The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 26

A PACKAGE IS PROPPED against my front door when I get home from skating with Rory.

I step inside, drop my bag, and kick off my shoes, then I cut the box open. Another box sits within the shipping box—pale pink with a white bow around it. I frown. My birthday isn’t for months, and Pippa usually warns me if she’s sending something to me.

The ribbon is soft under my fingers, and when I slide the lid off the box and move the thick tissue paper aside, my jaw drops.

Three bras and three pairs of lace panties are neatly folded inside the box. The sets—in cream, sky blue, and a pale, delicate lavender—are beautiful, high-quality and constructed with care. Sheer fabric lines the bra cups, and the straps are satin, soft, and so smooth.

My heart lurches with excitement. I never, ever buy myself the nice stuff out of guilt, but these pieces are so pretty and feminine that I’m desperate to wear them.

I frown. Who sent me lingerie? In the box, a card sits tucked to the side.

I gasp. Love, Rory, the card says.

Without a thought, I’m already phoning him.

“Miss me already? Fine,” he sighs, pretending to sound put out. “I’ll come over.”

“Rory. What the hell? You sent me lingerie?”

Did he think about me wearing it when he bought it? My face flushes.

“I bought it in the hotel room in front of McKinnon. Pissed him right off, Hartley.”

The bras are nearly transparent; my nipples would be visible. Heat thrums between my legs. I can totally picture the way Rory’s eyes would darken and how his lips would part, seeing me in this.

God, that would be so fun. To get him all worked up like that. I’d tease him until he begs.

What? What am I talking about?

I clear the thoughts from my head. “Okay, that’s actually genius. But you didn’t have to actually buy it.”

I brush my fingertips over the fabric. This would feel like a dream to wear, I’m sure.

“Hartley, how many times do we need to go over this? I like buying stuff for you.”

My eyes go to the crystal dragon on my dresser, twinkling in the dim lamp lighting. “I’m not wearing it.”

That would be weird if I wore it. Even if he never found out, it would be weird.

“What’s the matter, you don’t like it?”

“It’s not that—” I break off. “Whether I like it or not isn’t the point.”

“So you do like it.” I can hear his grin, and another wave of heat pulses through me. “Should I start sending it to your office instead?”

Against my will, a laugh bursts out of me. “No.”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles. “I’ll just keep sending it to your apartment, then.”

“There’s going to be more?”

“Oh yeah.” He whistles. “Lots.”

My lips move, but no sound comes out, because I don’t even know what to say.

“I feel like you’re going to try to argue, so I’m going to say good night now, Hartley. Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Try not to think about me when you’re trying it on.”

He hangs up, and another laugh of disbelief scrapes out of me as I stare at my phone, and then at the soft, lacy contents of the box.

I’m not wearing the lingerie he sent, no matter how much I want to.