The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(29)

I slide out an email confirmation. It’s for a weekend at a nearby vacation destination, Harrison Hot Springs—the luxury suite at a really nice hotel and two full days at the spa.

“It’s for you and Pippa,” he says quickly. “You can go whenever you want.” He gives me a tight, vulnerable smile that makes my heart ache. “You said spending time with Pippa made you feel worthy.”

In my head, the glowing sign that says Rory Miller is an evil, selfish hockey player flickers, losing power.

“You’re supposed to be an asshole.” I keep my tone light and humorous as I stare at the paper, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

That was the guy I signed up for when we agreed to this. Not this Rory. Not the sweet, earnest, honest guy who apologizes like he means it.

I’m starting to think I was wrong. Maybe I don’t know Rory Miller at all.

“I wasn’t pretending,” Rory says quietly, eyes on me.

About… the kiss? I search his deep blue gaze, blue like my dress, and there isn’t enough air in here.

“About the dress.” Rory’s mouth tips into an affectionate smile. “You look beautiful.”

Warm, liquid feelings gather inside me, swirling and looping.

“The dress cost more than what I make in a month,” I admit, laughing a little.

“How many times do I need to say it?” His voice is low and soft as he smiles down at me, gaze lingering on my hair, my dress, with his trademark cocky, knowing grin. “I’m going to spend money on you.”

Longing aches in my chest. It’s not the money; it’s the gesture. I’ve always been independent and stubborn. No one takes care of me.

I like it. Rory’s smiling down at me like I’m precious to him, and the way he kissed me, hungry and needy and desperate like he couldn’t wait a second longer?

I liked all of that, too.

Worry pulls tight in my chest. We’ve got until January first, and then this is all over, so I’m not going to get used to it.

“Besides,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets, “I’m not talking about the dress. I’m talking about you. You’re stunning.”

“Thank you.” My heart gives a heavy thud against the front wall of my ribcage. No one’s ever called me beautiful like that, so earnestly. “For everything. For the dress, for this.” I hold up the envelope. “I’m starting to think you’re secretly nice.”

He smiles at me, and yeah, I’m fucked, because there’s a weird, intense feeling around my heart that I’ve never felt before.

A glass-tinkling noise rings out and Ward waits as the conversation dies down.

“You have the luckiest sex doll in the world,” I whisper to Rory, smiling, and he shakes with laughter.





CHAPTER 18





RORY





“Thank you for coming tonight.” Ward’s eyes glint. “I thought we might start the evening with some healthy competition.”

Interest ripples through the party and the players straighten up, listening. Across the room, McKinnon glances at me.

I step closer to Hartley, sliding an arm around her waist.

Fuck. That kiss. It melted my brain, it was so good. I’ve never had a kiss like that in my life.

“The game is Assassin,” Ward continues. “You’ll receive a Polaroid of yourself. If another participant knocks you out of the game, you’re dead. Hand it over to them.”

The energy in the room crackles with excitement as people murmur to each other. Hockey players. We’re competitive as hell, even at a stupid game like this. Hazel’s eyes gleam with interest as we exchange a look.

“The game starts outside this room.” Ward picks up a plastic Nerf gun. With a crack, he shoots a foam pellet at Owens, and a few people chuckle. “These are hidden throughout the mansion. If you get hit, you’re dead.”

McKinnon shifts on his feet, crossing his arms, glancing at me again. I think about what he did to Hartley. All the things he said, even the ones she won’t admit to me.

“Hartley,” I whisper in her ear. “We need to win.”

Her eyes flash with determination. “So let’s win.”

Fuck, that’s hot. I grin down at her. I like that look in her eyes.

Ward runs through the rest of the rules, and the camera flashes go off as staff members take photos before handing the Polaroids out.

Pressure expands in my chest, and my muscles start twitching in that excited, anticipating way, like a face-off on the ice. It’s like watching the ref hold the puck, every muscle ready to burst into speed as we wait for him to drop it and start the game.

This is better, though, for some reason.

Once we all have our photos, we look to Ward.

“What, you need a whistle?” He shrugs, smiling. “Go.”

The room explodes into chaos, and I grab Hazel’s hand, pulling her to the hall.

“We have to find one of those Nerf guns,” she says as we hurry, putting space between us and the others.

There’s a sharp crack in a room behind us, followed by a delirious laugh.

“Let’s go to the second floor,” I suggest. “We can let them fight it out downstairs. Maybe there are more Nerf guns up there.”