The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(32)

Holy shit. Holyfuckingshit. Hartley’s kissing me and there’s not a soul around to see.

“Fucking hell, Hartley,” I rasp between kisses. “You kiss like a fucking champ.”

Her laugh is light and breathy against my skin, and I nip her bottom lip, watching the way her eyelashes flutter.

“So do you,” she gasps, and I take her mouth again.

While I’m tasting her over and over again like I won’t get another chance, my hand drifts over her, touching the sheer fabric, ghosting my fingers over her throat, her collarbone, the swells of her breasts.

Lower. Over those teasing arcs of fabric covering her cleavage. She shivers as I skim over the seam, pausing in the dip between her breasts. She arches toward me, and something pleased and smug twists deep inside me.

“Oh my god.”

Her words are a desperate whisper, and I like to think she’d whisper those words exactly that way in the seconds before I make her come. Making her react like this feels like victory. She pretends to hate me, but she’s pushing against me for more. It’s supposed to be fake, but she’s the one who kissed me.

God, she’s so sweet. So hot and slick and needy, and I’m fucking dying here, cock straining in my pants as I taste every inch of her mouth.

“It’s taking every ounce of my control not to bend you over and fuck you right now.” My voice is hoarse as I lean my forehead against hers, taking a deep breath.

She blinks up at me with a swollen mouth and a hot, glazed look to her eyes that makes me even harder, and I run my thumb over her bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter again, and I feel a sharp pulse of need.

“And if we don’t stop, I might just do that.”

She tenses before she backs up a step, pulling out of my touch. She blinks, clearing whatever lust I saw in her eyes. “This is fake. I don’t know why I did that.”

I sink, remembering what she said in the gym when we set the terms. Don’t catch feelings.

“Yeah.” I nod stupidly.

She looks away. “Sorry.”

“No. We were just, um.” I clear my throat. “Caught up in the moment. From winning.”

“Yeah.” She nods, playing with her stack of photos. “Exactly.”

I slip my hands in my pockets, searching for my usual swaggering cockiness. If I keep acting like an awkward teenager, she’ll know how much she rattles me.

And for the first time, the prospect of something real with Hartley fucking terrifies me. Watching her walk away would crush me.

“It’s okay, Hartley.” My mouth slides up into a sly grin, and I send her a wink. “I have that effect on women.”

She snorts, and my pulse settles.

“Come on,” she says, mouth tipping up in a cool smile. “The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner you can go home and jerk off to your own reflection.”

And like that, we’re back to normal, the teasing back-and-forth we’ve always had.





CHAPTER 20





HAZEL





After dinner, a small group of us heads to the Filthy Flamingo. I’m sitting in a booth between Rory and Hayden, across from Jamie, Pippa, and Alexei. Rory’s arm drapes over the back of the booth, over my shoulders, and I can feel the heat of him along my side.

I kissed him. I don’t even think Connor saw, but I didn’t care. I just really, really wanted to kiss Rory again.

The trophy sits on the table in the middle of our group. Every time Connor looked at it during dinner, his jaw ticked in irritation. As soon as dinner was done, he left, muttering about having an early training session tomorrow. I smile to myself.

“What’s so funny, Hartley?” Rory murmurs in my ear.

“Just thinking about how we kicked Connor’s ass.” The way Rory laughed as we ran up the stairs replays in my head. His smile stretched ear to ear, boyish delight radiating from him.

I liked it, and I’m itching to see it again.

I suck in a tight breath. It’s pretend. Guys like Rory and Connor, they can have whatever and whoever they want. I’m not going to get attached.

It feels different with Rory, though, and I can’t put my finger on how. Maybe it’s that I’ve got his full attention, whereas with Connor, I was always an afterthought. My thoughts flip to earlier in the closet with the stained-glass window, how I asked if we were friends.

Rory’s fingers find my hair, playing with it. Prickles skitter down my spine when he touches the top of my shoulder.

“Have you settled on a date yet?” Hayden asks Pippa and Jamie about their upcoming wedding.

Pippa smiles, fiddling with her engagement ring, and looks at Jamie. The corner of his mouth tips up as his arm slides from her shoulder down to her waist.

“Not yet,” she says, still smiling up at Jamie. “Sometime in the spring.”

That strange pang hits my chest, the one I feel sometimes when I watch them, and my mind returns to Rory sitting beside me. The gift he got me. How he kissed me when he saw me tonight. How he kissed me upstairs in the hallway so fervently, like I was so necessary to him.

My heart gives another pleasant twang, and I rub it away.

Pippa arches an eyebrow at Hayden. “Are you bringing a date?”

His grin widens. “Nope. I’m thinking about picking up one of your cute musician friends.”