The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(87)
“Try them on.” He settles back against the couch, finally looking at ease in his own home. “Let’s make sure they fit.”
I huff a quiet laugh as I slip the earrings out of the box and put them on. When I turn back to Rory, his eyes warm with affection.
“Gorgeous,” he says in a low voice.
“Pippa has ones like these, I think.” My heart warms at the idea of having earrings that match hers.
“Same stone, different design,” Rory says. “Same jeweler.”
He got the jeweler recommendation from Jamie. He put effort and planning into this.
My stomach flutters and I bite back a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He leans forward to pick a green envelope off the coffee table before handing it to me.
My eyes narrow as I rip it open. “Another weekend away with Pippa?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows, and he smiles to himself. I pull the paper out and read his scratchy, masculine writing.
It’s for five coaching sessions with the woman who started the body-positive dance studio in New York, the one who inspired my dreams.
My gaze whips to his. Months ago, when he was first teaching me to skate, I mentioned her once. I didn’t even say her name.
Just when I think I’ve seen all there is to see with Rory, he pulls something else out of his back pocket.
“I didn’t know she did coaching,” I breathe, rereading his card.
“She doesn’t.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But it wasn’t that hard to convince her, once I explained what you want to do and she looked at your website.”
“She looked at my website?” I chew my lip, heart beating wildly.
He nods, mouth tipping up into a cautious smile. “Did I go too far?”
My emotions pitch and swoop inside me. Even if I’m uncertain about my abilities, Rory believes in me and my dreams. No one’s ever done this kind of thing for me.
“No,” I whisper, running my finger along the edge of the card. “You didn’t go too far.”
Rory sits back, watching me, looking so handsome in the morning light, and I want to say a million things.
“Come here,” he says, and I carefully climb over so I’m straddling his lap. He’s warm under me, and I let my hands skim up his chest, up his neck, until my fingers sink into his messy hair.
“Thank you,” I whisper before I press a light kiss to his mouth. “I love it.”
He hums against my lips, a low, satisfied noise that rumbles through his chest, and I fall deeper into whatever this is with Rory Miller.
CHAPTER 63
RORY
“I should have known you’d drive something like this,” Hazel says that afternoon as I pull out of the parking garage.
I toss a grin over at her, turning on her seat warmer. “Fast, powerful, and incredibly good-looking?”
“Showy and expensive.” She snorts. “And only you would drive a car like this in the snow.”
“Hey, I have snow tires.” I change gears in the sports car, winking at her with a lazy grin as the engine purrs louder, and she rolls her eyes, hiding a smile. “Can you drive stick?”
“Nope. My dad wanted to teach us but Pippa and I both refused.”
The streets are quiet as we drive. “Do you want me to teach you?”
“Rory.” Her eyes flick over to me. “I’m not driving this car.”
“Why not?”
She balks, probably about to protest that it’s too expensive or something.
“You might need a car for something.”
It’s fucking cute how she does that rapid-blinking thing when she’s flustered. Like this morning when she saw the box and thought it was an engagement ring. It almost makes me want to buy one to see what she’d say.
Who am I kidding? That’s not the reason I want to buy one.
“I’ll rent a car if I need one,” she insists.
“Okay.” I sigh like she’s worn me down. “I’ll get another car.” I pull onto the bridge to North Vancouver, and my gut tightens with nerves. “What kind of car do you want?’
She shakes with laughter. “You’re relentless.”
My thoughts wander to my mom, and another round of nerves pitch through me. My fingers drum on the steering wheel in anticipation. Do her friends even know about me? Does she have a partner? Does she still go hiking in the trails? It’s like she’s a stranger. But the way she looked at me yesterday, it felt like— My exhale is heavy. It felt like she didn’t want it to be that way.
She left, though, so now I don’t fucking know what to think. I don’t know what I’m doing, going to visit her today.
Hazel’s hand lands on my thigh. She can see right through me, and she knows I’m nervous about today.
I wonder what else Hartley knows. I wonder if she realizes I’m in love with her.
“I’m glad you’re coming with me today,” I admit, glancing between her and the road.
Without Hazel, I’d make some excuse and then lift weights until I was too tired to think. With Hazel, though, I haven’t felt the urgent, clawing feeling that I’m not doing enough for hockey. If I asked her about it, she’d say I can take three days off without ruining my career, and I’d agree.