“Do it!” someone screams from behind me, and Pippa dissolves into laughter.
“Kiss him, kiss him,” the fans behind me start chanting, and my mouth falls open.
This is not happening.
“Hartley,” Rory calls with bright eyes, tapping his stick on the glass again. “Everyone’s waiting.”
He’s not dropping this. Behind him, Connor catches my eye, waiting with the other players with a disinterested expression like he doesn’t care, but I remember him going off about how much attention Rory got on the ice.
I think about the way he smirked when my hands were on his thigh, and rage bursts inside me, sharp and hot.
I’ll kill Rory later, but for now, I lean forward. He tilts his jaw so it’s pressed against his side of the glass. People start cheering and catcalling as I lean up on my tiptoes and press my lips to my side of the glass, praying it’s clean.
Cheers erupt as Rory clutches his heart. He shoots me a wink before skating away.
So, so arrogant.
The Vancouver team glances over at me with a mix of confused and entertained expressions. Hayden’s eyes pop out of his head. Connor skates past with a scowl.
That was mortifying, but it worked.
“Everyone knows now,” Pippa says, smiling.
The game resumes, but my mind flicks to later, when we’re going to meet everyone at the bar.
Rory’s a loose cannon. My stomach tumbles with nerves. He’s shameless and he’ll do anything to win.
The night’s just started, and I think I need that safe word after all.
CHAPTER 7
HAZEL
“I knew it,” Hayden calls as he bursts through the door of the bar.
Pippa and I are sitting in a booth at the Filthy Flamingo, waiting for Jamie and Rory. The small, outdated Gastown bar’s entrance is hidden in an alley, with a dirty sign above the door. From the outside, the place is unassuming, barely noticeable, but the inside is all warm wood paneling, twinkling string lights across the ceiling, loud classic rock music, and framed vintage band posters on the walls. Tacked behind the liquor bottles lining the back of the bar is a sea of Polaroid pictures of the regulars. At the back, there’s a small stage where Pippa plays for us sometimes.
Hayden’s right in front of me, gloating with a huge smile. “You and Miller? I knew it.”
“You didn’t know it.” I glance over at the guys who just walked in. Connor’s already at a table with a few of the players. “No one knew.”
No Rory yet. Maybe he’s still doing postgame press.
Hayden points at his chest, beaming. With his blond hair, bright blue eyes, and perpetual smile, Hayden Owens is a golden retriever in human form. “I knew it,” he tells Pippa across the booth from me. “They have that flirty banter thing going on.”
Pippa smiles at me, eyes full of amusement, but I scoff, sipping my drink. “Don’t be smug, Owens, or I’ll take it out on you in physio.”
He just laughs and heads over to the counter to order a drink.
Jamie slides into the booth beside Pippa and gives her a kiss.
“Hi,” she says, smiling against his mouth.
“Hi,” he murmurs before kissing her again.
I yank my eyes away. A knot forms behind my sternum as they whisper to each other, and I try to wash it away with a swallow of my drink.
They finally pull apart, and Jamie nods at me. “Hazel. Pippa tells me congratulations are in order.”
Amusement gleams in his typically serious expression, so I know she already told him everything.
I give him a sarcastic smile. “Don’t start.”
His gaze moves behind me and the amusement drops. “If he gives you problems,” he says in a low voice so just Pippa and I can hear, “let me know.”
“I can handle Miller.”
“Not Miller.” He frowns. “McKinnon. If he does anything, I want to know. I bet Miller does, too.”
I’m struck by Jamie’s protectiveness. He doesn’t even know the full extent of what Connor did—no one does, not even Pippa—but here he is, ready to stick up for me.
Before I can say anything, the door of the bar opens. At the sight of me in his jersey, Rory grins with arrogant male confidence. His gaze is locked on mine as he walks through the bar, the side of his bottom lip swollen and bruised from tonight’s hit. A prickle on my neck tells me Connor’s watching, along with everyone else. As Rory slides into the booth, into my space, still smiling down at me, I note that his hair is still damp from his shower. His scent surrounds me—clean and sharp.