The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(52)

Nausea rolls through me, working its way up my throat. I was so hurt that she didn’t want me and my dad that I made things so much worse.

“Things are kind of different between us now.”

That’s my fault, and I hate myself for it.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

She’s quiet for a second. “You were just a kid.”

The gentle emotion in her voice pierces a hole in my heart, so I force a laugh and give her a wry, self-deprecating smile so everything doesn’t come spilling out. “Hartley, I’m okay.”

Am I okay? Sometimes it feels like everything’s falling apart.

“I’m one of the best athletes in the world,” I continue. “I’m rich as fuck, and I’m very, very good-looking.” I wink down at her, but she doesn’t smile.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like if you’d gone with her?”

“I try not to.”

She frowns.

“I don’t want to have regrets.” So I try not to think about that moment when maybe I should have gone with her.

She doesn’t say anything, just sips her coffee as I walk her back to her place.

“Why’d you do this?” I ask as we turn onto her street. “Take me on a run.”

“Because we’re friends now.” Her eyes meet mine, so bright and blue in the daylight, and she hesitates like she’s choosing her words with care. “And because you’re good and kind,” she says, looking up at me with the most open and sincere expression I’ve ever seen on her pretty face.

This is who Hazel really is, under all the sharp barbs. I bet she doesn’t let anyone except Pippa see this part of her. It’s too valuable and precious for someone like me to have.

“And you deserve good things in your life, Rory.”





CHAPTER 35





HAZEL





A few days later, I walk into the gym as Rory’s doing bench presses while a trainer spots him. His eyes meet mine from the bench.

“One thousand and one,” he manages as I walk past, pushing the bar up. “One thousand and two.”

I burst out laughing. He sets the bar on the rack, swings up to sitting, and gives me a broad grin.

God, I’m in so much trouble. When I’m not thinking about him on his knees, licking me, I’m thinking about running with him through Stanley Park. Or about him talking about his mom with that look on his face that breaks my fucking heart, like he misses her. Like he’s lost without her. My heart aches.

Or about the way his features hardened when his dad called.

Protective anger slices through me. I’d love to meet his dad and rip him to shreds. So what if he’s a Canadian hockey legend? I have a feeling he’s the voice in Rory’s head when Rory says things like food is fuel, beer is inflammatory, and I’m only worth what my body can do for me.

Rory deserves so much better than Rick Miller.

“Can we take five?” Rory asks the trainer, who nods.

He walks over to where I’m preparing for my session with Connor and sits on the wooden box I just set down. My stomach flips upside down with excited anticipation. Ever since we messed around, I’ve been waiting for him to bring it up.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks. “Let’s go for dinner.”

I used to find his arrogance annoying. So why do I now find it hot? And why am I wearing more of the lingerie he sent? “I have plans.”

He glances at Connor, who just walked into the gym for our session, and stands, stepping into my space. “Give me a kiss,” he says to me.

I feel us being watched, which was the point of the whole thing, but my stomach does another barrel roll at the idea of touching him.

When his fingers trace my jaw, I’m done for. I bend toward him like a vine reaching for the sun.

He kisses me with gentle care, soft and sweet, pulling me against his chest. His scent is in my nose, all around me, surrounding me, and every muscle eases as I lean into him. He’s too fucking tall and my neck is almost at a ninety-degree angle, but I don’t care.

He smiles against my lips, presses one more kiss to my mouth, and looks down at me with affection like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Let me take you for dinner,” he says again, and I picture all the things we could do after dinner. Things like the other night, with his head between my legs. Maybe he’d let me touch him, and I’d get to hear what Rory Miller actually sounds like when he comes.

Maybe we’d skip dinner altogether.

No, I scold myself. It was just the one time, regardless of how much I’ve been thinking about it.

“I can’t.” I blink, clearing my head, refocusing my thoughts. My skin prickles, and I know Connor’s watching and waiting for our session to start. “Really, I can’t tonight. My parents are in town.”

He looks at me, waiting.

“What?”

“Invite me.”

“Rory. It’s just my parents.” And Pippa, Jamie, and Jamie’s mom, Donna.

“I know. I’ve met them.”

Right. New Year’s last year, when he and a bunch of other players crashed on my parents’ living room floor.