“DREAM HOCKEY TEAM,” my dad says to Rory in the restaurant that night. “Go.”
Rory leans in with a serious expression, and I smile. “Anyone?”
“Anyone,” my dad confirms. “Alive, dead, or fictional.”
Rory lists a few hockey players, and my dad’s nodding with approval. “Tate Ward,” Rory adds.
My dad looks surprised. “Didn’t expect that.”
“Fastest slapshot in history.”
My dad whistles. “I remember. It’s a shame he only played for Vancouver for half a season.”
“I know.” Rory’s eyes land on my empty water glass before he refills it from the pitcher, still listening while my dad and Jamie talk about their dream teams. A moment later, his hand lands on my thigh, warm and heavy.
He’s wearing a navy blue knit sweater that stretches across his broad shoulders and dress slacks that fit his toned thighs and ass. Except for the team dinners, he’s usually in athletic clothes, but tonight, he dressed up. He made an effort, I realize with a warm twist in my stomach. There’s product in his hair. He smells nice, fresh and clean. He looks so frustratingly handsome, and he’s trying to make a good impression on my family.
Across the table, Pippa meets my gaze with a little smile, and I look away fast. If she finds out how things have been changing between me and Rory, I’ll never hear the end of it, and convincing her that this whole thing is a charade will be even more impossible.
“You’ve been playing differently,” my dad notes, and Rory’s fingers tense on my leg.
“Yeah.” Rory shifts.
“It’s not a bad thing,” my dad adds. “You’re captain now. It’s only natural that your style will change.”
“You think?” Rory asks, and my heart breaks.
Rick Miller can burn in hell for the way he’s bruised Rory’s confidence, but the encouraging smile my dad gives him pushes all my protective rage out of the way, and I just feel grateful.
My hand lands on Rory’s and when he glances at me, I give him a little smile.
The guys keep talking, and my mom nudges me. “Rory’s very nice.”
I smile again. “Yeah. He is.”
Jamie’s mom Donna leans forward with a cheeky smile. “I always knew you two would get together, Hazel. In high school, Rory would talk nonstop about this tutor of his.”
Warmth creeps up my neck and I hide a smile. It feels like he belongs here with all of us tonight, and I like it too much.
“He’s a catch,” my mom whispers, and the apples of her cheeks pop. “But you’re a catch, too.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Mom. Your hair looks nice. Did you get it cut?”
Her hand comes to the ends of her dark hair and she shrugs, bashful. “Just trying something new.”
“You look great.” I’m blowing on the embers of her self-confidence, urging them to catch.
My name grabs my attention.
“Have you seen her place?” Rory asks my dad.
“The hovel?” my dad scoffs. I give him a flat look, even as I’m trying not to smile. “Yeah, we’ve seen it.”
“I have shoeboxes bigger than her apartment,” my mom adds.
“Okay.” I narrow my eyes at all of them. “Very funny.”
“I can’t believe you let her live there,” Rory says to my parents.
My dad snorts. “No one tells Hazel what to do.”
“Ever since you were a baby, you were hardheaded.” My mom chuckles.
“Excuse me.” I stare at her, grinning. “I prefer determined.”
Rory arches an eyebrow. “Stubborn.”
“Focused,” I volley back.
His arm slips up around my shoulders and he smiles down at me. “All the things I like about you, Hartley.”
“Aww.” Pippa grins at us. Her phone is out, angled at us.
“Did you just take a photo?” I ask. Rory’s arm is still around my shoulder.
“Yep.” Her eyes glitter. “Now kiss.”
“Pippa.” I’m smiling but shooting daggers at her with my eyes. She just smiles wider.
“Come on,” Donna calls down the table. “Kiss.”
Rory’s hand threads into my hair. “Don’t be shy, Hartley.”
My face is burning as everyone’s eyes land on us. People at other tables are glancing over because two of the city’s biggest hockey stars and a popular music artist are here. My stomach does a slow roll with nerves and anticipation as my gaze flicks up to Rory’s.
“Come on, Hartley.” His fingers come to my jaw as he tilts my face toward his. He’s looking at me with such intense affection I think my heart might burst. “Pretend you like me.”
I laugh quietly, and then he’s kissing me. It’s sweet and soft and careful, like I’m precious to him.
When I open my eyes, he smiles at me, and there’s a sweet twist in my chest that tells me I’m so, so fucked.
“Perfect,” Pippa says quietly, smiling at her phone.
That’s what I was afraid of.
