“Let’s get some photos before dinner,” my mom says, gesturing at Pippa and Jamie.
“One second.” Pippa grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. “I need Hazel to help me with the… something.”
“What something?” I ask as she hauls me through the restaurant. “I’ll take care of it so you can have fun—”
In the quiet foyer area at the front of the restaurant, away from the guests in the main dining area, she whirls on me. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Uh.” I scramble for an excuse for not answering her three texts about the team’s new trade.
“Connor is on the team now, Hazel.”
For the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours, my stomach drops through the floor. “I know.”
It’s all I’ve fucking thought about. My lying, cheating, manipulative, narcissistic ex is now on the hockey team I work for, and I’m assigned to be his physiotherapist.
All night, I tossed and turned.
“What are we doing about it?” she asks.
I can’t quit, because working for the team is an incredible experience, and I actually love my job. The senior physios are knowledgeable and kind, and it’s surprisingly rewarding, working with the players. While I’m saving to open my own inclusive fitness studio one day, working for the Storm is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d be stupid to walk away.
“Nothing,” I tell her, putting on a neutral smile like I don’t care. “We’re doing nothing.”
“He cheated on you.”
My stomach clenches, and I think about that party back in university when everyone watched, whispering. What he said to me and how it’s stuck with me for years.
“I’m well aware.” I keep my voice low and my expression pleasant in case anyone looks over. “Everyone saw that I’m his physio, including him. If we change it now, everyone will know—”
My words hang in the air as I cut myself off. The deeper we get into this, the more erratic my heart beats. Even Pippa doesn’t know the full truth.
I don’t want him to know he got to me and that I’m still upset about what happened. I don’t even like Pippa knowing, even though she’s my sister and best friend.
I’m the one who takes care of her, not the other way around.
“I spent two years in high school working ahead so that—” I’m about to dig deep into my insult arsenal, but I’m supposed to be convincing Pippa I’m fine. “So we could go to university together.” Connor’s a year older than me. I studied my ass off so that we didn’t have to be apart. I took summer classes to get ahead.
Her eyes soften, and I hate it. I hate that she feels bad for me.
“I’m not going to run.” I straighten up, push my shoulders back, and fake all the tough, strong energy I need right now. “I was here first, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Pippa opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“This is your engagement party. Please, please don’t make it about me, or I’ll plan another one.” I tap my finger on my lip, narrowing my eyes. “I’m picturing images of you on tour plastered all over the walls. Jamie would love it.”
She snorts. “You’re a menace.” Her expression turns reluctant as she studies my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“One hundred percent fine.” I put on a bright smile. From the way she winces, I went too hard, but I give her a gentle push into the restaurant. “Go. Socialize. Flash your big engagement ring around.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I stick mine out in return before she heads back into the restaurant. Jamie holds his hand out as she approaches, and for a moment, I watch them. His hand resting on her waist, keeping her close. Her soft, affectionate smile as she gazes up at him.
What’s it like, I wonder, to be everything to someone? To trust someone like that?
There’s a sharp clench around my heart. Girls like Pippa get love like that. Girls like me? We do casual. I sleep with guys once and only once. It’s safer that way. No one gets their hopes up and no one gets hurt.
I walk back into the restaurant but bump right into a broad, hard chest. “Sorry—”
Rory Miller tilts his arrogant, amused grin down at me. All the air gets sucked out of the room, and my stomach does that annoying flip-flop fluttery thing.
“There you are, Hartley.”
This reaction? It’s not my fault. It’s his goddamned charisma. I blink up at his crushing deep blue eyes the color of a moody ocean. He’s almost a foot taller than me, with dark blond hair that’s a little too long. Hockey hair, the guys call it. With his lazy overconfidence, he pulls it off.
Not that I’d ever admit that.
It’s his grin that riles me, though. A perpetually amused, flirtatious slant to his lips. It’s exactly the way a hockey superstar would smile, like he knows he can have anything.
I hate Rory Miller’s stupid fucking arrogant grin. I hate it so much that I think about it all the time.
He steps back, rakes his gaze down my outfit—a dark red midi dress with a sweetheart neckline and a soft, curve-hugging skirt that makes my ass look incredible—and lets out a low whistle.
“You look very pretty tonight,” he says.
He gives me that flirty grin again, and nerves flutter through me. I’m calm, cool, and totally disinterested in Rory Miller, and if I tell myself that enough times, it might actually become true.
Heat flushes up my neck and cheeks, and I clear my throat. “Thank you. Excuse me.” I move to get around him, but he steps into my path, blocking it.
“Admit it. You wore this dress for me.”
“Wow, Miller.” My laugh is light. “It sure is crowded in here with that enormous ego of yours.”
He gives me a scolding, teasing expression. “Now, Hartley, play along and tell me I look good, too.”
My eyes flick over him in his suit. Tailored perfectly to his tall, broad frame, it screams custom-made and expensive, but it’s the rich navy fabric I struggle to look away from. It’s the exact shade of his eyes.
“You don’t need the ego boost.” I should walk away, but instead, I smack my head in mock-disappointment. “Oh my god. I forgot to reserve a seat for your sex doll.”
His grin broadens, and sparks dance in my stomach. He doesn’t actually have a sex doll—I don’t think—but this is one of my favorite bits.
“I gave her the night off,” he says in a low voice, leaning in with a rakish grin and glittering eyes. “She’s earned it.”
A revolted laugh threatens to slip out, but I hold it down. I will not laugh at Rory Miller’s jokes. He’s basically a child, and it’ll just encourage him.
“Rory.” Donna, Jamie’s mom, appears with the photographer I hired. “You’re here.” She gestures at the two of us. “Let’s get a photo.”