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His eyebrows bob once. “We’ll be traveling for a week, so I won’t see you.”
“Okay. Safe travels.” I pause in the doorway. “Good night.”
“Night, Hartley.”
Later, I lie in bed, thinking about his hands on my waist, his mouth against my neck.Invite me up. I snort to myself. Never.
He’d be as competitive and determined in bed as he is on the ice, I bet. He’d call meHartleyin that low, teasing tone as he dragged his tongue over my skin, watching my reaction.
Never in a millionyearswould that happen. Not even once. Because it would be so good, I just know it, and this thing we’re doing is fake.
CHAPTER10
RORY
While I siton the plane the next day, waiting for the rest of the players to board, I study the photo I posted to my social media. It’s the one of me and Hazel at Streicher and Pippa’s engagement party—my hand around Hazel’s waist, her mouth stretching into a pretty smile from something I said that made her actually laugh, and my eyes are on her.
My feelings for her are so fucking obvious it’s not even funny.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call—my dad. My shoulders tighten, but I answer. If I ignore it, he’ll keep calling.
“Hey.”
“Rory.” His tone is all business, as usual. “I sent over the rest of the contracts this morning.”
On top of being one of Canada’s greatest hockey players, a hall of famer, and a guest commentator on the sports shows, my dad is also my agent. He’s always been my agent. He knows the hockey world inside and out, and it was just easiest this way.
“Yep. I saw them.”
“Good. I spoke with the dietician. She’s going to make some changes to your macros.”
I stare out the window as they load our bags onto the plane. My dad has arranged for the dietician to work with a meal delivery service because getting enough protein is a challenge for me.
“Got it.”
“Are you logging everything you’re eating?”
“Always.”
“No alcohol, no red meat, no sugar, no trans fats,” he lists off.
I think about Hazel’s expression of bliss as she drank her beer the other night and wonder what it would be like to enjoy food like that.
“I remember.”
“Good. If you want to be the best, you need to eat like the best. Food is fuel. Garbage in, garbage out. We need you fast and sharp out there, Rory. You missed that shot in the second period the other night. That could have been yours.”
My dad goes on about all the chances I’ve missed while I half listen. Even if I’m the best in the league, I could be better. Even if I’m the fastest, there’s some young guy in the minors just waiting to take my place. If I even look at sugar, the inflammation will slow me down.
“I’m thinking about taking a trip out there,” he says—he lives in Toronto with his girlfriend. My shoulders hitch more. He did this last year when I played for Calgary. “Maybe stay a few months.”
“A few months?” I frown. “Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind?” She has a job there, but I can’t remember what. I only met her briefly once last year.
There’s a pause on the other end. “We’re not together anymore.”
Of course. There’s something about my dad that makes women leave. Obsession? Relentless competition? Nothing ever being good enough? I don’t want to look too closely, because whatever it is, I’ve inherited it.
I clear my throat. “Sorry.”
