The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)

I WAKE up on Christmas Eve morning to Rory gently moving a pillow under my ankle, elevating it while I sleep. I open one eye, squinting in the bright morning light as he walks to my kitchen, studying his muscular back and broad shoulders while he rummages through the cupboards, pulling out the coffee. His ass looks so good in those tight black boxers.

It’s nice watching him move around my kitchen like he’s at home here. In the middle of the night, I woke up and reached for him and he was right there, curled around me, warm and solid and steady.

He glances over and does a double take.

“Hey, Hartley.” He walks over, and I let my gaze wander down his body, counting every well-earned ridge and groove.

There’s a twinge between my legs when I think about what we did the other night and how hard he made me come. My gaze flicks up to his but he’s frowning, concern furrowed in his brow as he looks me over.

The bed dips as he sits beside me, picking up my wrist to check the swelling. “How’s it feeling today?”

“Better.” I test my ankle out, flexing and pointing as much as I can. There’s a sharp streak of pain as I hit the limit of motion, and Rory’s eyes widen when I suck a breath in. “It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I’ll stay off it today. You can wait on me hand and foot if you like.”

He makes a noise like a growl, and I shake with laughter.

“Not funny, Hartley.” His throat works and he studies me warily. “You think you’ll ever want to go skating again?”

I blanche. “Of course. After all the time you put into teaching me?” I slip my hand into his. “Besides, it’s our thing.”

He raises an eyebrow, starting to smile. “Our thing?”

My heart does a little jump, and I nod, smiling back at him. “And seeing you go psycho over me is kind of adorable. You told like, six kids to fuck off.”

He laughs, cringing. “I really did that, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” God, he’s so pretty like this, shirtless and hair all rumpled. “Careful, Miller. People might think you really like me.”

His gaze swings to mine and his mouth tips up like he has a secret. “I do like you.”

There’s an urgent, insistent hum in my chest, but I just hold his gaze.

“And I think you like me, too,” he says, smiling more, eyes on me like nothing else exists.

I like it when he looks at me like that.

“Hmm.” I smile at him. “Maybe I do.”

He nods, still smiling, before something cold cuts through his gaze and he frowns. “About McKinnon.”

“Ugh.” The noise of disgust slips out as I make a face.

Rory drags a deep breath in and I catch a glimpse of that furious, protective version of him from yesterday. His hand squeezes my thigh, warm and steadying.

“You okay?” he asks in a low voice, watching me.

I have a feeling that if I said no, he’d do whatever it took to make it better. Seeing him lose his mind yesterday was just—

I don’t know what it was. I shouldn’t like it so much, but I do. I love seeing Rory Miller lose his fucking mind over me.

“I’m fine. Connor doesn’t matter. He’s gross and I’m glad you told him to find a new physio.” The breath whooshes out of me. “And for the millionth time, I wonder what the fuck I ever saw in him.”

Rory’s jaw ticks, and it’s laughable how much better a boyfriend he is, even when we’re faking. Even when we’ve moved into something that doesn’t feel like faking.

“But I’m fine. Truly.”

“Good.” He leans forward, careful not to put his weight on my ankle or wrist, and gives me a quick kiss.

When he sits up again, he frowns.

“Why’s it so cold in here?” he demands, stalking over to the thermostat. “I keep turning it up but it’s freezing.” He moves to the radiator, hovering his hand over the elements before giving me an outraged look. “The heat isn’t working.”

I gesture at the front hall closet. “There’s a space heater in there.”

His outraged look intensifies. “Hazel.”

“What?”

He stands, putting his hands on his trim hips, and my gaze lingers on those V muscles pointing into his waistband. Heat builds between my legs and I squeeze my thighs together.

Being around Rory is making me hornier by the second. It’s the way he smells, the way his morning voice sounds, the way he kept a protective arm around me all night.

Even his messed-up bedhead is fucking hot.

“Wow.” He folds his roped arms across his chest, amused. “Really?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re ogling me.”

I bite back a laugh as electricity thrills through me. “You don’t look like you mind.”

“Of course I don’t.” He gives me that lazy, flirty smile that makes my pulse stutter before his grin drops. “Okay, but it’s really cold in here.” He glances through the window up at the sky. “It’s supposed to go below freezing today.”

I point at the closet again but he cuts me off.

“We are not using a space heater.” His expression says he means business, and I bite back another smile.

“I like it when you’re bossy.”

At my bedside table, he picks up my phone and hands it to me. “Call your landlord.”

“He’s in Greece for the month.”

“So call whoever does these things when he’s away.”

My smile pulls into a reluctant wince, and Rory knows immediately that there is no guy who does the maintenance when the landlord is away.

“Hazel.”

“This is why my place is so cheap.”

His head falls back and he groans loudly, like I’m the most frustrating person alive.

I just smile at him. “Your eyes are so pretty in the morning light.”

He gives me a side-long look, sighing, but he’s starting to smile. “Don’t distract me.”

“Is it working?” He rolls his eyes, and I think I like this flipped dynamic between us. “That means yes.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing around my place. “Where’s your overnight bag?”

“Why?”

He finds it in the closet, pulling it out and setting it on the bed. “We’re going to my place.”