Page 91 of The Fake Out

Fucking asshole.

McKinnon winces and makes an exaggerated pained noise. “My groin sure is sore after the game,” he says, grinning at me. “I’ll need Hazel to work on it all week.”

The simmering rage in my veins boils over, and I clench my teeth so hard my molars hurt. “Watch it, McKinnon.”

His drunk smile pulls higher, and my blood pounds. Thank fuck Hazel isn’t around to hear this.

I lean in so only he and Streicher can hear me. “If you make her uncomfortable, I will fucking end you.”

My teeth grit. I’ve never hated someone the way I hate this guy.

McKinnon widens his eyes, pretending to be scared. “Wow. Someone’s got it bad.” He laughs to himself, and the sound makes me sick. “You always did have a thing for my girl, didn’t you?”

His arrow hits me right in the chest, and anger rolls through me like a storm.

“She’s not your girl,” I say in a low, deadly voice, on my feet with my fists clenching and my shoulders tight. “Hazel is mine.”

“Like I said.” His eyes glitter with ugly condescension. “You’ll see.”

On the edge of control, I drag in a deep breath and look around, making eye contact with Ward across the bar with the other coaches. The goalie coach is talking, but Ward watches us with interest.

I’m the captain, and if Hazel were here, she’d encourage me to be the guy Ward thinks I can be.

“Drink some water, McKinnon.” I nod good night to Streicher and he lifts a hand as a goodbye.

In the elevator, I pull in deep breaths, letting them out slow. Fuck, I hate that guy, but what I said about Hazel being mine?

It was the truth.

I scroll through our texts, all the fucking incredible photos she’s sent me over the past week. Hartley’s body is a dream, with smooth curves, swells of cleavage, the gentle dip of her hips—even her collarbones are gorgeous. She has a freckle right over her left breast that I think about licking every time I get a photo where it’s visible.

Thatshefeels hot and desired while taking these photos is what makes me hard, though. Thoughts of McKinnon and my dad fade away as I send her another one.

Her response comes immediately.

It’s a picture of her on her front, hair falling forward and breasts against the duvet. The soft curve of her ass is visible, and need flows through me, making my balls tighten.

Is that all you’ve got, Miller? *yawn* Even with all your pretty muscles, I’m getting bored.

My smile curls higher. I don’t know whether it’s the two beers I had or the possessive feelings from tonight, but the urge to ramp things up with Hartley courses through me.

She may not know it yet, but Hazel Hartley is mine, and tonight? I’m going to show her.

CHAPTER42

HAZEL

The photos have escalatedand I’ve completely lost control of the situation. I’ve become addicted to the pictures Rory sends, and his responses to the photosIsend in return.

I thought about that photo all day,Hartley.

God, you’re so fucking hot.

I came in the shower thinking about this one, he said about a photo of me wearing a plum-colored bra, my cleavage on full display, before he sent back a photo of himself shirtless, grinning as his erection strained the fabric of his boxers.

Lying on the hotel bed beside Pippa, I scroll past the photo of him just out of the shower, water droplets on his skin, towel low on his waist and the outline of his thick arousal clearly visible, and the photo I sent back of me lying in bed, stretched out on the sheets wearing a delicate cream lace set.

My phone buzzes as another picture arrives. He’s naked, holding a towel in front of him, all the muscles down his hips and thighs on full display. Water droplets cling to his chiseled chest, and I twinge between my legs. My response is a picture of me lying on my front. No face, just cleavage and my ass in a midnight-blue thong the color of his eyes.

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