Before I can protest that we’re not together, he slips his hand around my waist, pulling me against him. His scent surrounds me—warm, spicy, and woodsy, like sandalwood and cloves. From either the intensely masculine way he smells or the way his body heat warms me, my stomach dips.
“Relax,” he murmurs into my ear, giving my waist a squeeze. “You’re so tense.”
The photographer lines up the focus and I count the seconds until dinner, where I’ve placed Rory on the opposite end of the table from me.
“Let’s go out,” he says quietly as the camera clicks.
I snort, even as delight shoots through me. “You’re joking. Your sex doll will be so jealous.”
His quiet laugh tickles my cheek. “Nah, I’ll bring her.”
I really do laugh this time, and the flash goes off. Stars burst in my vision.
“Lovely,” the photographer says, snapping away. “What a beautiful couple.”
I open and close my mouth like a fish. The camera clicks again and I step away from him, putting distance between us.
His hands slip into his pockets as he regards me, gaze dipping down to my neckline, so fast I barely catch it. “Come on, Hartley.”
“I don’t date hockey players, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even know my first name.”
His gaze sharpens, his smile turning flirty. “You want me to say your name more, Hazel?”
A shiver of something weird rolls down my back. The last thing I need is him pulling out that low, seductive voice again. “No.”
“Then let’s be friends.”
The tilt of his mouth and the way his eyes drag over me make me shake my head. He doesn’t want to be friends. He loves the chase. A person doesn’t get to where he is in his hockey career without being insanely competitive, and me turning him down is like catnip.
With guys like Rory and Connor, it’s only a matter of time before they get bored and move on to the next thrill.
“In high school, Miller, you blackmailed me into tutoring you. You used your hot, talented hockey player status to get what you wanted.” He spoke to the hockey coach, who spoke to the principal, who spoke to the teachers. “For all of grades eleven and twelve, you used up two of my afternoons per week.” I stare him down, ignoring the lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “Friends don’t do that.”
It isn’t the whole truth about why I want nothing to do with him, but it’s as much as I’ll ever admit out loud, especially to him.
There’s a pause before his eyebrow arches. “You think I’m hot?”
My face burns. “That’s what you got from that?”
He shrugs, baffled. “I made sure you got extra credit out of the tutoring thing.”
I scramble for something to say, momentarily tripped up, because I didn’t actually know that was his doing. I just thought they were trying to sweeten the deal for me.
I glance around, searching for Pippa, Jamie, Hayden, Alexei, anyone. People are taking their seats for dinner. “I’m going to sit down now.”
His hand comes to my arm to stop me. “Hold on.” The cocky smirk falls away, leaving something serious and sincere in his eyes. “Did you see the email Ward sent out last night?”
“Yes. You’re captain now. Congratulations.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “About McKinnon,” he says, watching me intently.
“Oh my fucking god,” I sigh in exasperation. “Do I have a sign on my back that says Ask me about my shitty ex-boyfriend! or something? I’m fine. It’s fine.” I clap my hands together. “Everything is fine.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You said ‘fine’ too many times there.”
I huff a laugh.
He searches my eyes, and my heart jumps into my throat at the concern on his face. He’s so close to seeing the truth—that I’m not fine, that I’m freaking the fuck out.
“Do you still have a thing for him?”
I make a choking noise of disbelief, and people glance over. “Absolutely not. I don’t want this.”
Shame churns in my stomach. Is that what people think? That I’ve been carrying a torch for Connor for years?
“I’ll speak to Ward,” he says quietly, so gentle and careful, nothing like his normal arrogant self. “McKinnon can work with one of the other physios. I’ll take care of it for you.”
If I didn’t know him better, I’d read the worry in his eyes as protectiveness. My pulse blips at the thought of Rory Miller hovering over me like Jamie hovers over Pippa, but I catch myself.
He wants what he can’t have. It’s just another move in a game I don’t want to play.
“I don’t need your help,” I tell him. “I don’t need a bodyguard, and I don’t want you interfering with my job.”
He makes a frustrated noise and runs his hand through his hair. The determination in his eyes makes me feel like he’s going to fight me on this, but his Adam’s apple bobs and he dips his chin in a nod.
“Okay,” he says simply. “I won’t interfere.”
“Thank you.”
For the rest of the night, I’m busy with Pippa, Jamie, and our family, but every time I glance down at the other end of the table, Rory’s watching me, still wearing that protective, concerned frown.
CHAPTER 3
RORY
“Hartley.”
Three days later, I’m in the team gym watching her set up for her first physio session with McKinnon.
She sets a weight on the floor, avoiding my eyes.
My trainer walks in the door, and I wave, making a one moment motion to him before turning back to Hazel and lowering my voice. “Just wondered if you’ve reconsidered my offer to go to Ward with you.”
Her shoulders tense. “You said you wouldn’t interfere.”
“I’ll back you up. He’ll probably listen, even if I’m not there.”
She lets out a heavy breath. That soft, plush bottom lip of hers is tucked between her teeth and a frown sits between her eyebrows. She’s nervous.
My hands clench at my sides. I’ve been going round and round in my head, thinking about how her expression tightened when I brought up McKinnon at the engagement party, thinking about the unusual protectiveness that surged through me at the thought of her having to work with him.
“I know you’re a tough little cookie, Hartley,” I tell her, crooking a grin at her to disguise the concern and jealousy. “I’m just trying to prevent you from killing the new trade.”
She doesn’t laugh, and my chest aches. Why won’t she let me help?
I take in her pretty ponytail that shows off the back of her neck. The fan of dark lashes around those beautiful blue-gray eyes. The lush curve of her mouth.
“Pass.”
So fucking stubborn. If I wasn’t so frustrated, I’d think it was endearing.
“He’s going to apologize,” she says as she places free weights on the floor in front of the mirror.
“Excuse me?” I haven’t seen the guy in years, but I know him. Guys like that? They never apologize. My dad’s the same way.
She straightens up, meeting my gaze. “He emailed me. He said he wants to talk.”
In my head, an alarm blares. “He probably wants to get back together.”
“I doubt it,” she says, making a face, “and even if he does, that’s not happening.”
The alarm quiets. That’s something, at least.