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

“I’M SORRY,” the security guard says when I try to get into the hall that leads to the dressing room. “If you don’t have your employee pass, I can’t let you in.”

I’m breathing hard. The third period’s going to start any second. I need to get back there before Rory gets on the ice. He must be freaking out.

I growl with frustration. “My photo is on the team website. I can show ID.”

The security guard shakes his head. “Employee pass only. Those are the rules.”

He’s new and he’s just doing his job, so I clamp my mouth shut, even as every cell in my body vibrates with impatience.

Five minutes later, ticket in hand, I’m hurrying down the steps in the stands toward the tunnel where the players will come out of. I take a spot along the railing, shaking with anticipation. People stare at me, but I don’t care. They probably think I’m an obsessed fan, or maybe they recognize me as Rory’s girlfriend and wonder what the hell I’m doing, but all I can think about is how devastated Rory must be.

Finally, the team files out. Hayden gives me a questioning look, but my attention’s on the player with a C on his jersey right behind him.

“Rory.”

He does a double take at me, shock all over his face, and I lean over the railing, grab the front of his jersey, and pull him to me.

Security guards rush at us from all sides.

“Ma’am,” one says, “take your hands off him.”

“Back off,” I snap.

I am the unhinged, impulsive one with her heart on her sleeve.

Rory starts to smile, eyes wide like he’s afraid of me, but he shakes his head at the employee behind me. “It’s okay.” His eyes meet mine. “What—”

“I love you.” I pull him closer, and his hands come to my shoulders so I don’t fall over the railing.

He huffs a laugh, relief flooding his eyes. “I love you, too.”

“I know. I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

I see it in his eyes—he means it. Rory’s all in, but so am I.

The players are either on the ice or the bench, and Ward glances over at us, wondering what’s holding up the captain. My gaze lifts to the Jumbotron, and my pulse jumps. The camera’s on me and Rory. Great.

“If you get traded,” I tell Rory, “we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out. I’m not scared.”

His expression is so earnest it breaks my heart. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I know.” I pull him closer, leaning down to kiss him. Our lips crash together and cheering breaks out in the arena. My feet are in the air, and a moment later, Rory’s pulling me over the railing, setting me down, kissing me harder.

The applause turns into a roar, people hooting and hollering as Rory’s hand comes to the back of my head and he kisses me deeper. I feel his kiss all the way to my toes, warming every nerve and cell in my body. When we break apart to sneak a glance at the Jumbotron, our faces are still up there for everyone to see.

“I can’t leave this team, Hazel,” he whispers, worry in his eyes.

“I know.”

“After the game,” he says, holding my face, “we’ll go talk to Ward about the trade, okay?”

I nod, and he presses another kiss to my mouth. God, I hope Ward keeps him. The idea of Rory playing for another team after everything this season feels so wrong.

“Miller, let’s go,” Ward calls.

Rory presses one, two, three more kisses to my mouth before pulling away, and I watch him skate to center ice for the puck drop.

For the rest of the game, my stomach is in knots while the fans murmur around us about the trade.