The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(15)

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?”