“One more?”
She nods, blinking, tightening, and my instincts sharpen. I adjust my hand so my palm bumps her clit, and there—her head tilts back and her lips part. My fingers delve fast as she clenches. She’s saying “Yes, Rory” and “Oh my god, that’s so good” and “Just like that, baby,” and my blood courses with electricity.
I’m addicted to pleasing Hazel, it seems.
She rides it out on my hand, and her gaze turns desperate. “Kiss me,” she begs, and our mouths crash together. She moans against my tongue, soaking my hand, and I slow my movements as I feel her start to come down.
“What the hell, Rory?” she breathes with soft surprise. “That was so…”
She doesn’t finish the thought.
“Yeah.” I swallow, pulse beating in my ears. I can already feel the sleepy, sluggish post-orgasm haze settling in my body.
After we clean up, Hazel curls up against me in bed, her head on my chest, her hair brushing my skin, and her scent in my nose.
“Good night,” she whispers, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“Good night.”
I want to say more. I didn’t know fooling around could be like this. It doesn’t feel like fooling around; it feels like—
I’m not ready to even think that. Not when there’s a chance she doesn’t feel the same way.
So I just lie there, hoping that inside her head, she feels the same way.
CHAPTER 50
HAZEL
The next day, I arrive early at the arena for the charity skating event and take a seat near the entrance to the rink, where I’m meeting Rory after he’s done training.
My stomach pitches with butterflies. Rory, whom I wasn’t supposed to mess around with because this whole thing is fake, but whom I can’t stop thinking about.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, yanking my thoughts back to the present.
It’s a text from one of my students, Laura, with a link to a studio space for rent. I’ve confided about my future dream with her.
The owner is a family friend who lives in Iran, she texts. He’ll be back in town for the holidays and he wants to rent the place out fast.
I open the link she sent. Two decent-sized studio rooms, a spacious front entrance, and three smaller side rooms, two of which could be used as physiotherapy or massage rooms. The rent is expensive but the location is stellar, only two blocks from the Skytrain. It’s in a new building, so it probably has excellent accessibility.
Interesting. A place like this would go fast.
Am I ready, though? Reluctance rises in me.
In my hand, my phone buzzes, and my heart jumps at the name flashing across the screen.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer.
“Hi, honey.” Her tone is warm. “Is this a bad time?”
“Never. I’m about to go to a charity skating event with the team, but it doesn’t start for a bit.”
“Skating?”
I smile at the ice, where event staff are setting up. “Yep. Skating. Rory taught me.”
And tomorrow afternoon, Christmas Eve, we’re flying out to spend Christmas with my family. I’m in so fucking deep.
She makes a pleased noise. “The photos of you two from when we had dinner together are so sweet.”
The family dinner. My stomach wobbles as I remember what Rory and Pippa both said. I know I need to bring it up, and that I can’t avoid it forever.
Keep being a safe place for her to land, Pippa said.
“I wish I’d gotten a photo with you,” I admit.
She makes that joking, dismissive noise she always does. “Next time, after I’ve gotten rid of the vacation weight.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s a tiny cut to my heart every time she says those things. The words lodge in my throat, but I force them out.
“I don’t like when you make comments about dieting and needing to lose weight.”
“Honey, that’s because you’re thin.”
“No—” I catch myself, trying to keep my cool. “You’re beautiful, and it’s hard to hear you insult yourself.”
“So I want to go running more, so what?” She laughs but it’s brittle. “I feel better when I’m thin.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” I sigh. “I want you to feel amazing regardless of what size you are. You’re so many things, Mom. You’re funny and smart and an incredible mom, and none of those things have anything to do with your weight. It’s fine if you want to be skinny, but you’re still beautiful and amazing if you aren’t.”
She’s quiet, and I reach past all the reluctance, down to the most vulnerable parts of myself.
“I love you,” I tell her. “And I want you to love yourself as much as we all love you. I want you to take a dance class and feel the same joy you used to feel—”
“Dance class?” Her tone is weird and tight, and my stomach knots.
“There’s a dance studio in Evergreen.” The town next to Silver Falls. “They do adult classes on Thursday evenings.”
She scoffs, crushing me. “So I can wear a leotard and have everyone stare at me?”
My face falls. “People just wear normal workout clothes. They do barre exercises to pop music.” My voice gets quieter because I know this isn’t working.
“You’re always going on about how we’re the boss of our own bodies.” Her tone is sharp. “So let me say what I want about myself.”
My mouth clamps closed, and silence stretches between us.
“I should get going,” she says.
“Okay.” Cold misery settles in my stomach. “Bye. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
The call ends and I sit there, staring at nothing. I failed her. Again.
“Hey.”
I jolt to find Rory towering over me in his Storm jersey and skates. The tension around my heart loosens. “Hi.”
He tilts his chin to the phone in my hand. “Everything okay?”
When I don’t answer right away, he sits beside me, arm coming up around my shoulders to pull me into him. I melt against him.
“That was my mom.”
“Yeah?” He watches my eyes with concern.
“We had another argument.”
“I’m sorry, Hartley.” He lets out a heavy breath with a heartbroken expression, like my pain is his pain, and even though I’m upset from the call with my mom and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with Rory these days, the look in his eyes makes my heart expand.
He gives me the softest, most affectionate kiss, and all the stuff with my mom fades to the background. His fresh scent surrounds me and I smile against his mouth.
“You always make me feel better,” I whisper.
“Good.” He smiles, and I fall a little harder for him.
The text from earlier snags in my thoughts. “A student sent me this.” I open the link and hand the phone to him, watching as he scrolls through.
“This is nicer than the studio I sent you.”
“More expensive, too.”
“And a better location. Close to your apartment and mine.”