The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 53

THAT EVENING, Rory carries me through the door of the Filthy Flamingo, and everyone cheers.

“You made it.” Pippa grins between us and Streicher raises an eyebrow as Rory gently sets me on the chair beside my sister. Kit, Darcy, Hayden, and Alexei all call out their hellos, crammed into the booth.

It’s the last time everyone will see each other before the holiday break, and most of the players and their partners are here, talking and laughing, crowding the bar. Jordan’s strung Christmas lights up on a small tree in the back corner, and cheap, sparkly, old-school tinsel drapes over the frames and photos.

“We’re only staying for an hour,” Rory mutters before crouching down to inspect my wrapped ankle. “And then I’m taking her home to rest.”

I watch him check the tensor bandage. He did this when Georgia, the doctor, saw me, too, and demanded she get a second opinion to make sure it wasn’t a high sprain. For the past two hours, Rory’s worn a worried frown, and while it’s adorable as hell, my heart hurts because I know he thinks it’s his fault.

My hand lands on his shoulder and I give him a squeeze. “Why don’t you come sit up here with me?”

He glances up at me with hesitation, and I suppress a smile because for a moment, it actually looks like Rory would prefer to sit on the floor beside my ankle, guarding it, but he stands, and after he retrieves a bag of ice from Jordan and places it over my propped-up ankle, he finally takes the seat beside me.

My stomach dips as he loops an arm around my waist, tugging me close.

“Why are you acting like this?” I ask softly, gaze lingering on the lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes.

They pitch with worry. “I said I wouldn’t let you fall.”

Oh, god. My heart. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. It was just an accident.”

“I hate seeing you hurt.” His throat works and he frowns at my wrist, bandaged up. It aches, but it’s barely noticeable compared to what his pained expression does to me.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I wiggle my fingers to show him. “Did you have fun today?”

“Besides when you took a decade off my life?”

I laugh, and he finally cracks a teasing smile. My stomach flutters at the sight of it.

“Yes, I did.” He winks, mouth still curved up with reluctance. “Thank you for coming.”

I give him a warm look. Behind Jamie and Pippa, I spot Connor at another table, sitting with a few players, but the girl he was with today, Sam, is nowhere in sight. Our gazes meet and his eyes are red and unfocused as he downs the rest of his beer.

Something recoils inside me. He’s drunk. Some people are cute and sweet and silly when they’re drunk, but not Connor. From what I remember, he gets childish and pushy.

I shove the thoughts of him away. He doesn’t matter.

“Seeing you with the kids was so cute,” I tell Rory, refocusing on him. “You’re so good with them.”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “If I wasn’t a hockey player,” he says, shrugging with a smile I might call shy, “I think I’d be a gym teacher. It’s fun, teaching kids how to skate and playing around with them.” His eyes slide to me, teasing, but there’s something vulnerable and honest behind his gaze. “Would you still like me if I were a gym teacher?”

My heart twists in half.

“Of course.” I give him a cool smile. “You’d look so good in the shorts.”

“I do have great legs, don’t I?”

We grin at each other, and his eyes are bright under the Christmas lights in the bar. Finally, he’s starting to relax and seem like himself again.

“I would, though,” I add quietly. “Like you if you were a gym teacher, that is.”

His expression softens as he searches my eyes.

“You’re a catch. And you’d be a catch even if you didn’t play hockey.”

Rory Miller is so much more than a hockey player, but I don’t know how to say that without spilling everything to him.

He takes a deep breath like he wants to say something, but instead, his throat works and he just smiles. I don’t know how to categorize this one; it’s sweet, affectionate, and wistful. He’s gorgeous when he shows me this smile.

Rory brings his mouth to my ear before he gives me the lightest nip on my earlobe, and my breath catches. “Love it when you pump up my ego like this, Hartley.”

My stomach flutters. “Like you need it.”

He presses a kiss to my temple, warming me with another quiet laugh. “From you? I need it.” His voice goes low and liquid, and there’s another flutter low in my belly.

“Maybe later tonight, you can show me what else you’re good at, besides hockey.”

His eyes flare with heat but he shakes his head. “That’s not happening tonight.”

I balk. “Why not?”

“You need to rest.”

I hold his gaze, challenge rising in my eyes as my mouth slides into a knowing smile. “We’ll see.” I bring my lips to his ear, lowering my voice. “There are a couple pieces you sent that you still haven’t seen.”

His eyes dip to my mouth, darkening, but he pulls his gaze away, taking a deep breath like he’s trying to block out the dirty thoughts of what we did last night.

“Hartley,” he groans. “Please don’t make me hard in public.”

I just chuckle, turning back to the conversation at our table.

“We fly out tomorrow night,” Pippa says to Hayden, gesturing at Jamie, Rory, and me. “Although,” her eyes linger on me as she chews her bottom lip, “I don’t think you should go anymore.”

“What?” My jaw drops in outrage. “I’m not missing Christmas.”

“Pippa’s right,” Rory says in a firm, no-nonsense tone, that heartbreaking worry back in his gaze. “They’ll have snow in Silver Falls and I don’t want you to slip on your crutches.”

Disappointment flows through me in waves. I’ve never missed Christmas with my family, and all those images I daydreamed about that included Rory? Gone.

His fingers tense on my waist. “I’ll stay at your place and take care of you.”

My heart lifts, not knowing what to say as I look up into his pretty blue eyes.

“Don’t be stubborn, Hartley,” he adds, watching me like he hopes I’ll say yes.

“Okay.” I nod, blowing out a nervous breath. He’s going to be staying with me. Not just crashing in my bed. This is getting more real by the day. “I’d like that.”

He smiles again, softer this time, and gives me a gentle kiss. “Good,” he whispers against my mouth. “I’m going to make you rest, Hartley, even if I have to tie you to the bed.”

My eyebrows wiggle and I grin against his mouth, and from his huff of laughter, he likes that idea just as much as I do.

After convincing Rory I don’t need him to carry me to and from the ladies’ room, I make my way back through the crowded bar to our table.

I bump into someone, and a wave of hot beer breath hits me in the face.

“Hey.”

I recoil at Connor’s bleary gaze. He sways on his feet, wearing an unfocused frown.

“Hi.” My tone, expression, and body language say go away.

“Did you get the thing I sent? You never thanked me.”

A gross feeling skitters over my skin. “Don’t send stuff like that to me.”

At the table, Rory watches, tense and on high alert.

“That’s not okay,” I add. “Even if I wasn’t dating Rory, that wouldn’t be okay. We work together.” I give him a duh look. “Being professional, remember?”

I start to crutch past him, but he sighs and puts a hand on the bar counter beside me, blocking my path to the table.

“I saw the way you were looking at me today,” he slurs.

Nausea and discomfort roll through me. His hot, wet beer breath slithers over my skin again, and I look to Rory, who stands. Connor takes an unsteady step, smirking down at me, and I step back with my crutches but hit the counter. There’s a chair behind me, and I’m blocked in.

Alarm races through me and my lungs tighten. Rory makes his way over, trying to get around people, but the bar is crowded and loud.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were jealous.” Connor goes on like he didn’t hear me, still giving me that weird smirk. “It’s okay. That’s the little game we’re playing here.” He hiccups.

“I wasn’t jealous.” My voice comes out sharp. I’m gripping the crutches harder than I need to, nails digging into the foam. “I don’t care if you have a girlfriend.” I gesture with my crutch for him to get out of the way. “Move.”

He steps closer and I shrink back, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m backed against the counter. My pulse skyrockets, pounding in my ears. I search for Rory but Connor’s in my way, moving in front of me, mouth on mine—

A horrified, revolted sound falls out of me and I flinch back, every cell in my body recoiling. Commotion explodes in the bar—noise and movement and energy. On instinct, I lift a crutch and swing it at his ankle. It connects with the bone and I feel the impact up the length of the crutch.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I bite out just as Rory hauls Connor off me with a murderous expression.

“Motherfuck.” Connor hisses in pain as Jamie and Hayden pull him back. “She hit me.”

“Get him the fuck away from her,” Rory thunders, searching my eyes with a frantic look. His chest is rising and falling fast and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Are you okay, baby?” His hands come to my jaw, tilting it up as I nod.

“He kissed me,” I say, almost to myself, and I can feel my lip curling with disgust as I replay the gross beer smell, the feel of his lips mashing against mine. I swallow, pulse still racing. Behind Rory, Connor tries to shove Hayden off, but Hayden holds tight. For once, Hayden isn’t smiling. He wears the same furious, stony expression as Jamie.

“I know.” Rory’s voice is sharp like a knife but his gaze stays locked on mine. “I’ll fucking kill him.”