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“You look really nice,” he says, still not looking at me.
“Thanks.” I’m studying a spot on the other side of the room.
There’s a beat where we glance at each other again before looking away. He’s flushing, I think.
“I’m going to get us drinks,” he says, glancing at my dress again before walking away.
His sharp black tux is tailored to fit every inch of his lean, athletic frame. Watching Rory Miller walk away in a tux likethat, with his broad shoulders and powerful yet graceful movements, is truly a gift. I’m not prepared for how hot he looks, and I know my gaze is lingering too long, but I can’t look away.
“Hmm.” Pippa’s smiling at me, and heat creeps up my neck.
“Don’t start.” I push my hair behind my shoulders, collecting myself.
Worry swirls through me and I bite my lip. We shouldn’t have done that. I liked it too much.
For days, I’ve replayed our argument, the crushing feeling in my chest as he basically told me I was broken and pathetic, and then his desperate, pained expression as he apologized.
He looked like he’d just die if I didn’t forgive him.
I’ve thought about him lacing up my skates. His gentle patience as he taught me to skate. On the ice, when he looked at my mouth with focus in his eyes, I thought maybe he’d try to kiss me, but he didn’t.
That dumb, adorable dragon sits on my dresser, staring back at me as I fall asleep each night.
I glance back at Rory. Our eyes meet, and I look away, taking in the room, the art on the walls, the plush leather furniture, the side tables with antique knickknacks. Near the bar, Ward stands among a group of players, a drink in one hand, listening as Alexei says something. Coaches are supposed to be old, red-faced, and angry, but Ward looks like James Bond in his tux, all handsome and quietly confident.
Rory returns with a drink for me, and I sip it, grateful for something to do with my hands.
“I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, and his mouth brushes my ear before he presses a quick kiss to my temple.
A shiver rolls down my back. He’s getting more bold with this fake relationship charade, and I wish I could say I’m annoyed by it but… I’m not.
My smile is a bit shy. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Well, after the other day…” He glances back to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got you something. To say sorry.”
“You already said sorry.”
“I know.” A slight frown creases his forehead as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope. “I wanted to show you I meant it.”
He’s wearing that same earnest expression he wore at the rink, like he’s in physical pain. A lock of hair has fallen onto his forehead and my gaze lingers on it.
“Open it,” he says, tilting his chin at the envelope now in my hand.
I slide out an email confirmation. It’s for a weekend at a nearby vacation destination, Harrison Hot Springs—the luxury suite at areallynice hotel and two full days at the spa.
“It’s for you and Pippa,” he says quickly. “You can go whenever you want.” He gives me a tight, vulnerable smile that makes my heart ache. “You said spending time with Pippa made you feel worthy.”
In my head, the glowing sign that saysRory Miller is an evil, selfish hockey playerflickers, losing power.
“You’re supposed to be an asshole.” I keep my tone light and humorous as I stare at the paper, and he huffs a quiet laugh.
That was the guy I signed up for when we agreed to this. NotthisRory. Not the sweet, earnest, honest guy who apologizes like he means it.
I’m starting to think I was wrong. Maybe I don’t know Rory Miller at all.
“I wasn’t pretending,” Rory says quietly, eyes on me.
About… the kiss? I search his deep blue gaze, blue like my dress, and there isn’t enough air in here.
