Streicher snorts. “He was pissed the other night, seeing you and Hazel.”
I smile, remembering his expression at the game after I made Hartley give me a kiss through the glass. My grin drops at the image of her in the hallway. Her shoulders were up to her ears while he loomed over her.
That fucking prick. My mind flicks to what I packed in my bag after I found out McKinnon and I are rooming together, and excitement weaves through me.
I can’t wait to fuck with him.
“So, this thing with Hazel,” Jamie says.
Anxiety clenches behind my sternum. We’re on better terms these days, but I still ditched the guy the second we got drafted. I was still a fucking asshole for all the years between then and now. Images of our fight last year on the ice replay in my head—the wet thud of his fist hitting my cheekbone, the blood dripping from his split lip.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to give me the old hurt her and die thing, Streicher.”
The last players file onto the plane, taking their seats. “I know you won’t.”
An image flits into my head of the four of us—Jamie, Pippa, Hazel, and me. We’re at a barbecue, hanging out. Pippa’s curled up against Jamie, and Hazel’s tucked into my side. I loop my arm around her shoulder, and she smiles up at me.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“About faking it?” I ask, keeping my voice low, and he nods.
I frown, glancing out the window as an ugly feeling surges in my gut. She thinks it’s fake. What if January comes and she still doesn’t want anything real? I’m Rick Miller’s son, after all. His carbon copy. Women get to know my dad, and soon enough, they’re packing their bags.
“Of course,” I answer, clearing my throat and shifting in my seat.
That old competitive focus that’s been driving me my entire life flows through me. I wasn’t lying when I told Hartley that I always bet on myself.
“What happened with them?” I ask him. “Why’d they break up?”
“Pippa says he cheated on her, but she doesn’t know details.”
I look out the window again, thinking about her, before I unlock my phone and pull up our chat.
I’m serious about teaching you to skate, I text her.
Her response pops up a moment later. Fuck no. I only said yes because Connor tried and I didn’t want to.
That was the wrong thing to say, because now I want to be the one to teach her even more. My phone buzzes with a text from Streicher. I send him a curious glance but open the link he sent.
Ember Yoga. Spark your love of movement.
“Hartley’s online yoga classes?”
He cuts me a sidelong look. “Don’t tell her I sent you that.”
Yoga in an inclusive, encouraging environment. All body types, ages, ethnicities, nationalities, religions, genders, and sexual orientations warmly welcomed.
I know exactly what I’m doing tonight.
CHAPTER 11
RORY
After dinner, I’m unpacking in the hotel room when McKinnon enters. I pull the framed photo of Hartley out of my bag and set it on the nightstand. It’s a zoomed in version of the photo from the engagement party, with me cropped out.
“You don’t mind, right?” I ask McKinnon.
His lip curls at the picture, and I fucking know he’s thinking about the other night at the bar, when I told everyone Hartley liked me while they were together.
“I don’t give a shit.” He turns away from me, pulling protein powder out of his bag and scooping it into his mixer cup.
“Good.” I take a seat at the desk, swiveling back and forth as he mixes his drink.
“Especially,” he adds, “because when you fuck up, I’ll be here.” He glances over his shoulder, wearing his own smug smirk, and mine drops a fraction.
A possessive feeling ricochets through me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He leans against the counter as he takes a drink. “You think I don’t know you’ve always had a thing for Hartley? She might be having fun with you now,” he lets the last word linger, “but I had her first.” His smile turns cruel and cold, and rage bleeds through me as he shrugs. “Hazel and I aren’t done yet.”
“McKinnon, this is just sad.” My tone is condescending, but my heart pounds with protective anger.
“We’ll see.”
We stare each other down, but my phone alarm goes off, interrupting. I hit the button to silence it and send him an apologetic look that’s clearly fake.
“Now that I know you’re pining after my girlfriend, this is going to be awkward.” I wake my laptop up, pop my earbuds in, and join the Zoom call.