Page 6 of The Fake Out
He gives me a scolding, teasing expression. “Now, Hartley, play along and tell me I look good, too.”
My eyes flick over him in his suit. Tailored perfectly to his tall, broad frame, it screamscustom-madeandexpensive, but it’s the rich navy fabric I struggle to look away from. It’s the exact shade of his eyes.
“You don’t need the ego boost.” I should walk away, but instead, I smack my head in mock-disappointment. “Oh my god. I forgot to reserve a seat for your sex doll.”
His grin broadens, and sparks dance in my stomach. He doesn’t actually have a sex doll—I don’t think—but this is one of my favorite bits.
“I gave her the night off,” he says in a low voice, leaning in with a rakish grin and glittering eyes. “She’s earned it.”
A revolted laugh threatens to slip out, but I hold it down. I will not laugh at Rory Miller’s jokes. He’s basically a child, and it’ll just encourage him.
“Rory.” Donna, Jamie’s mom, appears with the photographer I hired. “You’re here.” She gestures at the two of us. “Let’s get a photo.”
Before I can protest that we’re not together, he slips his hand around my waist, pulling me against him. His scent surrounds me—warm, spicy, and woodsy, like sandalwood and cloves. From either the intensely masculine way he smells or the way his body heat warms me, my stomach dips.
“Relax,” he murmurs into my ear, giving my waist a squeeze. “You’re so tense.”
The photographer lines up the focus and I count the seconds until dinner, where I’ve placed Rory on the opposite end of the table from me.
“Let’s go out,” he says quietly as the camera clicks.
I snort, even as delight shoots through me. “You’re joking. Your sex doll will be so jealous.”
His quiet laugh tickles my cheek. “Nah, I’ll bring her.”
I really do laugh this time, and the flash goes off. Stars burst in my vision.
“Lovely,” the photographer says, snapping away. “What a beautiful couple.”
I open and close my mouth like a fish. The camera clicks again and I step away from him, putting distance between us.
His hands slip into his pockets as he regards me, gaze dipping down to my neckline, so fast I barely catch it. “Come on, Hartley.”
“I don’t date hockey players, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even know my first name.”
His gaze sharpens, his smile turning flirty. “You want me to say your name more,Hazel?”
A shiver of something weird rolls down my back. The last thing I need is him pulling outthatlow, seductive voice again. “No.”
“Then let’s be friends.”
The tilt of his mouth and the way his eyes drag over me make me shake my head. He doesn’t want to be friends. He loves the chase. A person doesn’t get to where he is in his hockey career without being insanely competitive, and me turning him down is like catnip.
With guys like Rory and Connor, it’s only a matter of time before they get bored and move on to the next thrill.
“In high school, Miller, you blackmailed me into tutoring you. You used your hot, talented hockey player status to get what you wanted.” He spoke to the hockey coach, who spoke to the principal, who spoke to the teachers. “For all of grades eleven and twelve, you used up two of my afternoons per week.” I stare him down, ignoring the lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “Friends don’t do that.”
It isn’t the whole truth about why I want nothing to do with him, but it’s as much as I’ll ever admit out loud, especially to him.
There’s a pause before his eyebrow arches. “You think I’m hot?”
My face burns. “That’s what you got from that?”
He shrugs, baffled. “I made sure you got extra credit out of the tutoring thing.”
I scramble for something to say, momentarily tripped up, because I didn’t actually know that was his doing. I just thought they were trying to sweeten the deal for me.
I glance around, searching for Pippa, Jamie, Hayden, Alexei, anyone. People are taking their seats for dinner. “I’m going to sit down now.”