The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)

WHILE RORY IS OUT, I wander around his apartment, snooping through his closet and bathroom and buying home items for him with the credit card he left for me in the kitchen. With the fireplaces on, his apartment is warm and cozy, but without him here, I feel a weird panging ache in my chest.

I return to his bed, gazing out the window with the neckline of his hoodie pulled over my nose, inhaling him. Outside, snow blankets the city in white.

I wake sometime later to a dim bedroom splashed with warmth from the flickering fire and a muffled thump from the other room. I’m cozy, warm, and sleepy, and Rory’s scent from his hoodie is in my nose, making me sink farther into his bed. I glance at my phone—it’s just after five in the afternoon. The duvet is now on top of me, and a glass of water sits on the nightstand.

“Rory?” I ask, squinting into the light as I crutch down the hall to the living room.

I stop short, jaw dropping.

“How the fuck does that work?” Rory mutters to himself, fiddling with something with his back to me.

I don’t know where to look first. Maybe the plaid wool blanket lying across the back of the couch, or the garland and twinkle lights strewn across the fireplace mantel above the fire. On Rory’s oversized TV, the fireplace channel is also on, which is so weird and so Rory.

A dozen candles sit in stained glass votives on the coffee table and around the kitchen, and Rory’s wearing a hideous green and red knit sweater that he somehow manages to make look hot. There are poinsettias everywhere. The entire place smells like the hot apple cider drink my family makes every year at home, and there are pine needles all over the floor.

Between the bookshelf and the window, an enormous fir tree stretches to the ceiling.

When he turns, there’s that assessing, cautious expression on Rory’s face again, the look that makes my heart beat faster.

“You bought ten poinsettias and you’re wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.”

He grins, tilting his chin to a bag near my feet. “Got you a matching one.” He walks over, and yeah, he does look really, really hot in that stupid sweater. “You didn’t think I was going to wear it alone, did you, Hartley?” His eyes glitter as his grin hitches higher. “We have to match.”

“You bought a tree.” My voice sounds funny, thin and breathless. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here.”

“Is that a good thing?”

I sigh, taking it all in, glancing over at the kitchen, breathing in the familiar, sweet cinnamon smell filling the apartment. “That’s the same recipe we make at home, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” His eyes are warm. “I called your parents earlier.”

That girl from a few months ago, who hated Rory Miller? She shakes her head and walks away because I’m way too far gone to help.

Christmas decorations. He bought decorations. All of them, from the pile of boxes in the corner. My heart explodes into a million pieces all over the floor.

“Why?” I ask, blinking away the sting in my eyes.

He steps behind me, looping his arm around my waist and pressing a warm kiss to the side of my neck. “Because you wanted it, Hartley.”

If my heart is a house, Rory now lives there.