“CONGRATULATIONS,” I say into Pippa’s hair as we hug at her engagement party the next evening. “I love you and I’m so happy for you two, but if he breaks your heart, I’ll photoshop pictures of him in diapers with a dominatrix and release them on the internet.”
We pull back and she grins. The intimate restaurant I booked for the event is filled with our family, Vancouver Storm players and their partners, and a few friends from the tour Pippa opened for this summer as a singer- songwriter while she promoted her new album.
“I’m just kidding,” I tell her, tugging on a lock of her long, wavy, honey-blond hair.
She laughs. “I know.”
Under the soft, dim lighting in the restaurant, she’s glowing. Maybe that’s what happens to people when they fall head over heels like my sister did. Jamie needed an assistant when he moved to Vancouver; little did he know it would be his high school crush who he’d end up engaged to.
Behind her, Jamie looks on with a small smile, leaning down to give me a big hug.
“I’m not kidding,” I whisper, and he snorts.
“Thanks for organizing this.” His eyes go to Pippa, who’s deep in conversation with our parents and Jamie’s mom. “It means a lot to us.”
Emotion rises up my throat. “You’re welcome. I really am thrilled for you two.” I give him a tentative smile. “I know she’s everything to you and you’ll take care of her, and I’m happy you’re going to be my brother-in- law.”
He arches an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing spark in his eyes. “Even if I’m a hockey player?”
I huff a laugh. At the beginning of their relationship, I made my thoughts on hockey players—that they’re treated like gods and feel entitled to whatever and whoever they want—very clear to Pippa. “You’re the exception. I wouldn’t let just anyone marry my little sister.”
That warm, liquid emotion moves up my throat again, stinging my eyes as he gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“Let’s get some photos before dinner,” my mom says, gesturing at Pippa and Jamie.
“One second.” Pippa grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. “I need Hazel to help me with the… something.”
“What something?” I ask as she hauls me through the restaurant. “I’ll take care of it so you can have fun—”
In the quiet foyer area at the front of the restaurant, away from the guests in the main dining area, she whirls on me. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Uh.” I scramble for an excuse for not answering her three texts about the team’s new trade.
“Connor is on the team now, Hazel.”
For the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours, my stomach drops through the floor. “I know.”
It’s all I’ve fucking thought about. My lying, cheating, manipulative, narcissistic ex is now on the hockey team I work for, and I’m assigned to be his physiotherapist.
All night, I tossed and turned.
“What are we doing about it?” she asks.
I can’t quit, because working for the team is an incredible experience, and I actually love my job. The senior physios are knowledgeable and kind, and it’s surprisingly rewarding, working with the players. While I’m saving to open my own inclusive fitness studio one day, working for the Storm is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d be stupid to walk away.
“Nothing,” I tell her, putting on a neutral smile like I don’t care. “We’re doing nothing.”
“He cheated on you.”
My stomach clenches, and I think about that party back in university when everyone watched, whispering. What he said to me and how it’s stuck
with me for years.
“I’m well aware.” I keep my voice low and my expression pleasant in case anyone looks over. “Everyone saw that I’m his physio, including him. If we change it now, everyone will know—”
My words hang in the air as I cut myself off. The deeper we get into this, the more erratic my heart beats. Even Pippa doesn’t know the full truth.
I don’t want him to know he got to me and that I’m still upset about what happened. I don’t even like Pippa knowing, even though she’s my sister and best friend.
I’m the one who takes care of her, not the other way around.
“I spent two years in high school working ahead so that—” I’m about to dig deep into my insult arsenal, but I’m supposed to be convincing Pippa I’m fine. “So we could go to university together.” Connor’s a year older than me. I studied my ass off so that we didn’t have to be apart. I took summer classes to get ahead.
Her eyes soften, and I hate it. I hate that she feels bad for me.
“I’m not going to run.” I straighten up, push my shoulders back, and fake all the tough, strong energy I need right now. “I was here first, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Pippa opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“This is your engagement party. Please, please don’t make it about me, or I’ll plan another one.” I tap my finger on my lip, narrowing my eyes. “I’m picturing images of you on tour plastered all over the walls. Jamie would love it.”
She snorts. “You’re a menace.” Her expression turns reluctant as she studies my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“One hundred percent fine.” I put on a bright smile. From the way she winces, I went too hard, but I give her a gentle push into the restaurant. “Go. Socialize. Flash your big engagement ring around.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I stick mine out in return before she heads back into the restaurant. Jamie holds his hand out as she approaches, and for a moment, I watch them. His hand resting on her waist, keeping her close. Her soft, affectionate smile as she gazes up at him.
What’s it like, I wonder, to be everything to someone? To trust someone like that?
There’s a sharp clench around my heart. Girls like Pippa get love like that. Girls like me? We do casual. I sleep with guys once and only once. It’s safer that way. No one gets their hopes up and no one gets hurt.
I walk back into the restaurant but bump right into a broad, hard chest. “Sorry—”
Rory Miller tilts his arrogant, amused grin down at me. All the air gets sucked out of the room, and my stomach does that annoying flip-flop fluttery thing.
“There you are, Hartley.”
This reaction? It’s not my fault. It’s his goddamned charisma. I blink up at his crushing deep blue eyes the color of a moody ocean. He’s almost a foot taller than me, with dark blond hair that’s a little too long. Hockey hair, the guys call it. With his lazy overconfidence, he pulls it off.
Not that I’d ever admit that.
It’s his grin that riles me, though. A perpetually amused, flirtatious slant to his lips. It’s exactly the way a hockey superstar would smile, like he knows he can have anything.
I hate Rory Miller’s stupid fucking arrogant grin. I hate it so much that I think about it all the time.
He steps back, rakes his gaze down my outfit—a dark red midi dress with a sweetheart neckline and a soft, curve-hugging skirt that makes my ass look incredible—and lets out a low whistle.
“You look very pretty tonight,” he says.
He gives me that flirty grin again, and nerves flutter through me. I’m calm, cool, and totally disinterested in Rory Miller, and if I tell myself that enough times, it might actually become true.
Heat flushes up my neck and cheeks, and I clear my throat. “Thank you. Excuse me.” I move to get around him, but he steps into my path, blocking it.
“Admit it. You wore this dress for me.”
“Wow, Miller.” My laugh is light. “It sure is crowded in here with that enormous ego of yours.”
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 screams custom-made and expensive, 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 out that low, 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.”
His hand comes to my arm to stop me. “Hold on.” The cocky smirk falls away, leaving something serious and sincere in his eyes. “Did you see the email Ward sent out last night?”
“Yes. You’re captain now. Congratulations.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “About McKinnon,” he says, watching me intently.
“Oh my fucking god,” I sigh in exasperation. “Do I have a sign on my back that says Ask me about my shitty ex-boyfriend! or something? I’m fine. It’s fine.” I clap my hands together. “Everything is fine.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You said ‘fine’ too many times there.”
I huff a laugh.
He searches my eyes, and my heart jumps into my throat at the concern on his face. He’s so close to seeing the truth—that I’m not fine, that I’m freaking the fuck out.
“Do you still have a thing for him?”
I make a choking noise of disbelief, and people glance over. “Absolutely not. I don’t want this.”
Shame churns in my stomach. Is that what people think? That I’ve been carrying a torch for Connor for years?
“I’ll speak to Ward,” he says quietly, so gentle and careful, nothing like his normal arrogant self. “McKinnon can work with one of the other physios. I’ll take care of it for you.”
If I didn’t know him better, I’d read the worry in his eyes as protectiveness. My pulse blips at the thought of Rory Miller hovering over me like Jamie hovers over Pippa, but I catch myself.
He wants what he can’t have. It’s just another move in a game I don’t want to play.
“I don’t need your help,” I tell him. “I don’t need a bodyguard, and I don’t want you interfering with my job.”
He makes a frustrated noise and runs his hand through his hair. The determination in his eyes makes me feel like he’s going to fight me on this, but his Adam’s apple bobs and he dips his chin in a nod.
“Okay,” he says simply. “I won’t interfere.” “Thank you.”
For the rest of the night, I’m busy with Pippa, Jamie, and our family, but every time I glance down at the other end of the table, Rory’s watching me, still wearing that protective, concerned frown.
