet.

His eyes linger on my mouth. “My body is my career, and eating junk food isn’t going to do me any favors.”

Salt bursts in my mouth as I eat. “One fry, though? Is that really going to end your season? Especially when they’re so good.” I quietly moan the last two words, letting my eyes roll back like it’s the best fry I’ve ever eaten.

Rory’s eyes darken. “Do that again.”

I hold eye contact with him as I eat another.

“Fuck.” He looks away when I lick my bottom lip. “That’s so hot.”

“You know what goes so well with fries? Beer.”

He sucks in a long breath. “I haven’t had one in forever.”

“You played a great game tonight.” My brows rise. “I’m proud of you. You should celebrate.”

I’m proud of him?

I am, though. For the first time in forever, he actually looked happy out there, and I know it has something to do with the pickup game yesterday.

But I can’t say those kinds of things.

“Not that it matters,” I quickly add.

“It does.” His expression is so serious. “It matters.”

My heart gives a happy spin at that.

He looks at the fries, and his eyes spark with teasing. “You trying to be a bad influence on me, Hartley?”

I shrug, still smiling. “Is it working?”

“Yes.” He meets my eyes again. “Alright. Hit me.”

My grin widens and I hand him my beer before catching Jordan’s attention and silently ordering another for myself. When Rory takes a sip, his eyes close and he groans like he just found water in the middle of the desert.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

My breath catches, fascinated by the expression on his face. “Good?”

He nods, takes another sip, and sighs, and something warm and pleased weaves through my chest.