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

EVERYONE PULLS OUT THEIR WALLETS. My jaw drops. My stomach drops. Everything inside me drops because what the actual fuck?

My gaze whips to Rory’s, and I widen my eyes in question. “Really?”

“Like I said,” he says lightly, “not my idea.”

“Eisner, Volkov, Chopra,” Hayden reads off his phone, “Jordan, and Streicher, you owe a hundred.”

I send Jamie an accusing look, but he has his full attention on his beer, avoiding my eyes.

“Pippa, you, too,” Hayden continues.

My mouth falls open in disbelief. “Pippa.”

She winces, laughing. “Sorry. If it makes you feel better, I thought you’d hold out until the end of the season.”

I shake my head at her while Hayden lists off more bets, but I’m laughing. “Traitor,” I say, but there’s no bite to my words.

“And finally,” Hayden calls, and a hush falls over the bar. “The winner is…” He turns to Rory. “Miller, who has won two thousand bucks.”

A round of cheers and laughs rises up, and I stare at him with unfiltered shock.

“Thank you, thank you,” he says as people pass him cash. He stands and sets the cash on the bar counter, nodding at Jordan. “Prepayment on anything we break this season.”

Everyone laughs, and I shake my head at him as he slides back into the booth. “You bet that we’d get together the first month of the season?”

His expression is pure innocence, eyes sparkling. “I always bet on myself.”

“Aww.” Hayden jostles me, but I slap him away. “He likes you.”

This is so stupid, but I’m smiling. With confidence like Rory’s, I don’t know why I’m surprised.

He hooks a big arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, and my stomach flutters at the contact. “Get over here, my little fire-breathing dragon.”

Pippa chokes on her drink, laughing.

“That is not my nickname,” I tell him, elbowing him.

Rory just smiles before his hands come to my waist and he lifts me into his lap.

“Really?” I mutter at him over my shoulder, praying that in the bar’s dim lighting, he can’t see me flushing. God, even sitting in his lap, he’s so tall. His thighs are solid and warm under me and I just—

This is a lot. He’s all around me. My pulse jolts. This is so much more intense than I thought it would be.

Like he can sense my thoughts, Rory’s hand smooths over my back in a comforting motion.

“Play nice, fire-breather.”

Another strained laugh lodges itself in my throat, and I hate that I like that nickname, but my name catches my attention. Pippa’s looking at me with a question in her eyes.

“We’re talking about the skating event in December,” she explains. “It’s for the players and their partners.” Her smile turns impish, and I cringe, because I already know where this is going. She looks to Rory. “Hazel can’t skate.”

“What?” He’s baffled. “You work for a hockey team and you can’t skate?”

“We don’t do physio on the ice.”

“You need to know how to skate,” he says.

“You need to know how to skate. I don’t need to balance on knives on a slippery surface. Regular ground with sneakers is fine for me.”

“It’s because she fell as a kid,” Pippa adds.

“Pippa.” I stare at her. It’s my shut up now look. She wiggles her eyebrows. Make me, her expression says.

Rory hums a teasing, sympathetic noise and rubs a hand up and down my back. “Poor Hazel. You’re scared of skating?”

“I’m not scared.” My voice is too high. “I’m not scared,” I say again in my regular voice. “I’m busy, and I don’t want to get hurt.”

“I’ll teach you.” Connor interrupts, taking a seat at the booth, wearing a stupid smirk. His eyes move over me, sitting in Rory’s lap, and there’s an edge to his gaze, like he doesn’t like what he sees.

Rory tenses, his hands tightening on my waist.

“I’ll teach you,” Rory cuts in, wrapping his arm across my stomach, looking down at me in challenge. It’s the competitiveness I see in him on the ice. Play along, his eyes say. “I won’t let you fall.”

My instinct is to fight him, but we’re supposed to be pretending and making Connor wildly jealous, so I force a soft smile and gaze up at him like I’m besotted.

“I’d love that,” I say softly.

I’ve never used this voice with a guy in my life, and from the way Rory’s eyes spark with laughter, I think he might know that.

“Good.” His mouth curves higher like he’s won something. “So would I.”

Heat rises on my cheeks. Our lips are so close to each other, only inches apart. I glance away first and reach for my drink, taking a sip just to do something with my hands.

“Aren’t you two cute.” Connor’s tone is light, but I can hear the edge under his words. “Wearing your guy’s jersey and everything.”

My whole body tenses at his perusal, but Rory presses another quick, warm kiss to my temple, and all my thoughts stop.

“I pretty much had to wrestle her into it,” he says against me.

This isn’t real, because there’s no way Rory’s brushing his lips against my skin in that sweet, intoxicating way. Where the hell did he learn to act like this?

“But that’s okay. I don’t mind wrestling with Hazel. In fact,” his voice is soft and intimate as he peers down at me, eyes flaring with heat, “I kind of like it.”

My body warms, and I remind myself to breathe. I need more oxygen in my brain, because I can’t think of a single thing. I’m just staring up at Rory, replaying his words, melting against him.

Connor rubs his jaw. “Wasn’t she your tutor in high school?”

“She sure was.” One of Rory’s hands slides to my thigh. “Lucky me.”

The warning bells sound off in my head—where’s Connor going with this?—but the large hand rubbing slow, soothing strokes on my thigh distracts me. It’s weird how Rory’s touch is actually calming me.

Connor’s mouth twists with a wry smile. “Were you hitting on my girl back in school? Shame on you, Miller.”

When Rory smiles down at me, it feels private, not smug or arrogant but sweet and comforting. It feels like we’re on the same team for once. “I didn’t hit on her.”

I make a face. “You did.”

As a joke during one of our tutoring sessions in high school, he flipped to a new page, and it had HAZEL HARTLEY written with hearts all around it.

Rory grins shamelessly. I wonder what memory he’s thinking of. “Maybe a little. But mostly I just thought about you.”

My pulse trips. He’s playing a role here, and he’s toying with Connor like a cat with a string, but that sounded so honest.

He’s so good at this.

Rory raises one brow. “All I had to do was wait.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and out of the corner of my eye, Connor shifts, folding his arms over his chest. Rory dips down so his nose is pressed against my neck and inhales deeply. Sparks crack and pop against my skin.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs, like Connor isn’t even there.

I shiver, and Pippa and I exchange a glance. Her eyes widen, her silent way of saying he’s really taking this faking thing seriously, and I widen my eyes back at her. I know.

“You know what the most interesting part is?” Rory asks. Mischief glitters in his gaze. “Apparently Hartley has had a thing for me for years.”

My stomach lodges in my throat, and I feel like both laughing and twisting one of Rory’s nipples. He holds my gaze with that provoking, amused smile. “Right, baby?”

I almost gag at being called baby, but across the table, Connor’s wearing a murderous expression.

Perfect.

“It’s true,” I tell Rory, giving him a little smile.

“She even liked me when you two were together,” Rory tells Connor. “That’s what you said, right, Hartley?”

Rory’s a master at stirring shit up. I can see Connor’s sensitive male pride wounded in his clenched fist, his hard gaze.

I narrow my eyes at Rory, pretending to scold him. “That was our secret.”

“I’m going to get another drink.” Connor slides out of the booth without another word.

A sense of victory rises in me, and I feel like laughing.

“What did I tell you?” Rory murmurs, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise as his breath tickles my ear. “Trust me.”

Our attention is pulled back to the booth, where everyone’s in a heated discussion.

“No one wears underwear during yoga,” Hayden tells everyone.

Alexei stares at Hayden in horror. “What are you talking about?”

Pippa’s giggling so hard she can’t breathe. Jamie gives Hayden a baffled look, shaking his head.

Hayden looks around at everyone. “Right?”

Everyone’s laughing, shaking their heads at the big, blond defenseman.

“My friend in Pittsburg told me this. She’s a yoga teacher.” Hayden frowns, thinking. “Victoria.”

“Veronica,” Alexei corrects him, shaking his head. “You said her name was Veronica.”

My nose wrinkles. Hayden’s a lovable goofball with a heart of gold and probably my favorite player on the team, but he has a “friend” in every city. His type skews tall, dark haired, and curvy, and I’m pretty sure by “‘friend’” he means “‘fuck buddy’.”

Hockey players. Even the good ones know they have unlimited options.

Hayden looks to me with a beseeching expression. “Hazel. Come on. People don’t wear underwear in your classes, right?”

I burst out laughing. “I don’t go around checking.” Rory chuckles, shaking me, and I’m grinning ear to ear at Hayden. “You’re so weird.”

The conversation moves on, and I’m trying to listen, but Rory’s hand keeps moving on my thigh with firm strokes over my leggings. I’m overheating. My face is warm, and I take a long drink of my beer to cool myself down.

God, I love beer. I love the cold, crisp taste. I love the bubbles, and I even love how filling it is. When I set my drink down, Rory’s eyes linger on my mouth as I lick the foam off my lips.

“Yes?” I ask lightly.

“I’m just enjoying watching you enjoy that beer.”

Heat blooms between my legs, and I shift on his lap. His hands tighten on my waist like his reflex is to keep me from getting up.

“You don’t have to hold me down, you know. I’m not going to float away.”

His eyebrows lift, and his gaze pins me in a determined, interested way. “I don’t have to hold you down, but what if I want to?”

I huff, face heating at the images playing in my head. His hand on my wrist. His lips against my temple, but with his torso holding me down against the bed as he whispers all the dirty things he’s going to do to me.

Wow. Hot. That would be hot.

No. This is Rory. He’s a shameless flirt, just like Hayden. The word monogamy isn’t in his dictionary. I’m not having these thoughts about him.

“So what’s this I hear about you not wearing underwear in yoga?”

I hold back the laugh. “Wildly inappropriate, Miller.”

“Tell me.” His voice is a low murmur in my ear, and shivers run down the back of my neck. “Come on, Hartley. I’m dying to know.”

His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I scramble for a sharp barb to toss at him. “Fuck around and find out.”

He holds my eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up, and there’s a thrum between my legs that I decide has nothing to do with him.

“Maybe I will.”

My eyes drop to his mouth, curved slightly up on one side. He has more stubble than when I saw him the other day, and I’m thinking about what that would feel like against my skin, under my fingers. Between my legs.

I clear my throat and look away. “Good goal tonight.”

“Thanks.” His tone changes, and when I glance back at him, he’s giving me a watered-down version of his lazy smile. The amusement doesn’t reach his eyes like when he’s teasing me.

If the Rory Miller who calls me a fire-breather and teases me about wearing his jersey is him in full color, this version of him is black and white, flattened, two-dimensional. It’s the same emotionally exhausted expression I caught on him during the game.

I don’t like it.

I poke him with my elbow. “What’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“You won the game. The team is thrilled, but you don’t seem happy about it.”

He shrugs. “I’m happy.”

I’m not convinced, and I have a weird urge to pull him back to center. For once, I want the arrogant, teasing, smug version of Miller back.

“Hayden’s right,” I say without a second thought.

Rory offers me a questioning look, and I lean in, inches from his ear. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

“About wearing underwear under yoga clothes,” I whisper.

His eyes heat, and our gazes hold as his hand slides to my hip, stroking over me to feel for the evidence.

He won’t find it tonight. A voice in my head asks what the hell I’m doing, but we’re just playing. Nothing’s going to happen.

His eyes close. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”

Satisfaction courses through me and I smile to myself.

On the table, Rory’s phone lights up with a text, and his phone background snags my attention.

“Oh my god,” Pippa says, laughing and reaching for it, but I get to the phone first, staring in horror at the photo of Rory and me at sixteen and seventeen.

“No,” I tell Rory, shaking my head, glancing between him and the photo.

He grins. “Yes.”

I cringe. We’re in the library after school, books and papers spread out on the table. It’s a little grainy, and I’m wearing a small, guarded smile while he beams at me, his arm draped over the back of my chair.

“Where did you get this?”

“The yearbook.”

“I haven’t seen this picture in years.”

Rory transferred to our high school when he was starting grade eleven and sat behind me in Geography, putting tiny pieces of paper in my hair to get me to talk to him.

I had just started dating Connor when this photo was taken.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time and warn myself away from him, but then it would have been someone else who hurt me instead.

I set the phone down. “This isn’t going to be your background photo.”

“Sure it is. It’s cute.” He tilts the phone to see the picture, and a funny smile twists on his mouth.

“I’ll send you another one.”

“No.” His arms wrap around me again. “I’m keeping it. I like it.”