The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(22)

“Miller,” she says. The others have left the virtual meeting room and we’re the only ones here. There’s something different in her voice as she studies me through the camera. “Are you okay?”

I force a wry smile. “You think I’m so out of shape that I couldn’t endure a little stretching, Hartley?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and panic spikes inside me that she’s not taking my bait.

“I don’t think that at all. I just think for someone from the world of macho jocks and push-ups, my class can be jarring.”

“Macho jocks and push-ups?” I repeat, starting to smile.

She grins. “I’m not wrong.”

“You’re not wrong.” Her smile makes the tight, ugly feeling in my throat dissipate. “Thanks for letting me join.”

She nods. “Good night.”

“Good night, Hartley.”

She ends the meeting, and I sit there, absentmindedly swiveling.

My dad’s approach to discomfort is practice. Practice until you can’t anymore. Tackle it head-on. Beat it out of yourself. Don’t run from it; conquer it. Crush it. Be the strongest and the fastest. Anything but the best is failure.

I pull up Hartley’s website and sign up for all ten classes in this session.





We’re walking through the terminal to board our flight home when something sparkly in a shop window catches my eye.

I lean down to study the tiny crystal dragon. It’s a pale blue, so cute and chubby like a cartoon, but with red eyes that glow under the lights.

A big smile spreads over my face.

“Miller,” Owens calls. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll be right there.” I turn back to the dragon and walk into the store.

It’s about time I buy Hartley a present.





CHAPTER 12





HAZEL





I’m in my office creating a recovery plan for a player when Rory plunks a tiny crystal dragon in front of me.

He smiles down at me, leaning on the doorframe, eyes warm and soft, and my stomach flutters. “Hartley,” he says by way of greeting.

Fuck, he looks good. Today was the toughest practice of the week, but Rory stands tall and his eyes are bright with energy.

I hate how athletic he is. I hate that he truly is one of the best athletes of his generation. I hate it, and yet I can’t help but marvel at him.

My eyes go to the sparkly little dragon on my desk. “What’s this?”

“You.”

My lips part in denial. “It is not.”

“Sure, it is. You’re my tiny fire-breathing dragon.” I glare at him and he nods, pointing at me. “Exactly like that. Red eyes and everything.”

A laugh bursts out of me and I pick the stupid thing up, studying it.

It’s cute.

“This is dumb,” I tell him as warmth spreads through my chest.

“Hey, Hazel?” Hayden appears in the doorway. “Can I grab one of those bands?”

“Right.” I rummage through my desk to find an extra band so he can do the physio exercises at home and toss one to him. “Need me to run through the exercises again?”

“Nope. I got them.” Hayden’s eyes land on the dragon and he grins. “Do you like it? Miller spent three grand on it.”

My jaw drops and I turn to Rory. “Three thousand dollars?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing.

“Miller, that’s way too much money.”

Hayden chuckles. “I told you, he likes you. Later, lovebirds.”

As he leaves, Rory gives me a strange look. “You know what I make, right?”

Only Rory would be so up-front about being the highest-paid player in the league.

I blink at the little dragon. “This cost more than my monthly rent. You can’t spend that much money on me.” I lower my voice. “Especially because…” I give him a you know gesture.

He arches an eyebrow, smiling. “Because what?”

“Because I’m not really your girlfriend.”

The photo of us from Pippa’s engagement party has been making the rounds online, only adding to our credibility because it was taken before we were public about our relationship. In the photo, Rory smiles down at me with a soft look, like he doesn’t want to let me go. He’s so gone for her, one of the comments said.

His gaze sharpens. “But if you were my girlfriend, it would be okay?”

What? His eyes are so deep blue, so spellbinding, and I don’t like how out of control and wobbly I feel. I’m at work. I should be in control. I should always be in control.

But he joined my yoga class, he told everyone he was my boyfriend, and he seemed to enjoy the class until I asked them to think about what makes them feel loved, and then he looked stricken and lost.

I’ve been thinking about that all week.

“Don’t spend that much money on me.”

He hums, narrowing his eyes at me. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s not.” I’m laughing again. “You’re unhinged, Miller.”

He leans in, bracing his hands on either arm of my chair and bringing his mouth to my ear in that way that makes my pulse jump.