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I give him a sarcastic smile. “Don’t start.”
His gaze moves behind me and the amusement drops. “If he gives you problems,” he says in a low voice so just Pippa and I can hear, “let me know.”
“I can handle Miller.”
“Not Miller.” He frowns. “McKinnon. If he does anything, I want to know. I bet Miller does, too.”
I’m struck by Jamie’s protectiveness. He doesn’t even know the full extent of what Connor did—no one does, not even Pippa—but here he is, ready to stick up for me.
Before I can say anything, the door of the bar opens. At the sight of me in his jersey, Rory grins with arrogant male confidence. His gaze is locked on mine as he walks through the bar, the side of his bottom lip swollen and bruised from tonight’s hit. A prickle on my neck tells me Connor’s watching, along with everyone else. As Rory slides into the booth, into my space, still smiling down at me, I note that his hair is still damp from his shower. His scent surrounds me—clean and sharp.
Hockey players are supposed to stink, but the way Rory smells makes my brain stumble.
“Hi, baby.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple like it’s nothing.
My heart rate shoots up and I’m frozen as his stubble brushes me. I don’t think I’m breathing. His hand slides around my waist, pulling me against him on the bench. Across the table, Pippa’s eyes are bright and Jamie’s wearing that half smile again.
“Hi.” My voice sounds strained.
His eyes roam my face, bright and curious, before his gaze dips down to my torso. “I like the way you look in my jersey.”
My face heats at his tone. “Don’t get used to it.” The words are out before I can stop them.
He shakes his head, grinning. “You’re wearing it to every game from now on.” His hand squeezes my waist, and my abs tense. He’s so warm and solid against my arm. “Come on, Hartley, pretend like you like me.”
Pippa glances around before she leans in. “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” she chants in a whisper.
I glare at her, face going red. “Pippa.”
She starts laughing. Even Jamie grins.
“I will kill both of you,” I hiss at them, but I’m laughing, even if Rory’s hand is still on my waist.
Jamie blanches. “What did I do?”
“You’re encouraging her. I can feel it. Just—” I shake my head, flustered. My face is hot. “Be cool.” I can’t help but smirk at Rory. “This is exactly how I’d act if weweredating,” I whisper.
His eyes flare. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. I’d be so mean to you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and heat bursts throughout me. He’s not going to actually kiss me here, now, right?
I didn’t think about the kissing part of this deal. Of course we’re going to kiss at some point. Couples kiss.
My stomach wobbles. His eyes warm, resting on me. His hair is curling a little on top, golden highlights among his ash coloring, probably from being in the sun this summer. My gaze trails along his sharp jawline, his stubble, his nose that looks too delicate for such a masculine face.
He really is handsome.
My gaze snags on the purple bruise on his bottom lip and I blink, clearing my head. “Some ice will make that feel better.”
“I already feel better.” His smile turns lazy.
I make a face at him. “Corny.” With his hand still on my waist, I wrench around, searching for Jordan, the bartender and owner. A few tables back, Connor’s sitting with some other players, and my stomach drops with anxiety when his eyes meet mine.
He looks away first, and I get another hit of that satisfaction I felt during the game. Rory looks over his shoulder, eyes lingering on Connor’s table, but Connor doesn’t look back at us.
Rory brings his mouth closer to my ear, and shivers run across my skin from where his lips brush the shell. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.” His hand slides from my waist up to the back of my neck, warm and solid and strangely calming. “I’ve got this, okay?”
