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

“WOW.”

In the foyer of Rory’s apartment, my jaw drops. I take a few steps forward on the crutches, looking around.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Miller.”

Behind me, holding my bag, he watches me, his gaze unsure and assessing. “Yeah?”

I nod, eyes bouncing from the warm wood flooring to the giant green L-shaped couch to the midday sun streaming through the impossibly tall windows. Snow is starting to fall outside. A massive TV hangs between two built-in bookshelves that reach to the ceiling. There’s nothing on the shelves, though.

I frown, scanning the sparse living room with two lamps, the big sofa, and a coffee table, and then the large, open-concept kitchen with a massive island and gleaming appliances.

I tilt my chin at the bookshelves. “You’re supposed to put things on those shelves.”

“Like what?” The corner of his mouth kicks up.

“Photos and trinkets and books.” There’s nothing on the walls—no art or framed pictures. No blankets thrown over the couch. I crutch farther into the apartment, down the long hallway. A door at the end leads to what looks like the master bedroom, and Rory’s soft footsteps follow behind.

At the doorway, I take in the king-size bed with a forest-green duvet. Warmth twinges in my stomach because I’m going to sleep in that bed tonight and it’s going to be the best sleep of my life. The windows overlook the city, same as the rest of the apartment, and on the balcony sits a hot tub.

Still no framed photos. No plants. No patio furniture. A lamp and a nightstand and his hockey bag from a few days ago, but that’s it.

He has a fireplace across from the bed, which I’m totally going to turn on later, but his place feels so blank. Silent. Empty. Rory Miller is brimming with personality, overflowing with it, and yet his apartment is nothing like him.

Something sparkly on his bedside table catches my eye, and my lips part in surprise.

“What are you—” he starts before he sees what I’m crutching over to, and a guilty expression passes over his features.

I pick up the tiny crystal dragon, almost an identical twin to mine except this one is green, not blue. My heart does a funny flop, and a smile spreads over my face before I lift my eyebrows at him.

“What’s this?”

He shifts, mouth curving into a reluctant, playful grin. “That’s a dragon,” he says simply.

“I can see that it’s a dragon, Rory.” I’m still smiling like a fool, but I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you have a shopping addiction?”

He chuckles, taking a seat on the bed. “No.”

I turn the trinket, watching it scatter light on the wall. “So why do you have it?”

I think I know the answer, but I want to hear it in Rory’s deep voice.

Sitting on the bed, he keeps his eyes steady on me. He lifts one big shoulder, giving me the sweetest, most innocent expression. “I bring it on the road because I miss you.”

My heart sighs and flops over. I can’t. He’s too much, and I don’t know what to do with this fluttery delight in my chest.

I tamp down the smile pulling on my mouth. “So you’re saying that this dragon has seen some horrible, depraved things?”

He chokes out a laugh, light spilling out of his eyes as he shoots me a flirty grin. “Oh, yeah. That dragon knows all my kinks.”

A sizzle of heat sears down my spine. I’d like to know all Rory’s kinks, too. I remember how he licked me between the legs like I was the best thing he ever tasted, and another shiver rolls through me.

I set the dragon back down and dig into my own bag on the floor before I pull out what I carefully tucked into my balled-up socks when Rory wasn’t looking and set it beside his.

His eyebrows go up in delight. “You brought yours?”

I shrug like it’s nothing. The truth is, I love that stupid little overpriced dragon. The red eyes make me laugh, and seeing it before I go to sleep makes me think of Rory.

“Whatever,” I say.

His gaze sharpens, and a predatory smile spreads across his mouth. “Does it know your kinks?”

Even as my face goes warm thinking of all the times I used my toys or touched myself to the thought of Rory, I’m laughing. “Oh, yeah.”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, watching me with interest. “Maybe our dragons can talk.”

“Maybe.” I give him a cool smile, and the interest in his eyes intensifies.

Oh. Something thunks hard in my head like a book dropping onto the ground. We’re flirting. When I give him that cool little smile, I’m flirting with him.

I’ve been doing this for years, all the way back to when we were teenagers studying in the library.

“You okay there, Hartley?” His voice is almost a purr as he wears a knowing smile.

God, I want him. My heart beats like a hummingbird.

“You want to take a nap?” I ask softly, running my hands up into his hair. It’s so soft and thick and the strands feel like heaven between my fingers. Under my touch, he shudders, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that if we got into this bed, the last thing we’d be doing would be napping.

His eyelids droop and he leans into my touch, and I think it’s going to happen, but then he groans.

“I want to.” His gaze drops to my ankle and he sighs through his nose, a frustrated noise that makes me want to play with him more. Push him closer to his breaking point. “But you need to—”

“Yes, I know.” I sigh, feeling flushed. “I need to rest.”

Rest is the last thing I want to do. God, it would be so hot, seeing Rory Miller break.

He walks into his closet, and I pick our dragons up, holding one in each hand.

“Please have sex with me,” I make my dragon say to his, using a high, girly voice, before holding his dragon up and affecting a low, masculine voice.

He returns to the bedroom holding a hoodie.

“No,” I continue. “You’re a fragile little lady, and I’m afraid I’ll hurt you with my huge—”

“That’s enough out of you,” Rory laughs, taking the dragons from me as I dissolve into laughter. He’s shaking his head, grinning at me. “Come here.”

He gestures for me to lift my arms, and when he pulls the hoodie over my head, I get a lungful of his comforting scent.

“Now you’re trying to dress me, too?” I ask, smiling down at the hoodie. It’s huge on me, worn soft from washing.

His eyes spark. “Didn’t want you to get cold.”

Desire swoops through me. Why, why is a man taking care of me so hot? There’s something about his sweet, caring nature that makes me want to write my name on him and fuck his brains out.

I lie down on the bed and he takes the spot beside me, propped on his elbow, eyes flickering with heat.

“Is seeing me in your bed turning you on?”

He lets out a heavy breath. “Yes.”

Heat rushes between my legs, thrumming. “Good. What are you going to do about it?”

His eyes drop to my mouth and a tortured noise rumbles in his chest.

“You said you’d take care of me,” I whisper.

His eyelids close and he sighs. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” My hand comes to his cock, already hard and straining against his pants, and I give it a slow stroke.

He groans, hips jerking into my hand, and his eyes burn, molten hot. “Fuck. I can’t say no to you.”

“So don’t.” A string plucks low in my belly, making me ache.

“Come here.”

He nudges me so I’m on my side before he moves behind me, spooning me, surrounding me with his hard chest and broad shoulders. I sink back into his warmth, and he pulls the duvet over us.

I moan at how comfortable this is, but my breath catches when he loops a big arm beneath me and slides his hand into my shirt. His lips are on my neck, his breath tickling my skin as he tugs my bra down and finds a nipple.

“Better?” he asks in a low voice.

“Almost.” Heat swirls inside me, and I grind back against the thick erection pressing into me, pulling a deep groan from him. I can feel myself getting wet already from the way his fingers are toying with my breast.

His other hand sneaks into my leggings, stroking over me. Sparks jolt through me at the contact, and I arch against him.

“How about that?” His tone is so cocky and smug.

I clutch his arm across my chest and my breath catches when he pinches my nipple. This is fooling around on another level. I’m somehow insanely comfortable and aching with need, inhaling his masculine, clean smell with every breath.

“You know it’s good,” I bite out, sounding breathless. “I need more.”

His hand stills between my legs, and his finger rests on my clit. Not moving. Just touching lightly. I buck against him, seeking friction, but he pulls away, still barely touching me.

“Rory,” I whine, writhing.

“You going to be good for me over the next few days?’

I growl, and his laugh grazes my cheek.

“You going to stay off your ankle and let me take care of you?”

“I swear to god, Rory—”

He pinches my clit, and my teeth clench at the lust roaring through me. “Fine. Yes. Okay. I’ll be good.”

It’s not fair that messing around with him is both the best sex I’ve ever had and the most fun.

His lips skate over my neck, and he nips me. “You sure?”

“Rory.”

He laughs, and his fingers start to swirl. I sink against him as warmth courses through me and my muscles tighten.

“How’s this?”

“So good,” I moan. My heart races, and Rory’s hand works faster, circling exactly the way I like it, flat fingers, not too fast, not too hard.

“You going to come for me?”

“Of course.” I can already feel myself fraying, nerves firing with sensation.

He makes a low noise of pleasure. “Good.”

The pressure builds between my legs and I turn my face into the pillow. When I suck a sharp breath in, Rory’s scent goes straight to my brain, and I clench up. In my ear, he groans with pleasure as he touches me, and the heat between my legs spills over, coursing through me, radiating through my limbs. The entire time, Rory holds me tight against him, whispering in my ear about how much he likes being here, how pretty I am, and how much he loves watching me come.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as my release subsides. “You’re so good at that.”

Rory smiles against my neck, but when I turn and reach for his erection, he’s off the bed in a flash.

I arch a brow, feeling cold without him against me. “Get back here.”

“No.” He leans down to give me a kiss but steps away when I reach for him again. “I have errands to run, and you’re going to rest like you said you would.”

I blink in outrage, gesturing at the thick ridge between his legs. “You’re hard.”

“I’ll survive, Hartley. You’ve been making me hard for years, and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

A laugh falls from my lips. My mouth is watering, thinking about him fucking it again.

“We had a deal.” He gives me a hard look, but he’s smiling as he drops another kiss to my lips. “So be a good girlfriend and stay off your ankle so I’m not worried about you.”

Girlfriend, he said. Not fake girlfriend.

“I was coerced,” I call after him as he winks and strides out of the room.

I should be warning myself that this has an end date, and that we haven’t addressed what’s going on with us. I should be freaking out because Rory fits into my life seamlessly, and if it goes south, he’s going to tear a hole so big it’ll be impossible to repair. I could do my typical mental gymnastics, telling myself that he didn’t mean to say that, that it was just a mistake.

Instead, I smile out the window and listen to the front door close, already excited for him to get back.