NEVER ACCIDENTALLY MARRY YOUR TEAMMATE

Finn

I might have a reputation for partying, but I’ve outdone myself. After drunkenly proposing to my new teammate, Noah, during a wild night out in Vegas, I wake up with a ring on my finger, a husband by my side, and a colossal PR nightmare.

The team’s management is furious, and the only way to salvage our careers is to pretend the marriage was intentional. Noah plays along like a pro, and I move him into my Boston penthouse. He just got called up from the AHL, and I might cost him everything.

We’re stuck together for at least a year, navigating public appearances, playing hockey, and living together. In fact, this so doesn’t feel like pretend. But obviously, that’s impossible: we’re both straight. Aren’t we?

CHAPTER ONE

Finn

It’s going to be fine.

I need to close my eyes again, and this annoyingly lucid dream will shift.

There is absolutely no way I am in bed with Noah Fitzpatrick. People just called up from the AHL don’t room with first-line players.

Which means I’m having a dream about being in bed with Noah Fitzpatrick, which isn’t hugely advantageous.

Obviously, it’s not like I’m gay or anything. I’m a hockey player.

I close my eyes and wait for the dream to change. It doesn’t.

I can still hear breathing, still feel the soft mattress and softer sheet against my sweaty skin, still smell a cologne not my own. Memories of a night that couldn’t possibly have happened barrage my mind. I came here to play Vegas, not to venture into a pink chapel that has always been the punchline in comedies.

The dream isn’t changing.

I decide this path isn’t working. I flip around, and he’s there. Short dark hair, a freckled nose that is the perfect amount of straight and curved, long black lashes, and green eyes that...

My heart sprints.

Green eyes that are looking straight at me.

“This isn’t a dream,” I say.

“Why would...” Noah’s voice rumbles, last night’s alcohol giving it a husky, roughened edge I shouldn’t find appealing, and his sleepy eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

I nod eagerly. He gets it.

Noah scrambles from his side of the bed, causing the mattress to bounce, and I swear he’s not wearing anything. His shoulders are wide and sturdy, formed from years of dedication. My gaze temporarily drifts downward, past his six-pack, to a set of V-shaped muscles that aren’t supposed to look interesting. He yanks the sheet from the bed, and I roll away, letting him wrap the silky fabric around himself. Now he looks like a sleepy-eyed toga-wearing frat boy. I pull the blanket over me because copying his pose would be strange, and my body doesn’t realize this so isn’t the time for morning wood.

“Did we—?” Noah can’t finish the sentence. I won’t finish it for him. The words don’t feel right coming out of my mouth, even though I know how he wants to end it.

“If we did, there should be a certificate.”

He nods. “Right. Good thinking.”

Noah is Mr. Agreeable.

He lunges for something, and I don’t notice the manner the silky gray sheet slides over his pale skin at all. No way. That would be strange, and I’m not strange. I’m definitely not gay. Not me.

Noah scrambles around on the glossy marble floor like an Olympic wrestler, muscles flexing, hair catching the light.

I dart my gaze around the room, noting the luxury black grass wallpaper, the gold-framed mirrors, the crystal chandelier, the view of the entire strip, the sparkling, garish lights now off, the inky sky replaced with a hazy blue.

I blink.

The NHL treats us super well, but this so isn’t my suite.

My room didn’t have a tray of Dom Perignon and crystal flutes. A trail of red petals leads to the door. I glance at the headboard, and it is a tasteful black...and a less tasteful heart shape.

“Are we in the honeymoon suite?” My voice is gravelly, and I swallow back the taste of alcohol. Ugh. My head thunders, and I sink into the mattress.

Noah raises up a piece of paper. “Found it.”

My organs slither together.

Whatever he’s holding up looks official.

The blue-and-white document has both of our names on it: Finn Carrington and Noah Fitzpatrick.

It’s our marriage certificate.

CHAPTER TWO

Four days earlier

Noah

The yard has turned into a sludgy disaster. Rain rivulets down anything that can be termed a slope, and large brown puddles sit in the flat areas of the tiny yard in front of my triple-decker. I pull my hoodie up and sprint inside, ignoring the squelch of mud beneath my sneakers and the way the cool rain drenches my sweatpants.

I fumble with my key, my hands cold and slippery, and walk the two stories up to the apartment I share with three other guys. The dirty dishes that sat on the sink two days ago still remain, and the trashcan still bulges with cardboard pizza boxes, plastic macaroni-and-cheese trays, and burrito-smudged tinfoil.

It’s fine.

I’m in the AHL. I might not make a lot, but I get to play hockey for a living. This is my best life. Absolutely.

Clashing TV and video game noises blare and boom from my roommates’ rooms.

I consider knocking on Trevor’s door and reminding him about the dirty dishes, but I don’t want to be that guy. I didn’t think I was that guy when I interviewed for this room.

Instead, I put on the rubber gloves tucked beneath the sink. I may as well do the dishes myself. I don’t mind. If I can play hockey and stretch my body to the limit on a regular basis, blocking speeding pucks with my legs and torso so I’m speckled with bruises, I can deal with dirty dishes.

The rain hasn’t let up, hitting the windows with force, and though Providence’s downtown is nice, the last thing I want is a cold. Runny noses and throaty coughs don’t pair with hockey.

After a moment’s hesitation, I vacuum the living room and straighten the clutter. My body aches. If the bathtub didn’t always look terrible, I would fling myself into it, maybe with a bag of ice, but no matter how well I scrub it, I’ll have the memories of what it used to look like.

I showered at the rink after practice, so instead, I collapse onto my bed. Squeaking sounds from the next room, and I’m pretty sure Trevor isn’t seeing anyone. I pop in my knockoff AirPods and turn the volume up as I scramble for something to mask the sound of Trevor’s mattress shifting under his not unsubstantial size.

I wonder if I should follow Trevor’s cue and venture to the sleazier side of the internet. I could use a distraction. But the last time I went to an X-rated site, I found myself wandering porn categories I don’t normally visit. And even though the experience was...enjoyable, my stomach still tumbles. The less I think about that, the better.

Instead, I scroll SlickSlide, then go to OurVids to check if Finn Carrington has a new video. Thankfully, he does, and a jolt of excitement moves through me like it always does when I see his raised eyebrow and smirking lips on his profile picture.

I also have a missed call from Boston. I’ll get to that later.

I click on Finn’s video. His golden-brown hair curls in a tousled way like he stepped out of a nineteenth-century portrait. If people in nineteenth-century portraits wore tanks that displayed muscular arms and said “dude” all the time. His eyes dance, and I find myself staring at them, wondering whether they’re more blue or gray. The colors shift like the Atlantic, calm and reassuring.

I massage my sore muscles absentmindedly while I watch my hero make a green smoothie, explaining everything he puts in it. He cuts up a mango and lobs it into a blender with some spinach and a long list of other ingredients.

Finn Carrington also plays hockey. Unlike me, he’s in the NHL. He plays for the Boston Blizzards, one of the best teams on the ice. I watch his video and write down the ingredients he uses for his smoothie. I wonder if they sell African Baobab powder at my grocery store, then snort. Of course, they won’t.

I click on Amazon absentmindedly, still focused on Finn and his always enthusiastic tenor voice. He’s my age, but he got into the NHL right away, and he plays on the first line beside Evan McAllister himself.

Finn chugs his green smoothie, and I avert my gaze as his Adam’s apple moves. Which is crazy because there’s nothing sexy about Adam’s apples. Or guys, for that matter. Not unless you’re gay, which I’m not.

Probably not.

A night of wandering the internet’s interesting corners doesn’t mean anything. Even if it’s not exactly my first time.

My phone rings.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Noah. Good,” Coach’s voice is stern, and I stiffen immediately.

“Isaiah’s out for the season,” Coach continues. “You’ve been called up to Boston.”

“Seriously? I’m a Blizzard?”

“If you do a good job, you’ll be there until he heals. If you’re lucky, even longer. Isaiah has been thinking about retirement. Go show them what you’ve got. They want you there at once.”

“This is a huge honor.”

Coach chuckles. “Tell that to your new coach.”

“I mean, it was an honor working for you too. You’ve been incredible. You’ve taught me so much.”

“That’s more like it. Though you might be back. I’ve seen it often enough. You’re a fantastic player, Noah. I mean it. You’ll get an e-mail from the Blizzards with details.”

I toss clothes into my bright orange duffel bag as joy explodes through me.

Everything has changed.

I let out a whoop that causes my roommates to holler. Then my breath quickens, I’m going to meet Finn Carrington.

I’ll be working out beside him.

Seeing him.

Maybe talking to him.

My mouth dries, and my hands shake as I continue to pack. 

CHAPTER THREE

Finn

Boston Harbor has gone gray and miserable. Storm clouds race over the sky, shifting shapes and darkening. White boats bob up and down from my floor-to-ceiling windows. Maybe there will even be lightning. Lightning is awesome.

I give Alexa some orders, and the light inside dims in my favorite way, turning the LED strips tucked under the crown molding a soft purple. Moody meditation music starts like I’m somewhere in Bali. The camera light flashes on. I am live.

I chat about meditation, then do a meditation for my viewers.

My life is the best.

Some people think being a top player is about exercising and practicing game moves. And those are super important and super fun. But my mind and nutrition must also be optimal.

The truth is, one reason why vlogging is awesome, is that I have something to occupy my mind with. I don’t exactly need a three-bedroom luxury apartment that faces Boston Harbor, though it comes in handy when I throw parties, which is often. I’m having one tonight.

But I have no intention of wandering my apartment morosely and contemplating my bruises and injuries and worrying about upcoming games, which so might happen if I didn’t have this to distract myself with.

The sky darkens, then hockey players and puck bunnies swarm my apartment.

“Finn!” Axel fist bumps me as he enters, and I receive shoulder slaps from Luke and Troy before they search for my alcohol.

Troy takes charge of making cocktails for everyone. He presses his thin pink lips in concentration and narrows his dark eyes. Since the chicks dig cocktails, he’s soon surrounded. Lucky dude.

My doorbell rings again. This time, my neighbor Madison stands before me, wearing a short, sparkling silver dress that shows off her legs. She swoops her thick, mascara-slathered lashes up and down. I grin as I inhale her floral perfume.

“Want me to give you a private tour?” I drawl, using my deepest voice.

She rolls her eyes. “I have a matching apartment.”

I snort.

“I need a cocktail.” Madison saunters away, and her thick dark hair tumbles along her back in an interesting manner that directs my attention to her narrow waist and not narrow bottom. Her hips wriggle, helped by her high, red-bottomed heels.

I stare after her. I’m totally an ass man.

Troy was so right to get into cocktail making. I idly wonder if I should learn how to do that, but then decide cocktails aren’t part of my health-conscious brand. The cloying, fruity taste never appealed to me.

It’s not a great idea to sleep with my next-door neighbor, but the tension between Madison and me has been building, and it’s totally going to happen. The girls’ laughter wafts through the apartment, and I feel a swell of pride that I’ve created this nice night for them.

Somebody puts on some Dua Lipa, and now the puck bunnies are dancing. God, I love women. I love their curves, I love their smells, I love their high-pitched voices.

Dmitri marches into the apartment, gripping a six-pack. His dark eyebrows thrust together, and he shakes his head, making his long dark strands that reach nearly to his chin wave.

I laugh. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear about the new guy?”

My organs plunge toward the floor. The music continues to blare, but the tempo suddenly feels too upbeat and optimistic, like we’re heading for a crash.

“Not much,” I say. “God, I feel so bad for Isaiah. Out for the season. That sucks so hard.”

“He cannot replace Isaiah,” Dmitri says, his voice as dour and matter of fact as normal.

“No way,” I agree.

Dmitri gives his despondent Russian sigh and hands me a beer. “Couch.”

I shrug and settle down on the couch.

Dmitri topples beside me, joined soon by Axel.

I shift on the cushions, as if my position is responsible for the sudden unease in my body. “Do you know anything about the new guy?”

“His name is Noah Fitzpatrick.” Dmitri’s nose wrinkles. “From a place called New Hampshire.”

“Hey. New Hampshire is cool.”

“Not as cool as Russia.”

“Perhaps not,” I admit. “I haven’t been.”

Dmitri shakes his head derisively.

“Guess he played well enough to come here,” Axel says.

I nod, but we all know it’s doubtful. He’s in the AHL, and that’s just not the same level as the NHL. If this had happened in the summer, we could have gotten a nice trade for someone who plays Isaiah’s position, since we wouldn’t have been hampered as much by trade and roster restrictions. Now, one of the second liners will be bumped up to our line, and we’ll have to focus on jelling.

“We still have a great team,” I say, and Axel nods. “We’re going to kill playoffs.”

Axel grins and clinks beers with me.

Dmitri glowers. “You are idiots. This is a disaster.”

“Injuries happen all the time,” Axel reminds us.

“So do losses,” Dmitri growls.

We stiffen. I tighten my grip on the beer bottle. The label ripples from condensation, and I swallow the bitter bubbles quickly and the worry about the new team member.

The lights of Boston sparkle before us, a slew of gold and darkness where the ocean is. I’m in the best city, on the best team, in the best apartment with the best friends.

My life slays. But unease moves through me all the same. Isaiah never thought he would be injured. Who is this new person? The team dynamic is shifting, scurrying into pessimism, and the wins that had seemed so possible at the beginning of the season seem blurry and out of reach.

CHAPTER FOUR

Three days earlier

Noah

I squeeze into the luxurious elevator of the four-star hotel that team management booked me and meet the side eye of six designer-clad guests. They clearly find me too scruffy.

I fiddle with the sleeve of my hoodie.

I’m not in Boston on some vacation.

I’m here to start my life. The life I’ve been dreaming of since I first learned what hockey playing was and first learned some people made a career of it.

I’m in the fucking NHL.

I eat my egg white vegetable omelet and sip my bitter green juice, shoveling as many nutrients as possible into my body before I meet the team. My gaze flickers to the TV screen on one wall. Isaiah’s face and name flashes on the screen. The presenter bemoans that I’ve been called up, and that some guy on the second line will be Isaiah’s replacement.

My picture—not my best shot—flashes on the screen. One of the people from the elevator gives me a curious glance, and I answer with a tight smile. I gob the rest of my breakfast, then leave the hotel.

I cross the Charles River to Cambridge, where the Blizzards’ training facility is. The new arena is easy to spot. The Blizzards’ logo spans two stories. Bostonians are sports crazy, but only one team is owned by a super-rich Japanese billionaire. The building consists of glass, steel, and the warm red brick found all over the city. Solar panels glint from the roof. If I didn’t know better, I might think it part of MIT or Harvard. A line of high school students and their teacher slinks down one side.

I explain to the security guard who I am, and he explains to me where the correct door is for the players. Equipped with a map and a few dubious looks—okay, I know I am not Isaiah, I find a wood-paneled hallway that exudes expense, then knock on the door of my new coach.

“Noah Fitzpatrick.” Coach Holberg shoots me a wide smile, emphasizing the “o” in my name with more force than most, and reminding me that he is from Sweden.

I can tell he’s a former athlete, but unlike other retired athletes who turn coaches, his figure is trim, his short beard immaculate. His eyes are a clear blue that don’t miss anything.

The man’s office is awesome. Slatted oak panels cover the walls, which is so much cooler than paint, though the best feature is the floor-to-ceiling view of the Charles. I would be casting wide smiles about if I had an office overlooking the water, too.

“Nice to see you, Noah. “Welcome to the Boston Blizzards.”

I stammer something about being grateful for the opportunity, then stammer something else about how I absolutely won’t let him down.

He gives a soft smile. He’s probably used to my speech.

“I’ll introduce you to the guys,” he says. “Training is optional today, but we’ll find some of them wandering around.”

“Thanks.” I nod more times than necessary, conscious of the way my stomach twists. I wonder if Finn Carrington will be here.

Ice water with lemon wedges sits in sleek water dispensers at regular intervals. Even the air here is fancier, clean, and crisper than any other locker room I’ve ever been in, no doubt due to superior air fresheners and circulation systems.

It’s strange to contemplate meeting one’s hero. I sort of wish I hadn’t watched every video Finn ever made, listened to every podcast interview, viewed every sports documentary with him in it, and, yes, watched every game he ever played too.

I know his clothes, I know his apartment, I know his every smile and every frown. Though Finn has way more smiles than frowns. The man exudes joy.

And yet, I don’t know him at all.

Coach gives me an odd look, and I hope I haven’t missed anything.

“Do you have a significant other back in Providence?” he asks. “The train between South Station and Providence is decent.”

“No. I split from my girlfriend last year. No one since.”

“Well, no long distance is good.”

“I’ll be 100% focused on hockey,” I assure him.

I was also 100% focused on hockey when I was with Abby, but I don’t tell him that. We would have broken up sooner if she hadn’t been a medical student and been too busy on her own work to notice I wasn’t around.

Laughter rumbles through the locker room, and my new coach leads us toward the sound.

Okay, so it’s happening now. Those must be the players, and probably not sneaky tourists who snuck into the locker rooms.

My gaze bounces over the locker room, admiring the golden glow of the fancy-ass lights under the leather benches, before landing at the bold snowflake painted on the floor.

This is a huge deal.

I’m a member of the Boston Blizzards.

I’m supposed to be here.

There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted in life more than playing for the Blizzards. It was a dream I said often and frequently. Most of my relatives thought it was cute when I was little. No one sat me down and told me how unlikely it would be to break in. Gradually, my relatives saw it as possible, not merely the nonsensical ramblings of a boy who hadn’t had his first double-digit birthday, and now, here I am.

This is my chance.

I turn the corner.

A group of players sit together. I know who they are. I’ve watched their every game for years. Finn Carrington himself sits between Luke Hawthorne and Troy Maddox. Laughing blue-gray eyes under golden-brown curls find me, and I smile into his gaze, even though I’m too late to hear the joke.

Coach Holberg slaps a hand on my shoulder.

“This is the team. What I can find of it.” Coach Holberg looks around as if he half expects players to be lounging under benches or something. “Please say hello to Noah Fitzpatrick. He’s fresh from Providence. He’ll be helping us out while Isaiah is out.”

“Finn Carrington,” Finn says, even though most people in the US who don’t play hockey, but wander onto Sport Sphere Network, know his name.

He’s a star; somehow, I’ve found myself in his presence.

Part of me wants to explain this is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. Not like the others. Dreams aren’t supposed to come true. The people in my first-grade class who wanted to become firefighters, presidents, and surgeons, are now accountants and electricians.

And yet, here I am.

I force a smile on my face. I’m going to savor this moment. I don’t know how long I’ll be here or how long it will be until I’m sent back to the AHL.

My heart races, and I barely manage to wave at these hockey heroes.

Coach Holberg frowns slightly, probably worried I’m going to freak out once I get on the ice.

But this moment is huge.

“Can you show Noah around?” Coach Holberg asks in the general direction of the other players.

And then they’re nodding, and oh my God, I can’t believe this is my life.

“Sure. I’ll introduce you,” Finn says easily, as if there’s any way I wouldn’t know the name and record of each guy here.

“This is Luke Hawthorne.” Finn points to a startlingly handsome blond man with large, innocent eyes and abs that would make people with mere six-packs blush in shame.

Like me. I’m blushing.

Luke waves to me and flashes a perfect grin. He looks like he sauntered straight off a movie set where he was playing the lead. Hollywood actors must be relieved he went into hockey.

Then Finn gestures at the man with dark curly hair beside him. “This is Troy Maddox. He’s Luke’s roommate and our new goalie.”

Troy’s face and towering frame have been splattered on every newspaper. He was traded from Nashville, and so far, he’s been doing fantastic. Boston has had multiple shutouts.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Troy gets up and fist bumps me, and I do my best to pretend this is all normal, and that I meet NHL players all the time. “You up from Providence?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

The conversation ends. Troy shoots a wary look at Finn.

“I’ll show you around,” Finn says easily, nonchalance itself. Then his eyes brighten. “I can put you in my vlog.”

He holds up his phone before both of us. “Hey guys, this is my newest teammate. Say hello, new teammate!”

“Hello!” I only somewhat squeak.

Finn shuts off his phone and smiles. “I’ll edit you in.”

Troy presses his lips together. “Don’t scare the new guy.”

“I don’t mind,” I insist, but my voice wobbles.

“Of course, you don’t mind,” Finn says. “You’re a hockey player. Hockey players don’t get scared.”

I grin, even though I’m totally terrified, and Finn shows me around the locker room. His golden-brown hair glints in the light, his perfect biceps, covered in a sweaty sheen, bulge, and he emits a happy, deep laugh that makes my insides lurch like a puck ricocheting after a hard slap shot.

CHAPTER FIVE

Finn

The new guy has the same wide-eyed, sparkling-eyed look as most rookies. In fact, his bright green eyes are even more wide-eyed, and I find myself smiling up at him. He has short, dark hair, and I wonder if they would feel spiky beneath my fingers. He flashes a wide smile, but I don’t miss how he fiddles with his hoodie. The guy is nervous, and I want to reassure him.

I hope this will go well.

Only some guys can handle joining the NHL. Mindset is huge, and Noah wouldn’t be the first to fumble his time here. The only thing worse than not being known by one’s heroes is to be known by them...and disliked. Though Coach is super cool, no one wants the force of his disappointment.

“It’s good you’re here now,” I tell him. “Sometimes people get called up on game day. Our next game isn’t until tomorrow.”

His face pales.

Shit.

I didn’t mean to make him nervous.

“And we’re playing in Boston,” I say. “Against Buffalo. No biggie.”

A frown shoots over his face, and the distance between his brows narrow. “I’m not scared.”

“Of course not.” My heart skitters anyway, because I like making people comfortable, not uncomfortable. I flash my most reassuring smile. “Then we’re going to play some Western Conference games. Vegas, LA and San Jose.”

“Cool.”

“You, um, probably read the schedule already.”

He nods, then fiddles more with his hoodie. It’s gray and oversized, and something about it looks wrong.

I realize the issue. “You need some Blizzards gear. Come!”

I drag him from the locker room. We peek into the various exercise rooms, some facing the Charles. The air fills with the whirr of treadmills and murmurs of men.

“Wow.”

“Cool, huh. But then that’s what happens when one of the richest guys in the world buys your team.”

“Have you met Tanaka?” Noah asks.

“Oh, God, no. He doesn’t meet with us plebs. I see him sometimes. And I guess technically I met him, but we’ve never had a conversation or something.”

Noah nods.

I get him set up with Blizzards jerseys, Blizzards sweatpants, Blizzards everything.

“Get dressed,” I say.

“Now?”

I raise an eyebrow, and pink invades his cheeks. He slides off his no-name gray sweatpants and slides on his new blue Blizzards one. Then he exchanges his black t-shirt for a white t-shirt with the Blizzards logo. His nipples form stiff peaks. Guess it’s colder here than I thought, or maybe the Blizzards need to start making their gear with thicker fabric.

He frowns at his sweatshirt.

“You don’t need to worry about that now,” I say. “Not necessary when we work out.”

He gives a relieved nod, and I stifle a smile. Newbies are adorable.

I drag him to the mirror so he can see how awesome he looks.  I pull him in front of me, since the mirror isn’t wide, and I want to see his expression. “See you’re an NHL player.”

“I am,” he says, his voice soft and filled with wonder.

I grin at his reflection. “You are.”

His t-shirt has a wrinkle, and I pull it down, sliding the ends toward his hips. My fingers zing, and his face pales.

Maybe he doesn’t like to be touched.

“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping away. “Sometimes I’m a bit much.”

“I don’t think you’re too much,” he says.

“No?”

He nods, and his green eyes dilate. They’re super green, and I wish I knew plants better so I could ask him what shade they most resemble, but then decide that he might think that question is weird.

I mean, I think that question is weird.

But maybe I’ll browse my mother’s gardening books next time I’m home.

The door slams open, and Noah lurches forward.

Dmitri enters, giving us a strange look.

“Ah. This is Dmitri Volkov,” I say.

Dmitri glowers, and Noah shrinks.

“He’s, um, not as scary as he looks,” I assure him.

“Ha.” Dmitri shakes his head. “Of course, I am as scary as I look. I am Russian defenseman.”

“Um, yes.” I gesture to Noah. “This is Noah.”

“The rookie.” Dmitri smirks, then heads for the weights.

Noah shadows me for the rest of the day, listening as I explain everything about the arena, expounding upon the cafeteria and best foods in potentially excessive detail. When he’s been thoroughly briefed, a task that technically one of the admin people could do, we go to one of the exercise rooms. A few rebounders sit against the wall, though most of the room is filled with weights and machines.

I like this. I like helping new people. Something about Noah’s shyness which he’s trying to hide and wide-eyed enthusiasm draws me in. He’s not cool—not like Dmitri or Axel, but I find myself grinning at him.

I set him up on the treadmill next to me. Weights clank, grunts grow more frequent, and chatter diminishes, as everyone gets further into their workouts.

Coach H announces he’s moving Axel up a line to replace Isaiah, sliding Jason into his place. Noah will be on the third line.

“You know what we need?” I announce. “Party at my place!”

“You threw a party yesterday,” Troy reminds me.

“Yeah, but that was a general party. This is a welcome-Noah-to-Boston party. Totally different.”

“You want another shot at banging Madison,” Troy says, and Noah gives me a curious look.

“Hey. That’s no way to talk about a lady. Besides, it’s all about the tension.” I fluff my hair, satisfied smirk in place. “Now, are you in?”

“Course I am,” Troy says, and I soon have a chorus of yesses, awesomes and can’t waits.

I jump onto the rebounder. “This is going to be the best.”

After all, what could possibly go wrong at a party?

CHAPTER SIX

Noah

This is the best party ever.

Finn’s apartment is in Seaport, which apparently is the fancy section of Boston if you like your buildings contemporary as well as expensive.

I know the layout from the various vlogs he’s done on his apartment, a fact I don’t mention to him. It was awkward enough to admit I’ve watched some of them. Some can mean three or something. All of them over four years is way more.

Finn is shorter than I imagined. Skates make him taller during the games, and cameras do the rest at his home. I’m two inches taller than him, and I can see the top of his curly hair. I have an odd urge to slink my fingers through his glossy locks; maybe that’s a sign he’s discovered that good product matters.

Large tourist boats drift around the harbor, and tourists in rows of closely packed seats dutifully take photos. I was in one of them in second grade. Other schools brought students to New York City, but Boston was the limit for my tiny New Hampshire town.

It was also about the best possible visit. I never thought I would one day be doing anything in Boston except craning my neck in utter awe.

Hip hop booms in the background, and the view changes from ethereal dusk streaked in tangerine and lilac to plain black. Lights sparkle, and my heart is light.

Finn wasn’t kidding about throwing a party. The room is thick with people. Slinkily dressed women totter in high heels, cozying up to the casually clad hockey players. Everyone looks super healthy, super perfect. Giggles erupt with ever-growing frequency, joined by the ever-growing booms of male laughter. Glasses clink, conversations gallop.

A few women in teeny sparkling dresses have approached me, tucking their hair behind their ears, and running fingers along their collarbones, but I’m no good at conversation, and they wander off, leaving me to enjoy the view of my new city and my beers. Wooziness fills me with every taste of the bitter bubbles. I never go out in Providence, and I let myself become relaxed.

Then a certain golden-brown haired man ambles toward me.

“There you are.” Finn slips a cocktail into my hand, taking my almost-empty beer bottle and adding it to the row of empty bottles on the windowsill. Condensation cools my fingers.

“What is this?”

“Tequila sunrise. You can taste test it for me.”

I swallow the drink, then cough.

Finn’s face falls. “You don’t like it.”

“N-no. I love it!”

His eyebrows rise. “Maybe I made it wrong. Is it too strong?”

I take another swallow. The liquid burns my throat, and it’s way sweeter, way fruitier than anything I’m used to. God, why are girls so crazy for cocktails? It does taste super strong. Maybe unusually strong. But I’m not going to have him test it to make sure.

But my mother taught me to finish my food, and I’m not going to start off not doing that by insulting my hero. It’s probably me, after all. Money doesn’t go far, even in fourth-rate apartments, and ordering $20 cocktails is never a habit I’ve gotten into. Some things feel frivolous.

“You having a good time?” Finn asks.

I nod rapidly to make sure he gets it. “The best!”

Finn grins. “Great.”

“You know I’ve seen all your vlogs,” I tell him casually. “I’m a...” I hesitate, unsure of the word.

His blue-gray eyes glimmer. “Are you a fan?”

I shake my head. “No. That’s not it.”

“You’re a hate watcher?” His pink lips swerve up.

I stare. “Your eyes are bigger than they look on the screen.”

I think his brows lurch upward.

“I’m in 3-D,” he says, his voice rough. “Surprise.”

“Surprise!” I say. “That’s what I am!”

“You’re a surprise?” His lips curl. They are much fuller than I remember from the screen. Juicy almost. There’s a reason why I shouldn’t tell him that, though I’m not sure what it is. I know what I am though. “It begins with ‘s’ though.”

“Uh-huh?” Finn eyes my cocktail glass, but it’s already empty. I wasn’t going to make him feel bad. No way. Not anyone, but especially not him. I slick my finger along the rim and stick it in my mouth. I frown instantly. “Salty.”

“You’re salty?” he teases, his eyes glinting.

A dark-haired woman with thick black lashes appears beside him. She’s gorgeous. I know. Because I’m straight. I can tell those things about women.

A pit forms in my stomach. Maybe I’m allergic to her perfume. She seems to have slathered it all over her body. She smells like a flower shop. Which, in hindsight, is supposed to smell nice. Floral they call it. Maybe with some musk. I try to remember if Abby ever talked about perfumes, but she was so serious, I don’t think it came up.

“Are you Madison?” The words topple from my mouth.

Her eyes widen, then she smiles. “Guess I’m famous. What did he say about me?”

“That he wants to sleep with you.”

Madison’s eyes round.

“We’ll have to work on your wing game later,” Finn tells me, before directing his attention to Madison. “This is Noah.” Finn drawls, his voice going extra deep. “He makes things up.”

She turns her gaze at me. And I was completely right. She is gorgeous. Her nose turns up just so, and her eyes are set wide apart. She has glossy lipstick on and the sort of shiny white teeth that gives people thumbs-ups from dentists.

“Noah is from Rhode Island.”

Madison’s eyes light up. “I have family in Newport.”

“That does not surprise me,” Finn says.

“What about you?”

“I came from the AHL team,” I explain. “I grew up in New Hampshire. Small town actually.”

“Maybe I know it from antiquing? My mother and I go all over searching for finds.”

“I so can’t imagine anyone going to my town to buy anything else except gas from the gas station.”

Her eyes widen. I think I’ve horrified her.

“Or whatever is in the gas station,” I say. “We don’t just sell gas. That would be silly.”

“Doesn’t sound like a town, Noah,” Finn says.

I laugh.

“First you say you’re a hate watcher, then you’re lying about towns?” he teases.

Madison flicks her gaze back and forth between us.

“I’m not a hate watcher. It begins with ‘s.’ ‘Hate’ does not begin with ‘s.’”

“You’ve got me there,” he says.

“I’m a superfan,” I giggle.

Madison purses her perfect pink lips. “Right. I’ll leave the two of you alone. You can talk about internet things.”

“Enjoying your night?” Finn asks me.

I nod happily. I glance at the view. “The boats are moving fast!”

“Are they?” Finn’s voice is careful.

“Totally. They’re wobbling too.” I frown. “Do you think we should tell anyone?”

Finn glances at the boats. He winces. “You know, water is a good thing to drink at parties. Let me get you some.”

He disappears into the crowd, and I sink onto the floor, my head pounding, my throat tightening.

The happiness flittering through me crashes to a halt. My stomach squeezes violently, and a sour taste invades my throat. A sour taste I haven’t experienced for years, but which I recognize at once. I cough, my body shuddering with the effort to restrain everything, like a goalie being pummeled by puck after puck.

Oh, no. Not here. Not in front of him.

Finn is at my side at once. “Let’s get you to a bathroom.”

The partygoers all seem to notice me now, and their disapproval is palpable. Bile bubbles in my throat, and Finn puts his arm around me and hurries me forward. His footsteps plod beside mine.

I battle the acrid taste rising in my throat and strangle a wrenching noise. It’s not a war I’m going to win. Finn flings open a spa-like bathroom that emits a eucalyptus smell, and I hurry over the polished concrete floor, past the floating vanity, past the massive tub. I’m not supposed to be in a place so nice. Partygoers chatter outside, no doubt gossiping about me.

I lurch for the porcelain pedestal and collapse onto the cold floor.

I’m going to be sick in front of my hero.

And then I am.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Two days earlier

Noah

Twenty pairs of eyes lock on me as I slink my way into the locker room.

My head pounds, despite the water and electrolytes Finn made me drink yesterday, and my skin is bumpy and dull.

Even though I only threw up a couple of times last night, which is more than I ever did in my life before, and even though Finn told me that wasn’t too bad, I knew from the wide-eyed glances and nose wrinkles when I emerged from the bathroom, that everyone heard what I was up to in there.

Does anything sound worse than the sound of someone throwing up? And I subjected Finn and all of Finn’s friends to the sound. And I’m pretty sure Finn cleaned up my sickness too because I didn’t make it the first time.

My stomach churns. Guilt ravages me.

I’ve never gotten hungover before. I didn’t know it would feel like this. I wish I could huddle in the corner of the locker room, but of course that’s impossible.

Today the locker room is full. I guess a lot of the guys opted for working out at home yesterday, since it was a rare nongame day and early enough in the season for the coach not to insist they all come in.

Now they’re all here.

All staring at me, and I think whispering about me.

How quickly will I be sent back to Providence? How soon will it take my new coach to call Providence, and say, I need someone better?

Because these guys, in one of the top-ranking NHL teams in the country, got into the NHL straight away.

I’m here because someone was injured, and I haven’t even stepped on the ice yet, and people are questioning me.

After some training, trying unsuccessfully to sweat out the alcohol, I put on my skates and wobble through the tunnel. It’s time to practice on the ice with the others.

I feel dirty and ill at ease, and everyone avoids me.

Finn shoots me some worried glances, but he doesn’t approach me. I don’t blame him.

God, he set up a party for me. How could he have been any more welcoming? Then I occupied his time, chased away his chance at getting laid to the hottie he was interested in, and threw up all over his lavish bathroom. Worst guest ever.

My stomach still churns, and I don’t think skating will be the calming action it demands.

I fling my gaze around the ice, despising all the bright lights. The sound of skates scraping on ice feels like skates scraping against my ears.

Coach joins us on the ice. “Everyone, let’s welcome Noah Fitzpatrick. Some of you already met him.”

Some snorts and stifled laughs sound, and Coach’s eyes widen.

I stare at the painted lines beneath the ice and wish I could join them.

Evan, the captain, skates up to me. He holds out his hand and flashes the All-American smile I’ve seen grace hundreds of magazines and sports shows for the past decade. “Welcome to the Blizzards, Noah.”

I take his hand. This is one of those moments I dreamed of all my life, but now that it’s here, my fingers tremble, and my handshake is probably too limp or whatever it is that makes a handshake bad.

How long will it take Evan to learn what happened last night?

His gaze turns strange, and I realize I haven’t answered him.

“Hi,” I say finally, my voice rough from last night’s unpleasant activities.

Evan gives a curt nod, then skates away. He speaks to Vinnie, a dark-haired defense guy. Vinnie always looked scary on TV, but he laughs and smiles with Evan.

But then I guess TV and dreams don’t teach you everything.

We practice puck handling and positioning, but I don’t even hit the puck every time, even though there’s no rival team barreling toward us. This is supposed to be easy.

I spot Coach’s disappointed look. He’s whispering to the captain, Evan, and from their frequent glances at me, it’s about me.

Evan is a real adult. He has a daughter and a townhouse in Boston. He would never be hungover on a game day. He probably never would be hungover at all.

We get off the ice at 10:00, and some players disappear to get massages. I stretch in a corner. More looks are directed at me. Yes, people are discussing me. And not in a good way.

All that time saying no to going out, all that time focusing on the game, will all of it end with me being sent home early? Tonight needs to go perfect.

If Boston decides they don’t like me, I won’t get this chance again.

Maybe if I’d partied with my roommates, I would have developed some tolerance to alcohol.

I catch a glimpse of Finn in the mirror, his eyes rounded, and bile rises up my throat all over again. I strangle it down.

I am fine.

I grit my teeth and glare at the room. I’ve waited my whole life for this chance, and no headache, no nausea will stop it. 

FINN

Noah looks miserable and furious and awful, and no one goes near him. I sure as hell don’t. I invited him to that party. I hosted that party. And I served him that drink.

Guilt beats against me.

This is my fault. Noah’s first day playing for the NHL, and I got him drunk the night before.

I haven’t been hungover, truly hungover, since I was a teenager, back when drinking was illegal and hasty, and I was getting to know the effects of shots and figuring out pacing, but I remember the pain. Pain that so doesn’t fit with a major athletic event that will be watched by tens of thousands of people live and watched by hundreds of thousands.

Tension bubbles in the air, like carbon monoxide buzzing around us.

Our line hasn’t meshed in practice. The clank of weights sounds like a broken clock barreling unevenly, and Axel’s smiles grow further apart as the game time grows closer. Even he’s getting nervous, and he’s never nervous.

Troy joins me on the treadmills. His biceps bulge after his weight training, and he wipes sweat from his brow with his tank. “New guy looks terrible.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Troy arches an eyebrow.

“I think I made that cocktail wrong,” I admit. 

“What did you make him?”

“Tequila sunrise.”

“Well, that’s just tequila, orange juice and grenadine syrup.”

“Orange tequila.”

He turns to me. “You made it with tequila, orange tequila, and grenadine syrup?”

“Uh...huh.”

Troy snorts. “Bad idea, dude.”

“It’s supposed to be a favorite drink of babes.”

“Then why were you giving it to him?”

“As practice!”

“Madison was right there. Madison would have known you’d massacred that. Dude, that’s a drink you give to people you want to get drunk.”

“Why would I want someone to get drunk?”

“You shouldn’t want anyone to get drunk, obviously. But back in the last century, that was a thing.”

“And tequila sunrise gets people drunk?”

“Well, if you make it the way you do! Dude, orange flavored tequila is not the same as orange juice.” 

“He was sick twice.”

“I know. Everyone knows.”

My stomach twists. “I’m the worst host ever.”

“If he couldn’t handle it, he shouldn’t have drunk it. End of the day, it’s not your fault.”

I nod, but Troy’s words don’t feel right in my head.

Finally, it’s time for the game. We rush from the tunnel, and the crowd applauds and cheers. I tell myself this is like any other game, but unease floods my nerves. I look for Noah, but too many people are between us.

My focus soon shifts. The game against Buffalo should have been easy. The bright lights showcase our every imperfection, and I hate their glare.

I miss Isaiah and struggle to find Axel on the ice. Guess it’s a matter of time, but I hate that we have to find our groove during the season.

I’m exhausted and upset when I sit. Sweat cools against my skin as I watch while the third line takes the ice for the first time. I glance at Noah, eager to see him play.

His movements are slow, even slow for the third line, where there’s less pressure to be fast. My stomach knots.

The puck barrels toward him, and I lean forward.

“Go, Noah,” I murmur.

The puck continues straight toward him. He moves his hockey stick...

And somehow, he trips as he aims for the puck, knocking him off balance. His hockey stick slides from his hand, then glides over the ice, until it smashes into a Buffalo player.

“Jeez,” Axel says. “That’s bad.”

The Buffalo player collapses on the ground, back first.

The crowd is silent, shocked, then Buffalo fans holler their disapproval.

“He’s going to have a big bruise,” Axel says.

“Yeah,” I say, my heart thudding.

Noah struggles up. It shouldn’t take him that long. I lean forward, not wanting to miss anything, and my heavy pads shift and press against me.

“Dude, I’ve seen people in junior high skate better,” Axel says.

“You think people in junior high fall on the ice?” Troy asks. “When they’re not colliding with other players? You’re supposed to be able to avoid a puck without falling.”

We go still. The audience murmurs, as shocked as we are.

Cameras are recording this moment. This will be talked about. People are screaming at their TVs and googling Noah and wondering how he got called up.

“Ten seconds and he fell,” Troy observes.

“And caused another player to fall,” Axel adds.

It’s no surprise when Coach calls Noah off the ice.

He doesn’t rejoin.

He doesn’t make eye contact.

But then, he just made the worst entrance to the NHL in NHL history.

My heart thuds with more force than before, and I tighten my grip around my stick. What have I done?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Noah

I shrivel inside myself. The other hockey players are silent when I join them on the bench. Their gazes bounce away from me. I inhale a shaky breath, and Jason leans near me. “Remember, we’re on camera.”

“Er...right.” I nod, but Jason doesn’t want to have a conversation. He wants to make sure I don’t start crying or something.

I stare straight ahead. My eyes burn, but I clench my jaw.

I wonder how many times the channels replayed my fall. How many hundreds of thousands of people have seen this? And how many more will?

I don’t get called onto the ice, even though that’s my job. Someone else fills in for me.

I close my eyes. God, who from my hometown is watching? My parents, who drove me to hockey practice, even though I now know the sport costs way more than they could afford? Even my out-of-the-way place in New Hampshire, which didn’t have fabulous teachers and trainers was expensive. Equipment is expensive.

And now, it’s my big break. The dream I spent my whole life working on...and I suck at it. And not the kind where I drift into the background and am mediocre. No, I’m terrible.

Why did I fall? I haven’t fallen inadvertently during a hockey game since I was a kid. That puck surprised me. I should have been thankful its was within reach. I could have done something with it. Like passed. Maybe gotten an assist.

I close my eyes, then remember that the cameras might pan on my face at any moment. I won’t add crying to my list of humiliations. I won’t.

I press my teeth against my lower lip so hard I taste blood.

My teammates must have seen it. My old coach in Providence. Maybe I’ll be back there tomorrow. I squirm in my seat, wondering how my roommates will react when I show up. Will they laugh? It will be back to dirty dishes and a dirty apartment and squeaky noises. My stomach twists.

I shouldn’t have longed for more. I should have left hockey playing behind like all the other little kids I played with.

Hockey games are long, and it’s obvious I’m the only person not playing. The other guys are great, but they seem distracted.

Boston loses to Buffalo, 1-2.

We return to the safety of the locker room, though the disdain of twenty-odd hockey players is as powerful as the disdain of a stadium full of viewers. I strip off my clothes. Will I ever be in a Blizzards uniform again? I don’t deserve to be.

The tile is cold under my feet, even though sweat pours off everyone else. But they were working. I wasn’t.

Finn enters the locker room. His large eyes find mine at once, rounded with something that looks like concern, but shouldn’t be. I don’t deserve anyone’s concern. I’ve let everyone down. I ruined his party, ruined his game.

Coach Holberg enters, his face grim and stony. His thinning straight blond hair sticks out in odd directions like straw. No doubt he spent the game raking his hands through his hair.

He sighs when he sees me. Lots of people sigh when they see me now.

“Okay, guys. We did not show them what the Blizzards can do. I cannot believe I have to say this, because you’re all adults, but no one should play hungover.”

Everyone’s gazes slide toward me.

“Many people, they depend on us,” Coach continues. “The least everyone can do is show up prepared to give their best. And I mean it, that is the absolute least.”

Everyone’s gazes slide toward me again.

I squirm.

“Fitzpatrick, see me in my office tomorrow morning.”

I swallow hard. So that’s it. I’m out.

Coach is going to fire me. I worked my whole life to play hockey, to have this chance at the NHL. And then I failed. Utterly. I let Coach down. I let my teammates down. I let everyone whoever helped me, whoever believed in me down.

Finn jumps up from the bench. He glowers at Coach, his face pink, his shirt off, revealing his taut muscles. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Everyone’s gazes roll to Finn, me included.

“Stay out of this,” Coach says.

“No,” Finn’s voice is firm, and he shakes his head, even though he’s contradicting Coach right in front of everyone. “Noah had one cocktail last night. I made it. It was way too strong. I don’t normally make cocktails, and I guess everything I put in the glass was strong and even when you make a cocktail you’re supposed to use orange juice instead of orange tequila...”

“God.” Coach glares. “You two are adults. Do you know what social media looks like now?”

I shrivel.

“Hell, Sport Sphere Network is going crazy.”

Finn’s face is ashen.

“I am furious.” Coach’s hands clench.

Coach sighs. “Okay, Fitzpatrick. You can come to Vegas with us. But if I hear anything about more parties, more careless behavior, I will remove you from the team. And if you do not play the best hockey of your life...”

“I’m out.”

Coach gives a curt nod, then exits. Everyone avoids looking at me, and my insides squish together.

I have one more chance.

CHAPTER NINE

One day earlier

Finn

Vegas shimmers in its usual dazzling way as the bus crawls to the arena. The sun hits the glossy hotels on the strip, and the fountains sparkle under the bright sun. I’m fucking relieved to be out of Boston, and I fucking love that city.

But God, I needed a change. My apartment felt heavy with the mistakes I made at the party.

Noah is slumped in his seat, his face pale, his freckles standing out, and I force my gaze away. I shouldn’t be thinking about Noah. I should have been inviting Madison over on my first quiet night in a while and moved from flirtation to base development.

I didn’t even make a vlog last night.

The bright casino lights are garish, and my mother shudders when I say I’m going here.  Vegas and its big fake sphinx and big fake Eiffel Tower and big fake Venetian canals are everything my refined mother abhors. The last vacation she and my dad took was to the Azores... small enough for few people to find it, and so unvisited that most people just blink at her confused when she mentions the archipelago.

The bus finally stops at the arena, and we pile out. Everyone still avoids Noah, who takes a bench in the far corner. He strips off his shirt, and his muscles glint under the locker room lights. Approaching the glowering man seems absurd.

I don’t care. I topple beside him, even though there’s room beside Troy and Luke.

“Hey.” I keep my voice soft.

“You don’t have to sit beside me.”

“Are you tossing me out, Fitzpatrick?” I tease.

Well, I intended to tease. Instead, his forehead wrinkles, as if he’s considering it.

I sigh. “You can’t deprive me of this view.”

His eyes widen, and heat blazes over the back of my neck, prickling it. That was a weird thing to say.

“I mean, this view away from the others,” I say, not sure if I improved my statement.

“You feeling misanthropic, Carrington?”

I give a relieved sigh. “Maybe.” I tear off my shirt, and his gaze jerks to the floor. “I’m, um, sorry about the other night.”

“It was my fault,” he says. “I don’t party that much. I didn’t notice anything off. Maybe there wasn’t.”

“You have too much faith in my cocktail making abilities.”

“I like your smoothies.”

“But you haven’t—” I grin, remembering last night. “I forgot. You’re a super fan.”

His face flames. “Did I tell you that?”

My stomach thuds. He doesn’t remember that. He was super drunk.

“I think you’re going to play great tonight,” I say instead.

He tenses, and I hope he doesn’t believe in hockey jinxes.

“You were called to join us for a reason,” I remind him. “And it really is all about mindset.”

“I don’t know...”

I remove my phone, then scroll for my favorite affirmation soundtrack. I pop one of my earbuds out and hand it to him. His eyes widen.

“Put it in,” I say. “This is what I listen to.”

He slides it in slowly. “My second-grade teacher wouldn’t approve of sharing earbuds.”

“I’ll keep your secret safe, Fitzpatrick.”

He gives a strangled laugh, and I beam.

A few people glance at us, and his shoulders do that cowering thing. I nudge him, and heat brands my shoulder where our skin meets.

“This works,” I promise him.

“You do this?”

“It’s my soundtrack,” I say.

He grins and is quiet. The affirmations wash over us, and I remove the rest of my clothes and change into hockey clothes.

It’s not completely true. I listen to affirmations sometimes, but mostly I spend the pre-game time joking around with Troy and Luke and Axel.

Still, I think this is what he needs, and I’m happy to sit beside him and listen to affirmations.

His cologne wafts over me. I don’t recognize the scent, but maybe it’s not from Saks Fifth Avenue, where I normally buy my cologne. I inhale, then realize it might be a cotton and sweat and soap smell that’s all his own.

I smile, and when we’re called to the tunnel, I feel lighter.

NOAH

I gave Finn back his earbud when we left the locker room, but the affirmations still ring in my mind. I repeat them to myself as we totter through the tunnel, and even as the introducer announces us to the Vegas audience. Then the applause, polite and muted, fills me. I allow myself to take in the lights, take in the crowd, feel the energy swirl around me.

Maybe I will go back to Providence, though I don’t allow my mind to linger on that thought. But I am here now, and that’s fucking great. I glance in Finn’s direction, and his eyes catch mine, as if he were also looking for me.

He’s standing in the middle of the ice. People are here to see him. He’s one of the Blizzards’ top players, right there with Evan and Vinnie and Isaiah and Dmitri.

Something swells through my body, something like joy. The sensation spreads through my body, continuing as some petite singer belts out the national anthem.

I’m here.

The first line plays better than last game, and Dmitri scores, getting an assist from Finn. The joy bubbles up within me again, frothy and unstoppable, and I grin.

Finally, it’s time for me to take the ice. My body takes over. The people I’m playing with are different from normal, but it doesn’t matter, not really. I’ve played with different teams in my life.

The game is a success. We win, and I don’t fall. I even get the puck from Vegas once, successfully wrestling it away with my hockey stick, and passing it.

Happiness flits through me.

It’s not my greatest performance, but I’ll take it. One OKish game in the NHL wasn’t my dream, but it was more than I could have hoped for.

I glide into the locker room, as the team hollers and celebrates. The room fills with men. We strip off our sweaty clothes, smiles pasted on our faces. Plans to celebrate in Vegas bubble around me.

Then Evan stands before me.

“Good job,” Evan says, fist bumping me.

It seems ridiculous for him to thank me, because I didn’t do that much, but I smile, and he smiles back.

In the next moment, Vinnie pulls Evan away and wraps his arms around Evan’s waist. “Let’s celebrate, baby.”

Evan beams at him. Vinnie beams back.

The tenderness between them is impossible to miss. And the closeness. This isn’t a big locker room, but all the same, there’s practically no space between them.

I stare. My mouth might fall open.

And then, Vinnie kisses Evan on the lips. Right in the locker room.

My jaw drops. I blink. But I definitely saw that. They were kissing.

I swallow hard, and something makes my head spin. Confusion ripples through me, and all the late-night browsing on certain topics comes back to me.

Am I...?

I don’t finish the thought in my mind. I lean back, burrowing myself in the wall. My heart races.

Am I...?

But the question is impossible to finish. Because hockey players aren’t...that way.

Except Vinnie and Evan are acting like they’re in a relationship. I stare at them, wondering if one of them is going to burst out laughing or push the other way, and there’s a joke I missed because I was focused on Finn and...

Oh. God. I might be—

Blood drains from my head, leaving me feeling lightheaded.

Vinnie and Evan break away, then Vinnie’s eyes narrow, and his face stiffens. Evan blinks, confused, then he turns in the direction that Vinnie is looking at.

Shit.

Vinnie is looking at me. And not in a pleasant way.

He jerks his head to me, and yeah, his eyes are glaring. “You have a problem, Fitzpatrick?”

I shake my head hastily.

“It looked like you had a problem.”

“I-I don’t,” I stammer, but maybe from the way I’m gasping and shuddering it does look like I have a problem.

The beautiful evening turns horrible. Eyes are on me again. Suddenly, everyone is following the conversation. The room stills, and distaste has replaced everyone’s elation.

I made a misstep, and I don’t know how to get everything back to normal again.

Vinnie’s eyes narrow. “You’re from a small town in New Hampshire.”

I draw back.

Maybe if I were from Boston or Manhattan I would be used to seeing men kissing.

“I was surprised,” I say.

Evan continues to look disappointed, and I hate it. I hate that Vinnie and Evan are unhappy because of me, and I hate that I don’t fit with the team even when I thought I did, even when I thought that everything was at least OK-ish.

Then Finn stands. “What the hell, Vinnie?”

Vinnie blinks.

“He didn’t know.” Finn’s hands are on his waist. “No one told him. Because you guys told us not to tell anyone. But it’s a big deal. I mean, it makes sense he would be caught off guard.”

“He was staring.”

“He couldn’t believe his eyes!”

“What do you mean it’s a big deal?” Evan asks, his gaze angry.

“It took you forever to get together for a reason,” Finn declares. “You can’t deny it. Who else is gay in the NHL?”

Coach clears his throat. “Finn, Noah, make sure you see me in my office when we get back. I’m disappointed in both of you.”

With that, Coach storms out.

Evan and Vinnie suit up, then join Coach to meet the press.

“We’re going out tonight,” Finn says, clenching his fists.

CHAPTER TEN

Finn

Anger still pulses through me after we exit the arena. It skates through my entire body, landing in my fingers, and it’s all I can do not to punch someone.

I board the bus beside Noah, making sure I’m sitting next to him this time.

“Vinnie and Evan are idiots,” I mutter.

Noah tenses. Maybe he doesn’t talk about it. Okay, I get that.

Sometimes I don’t like talking about things too. And maybe the place to talk isn’t in front of the whole team.

Because God knows, I’m super annoyed. And that’s not an emotion that comes to me normally.

I huddle in the seat beside Noah. Strictly speaking, we don’t need to sit next to each other. There’s plenty of room on the bus, and Noah and I are hardly tiny. His shoulders touch mine, and when the bus moves jerkily, which it does often as traffic swarms from the arena and moves through Vegas, filling up the casinos and glitzy hotels with hockey fans, our legs touch. My nerve endings spark, but I guess that’s what happens when you get to know a new friend.

Because I’m sure that Noah is a new friend. That’s why I felt so upset when I let him down at the party. I didn’t protect him. Not like I should have. Not like how Noah deserves.

The bus stops at the hotel, and I rush out, making sure Noah is behind me. “We’re going out.”

“Okay.”

“Meet me in the lobby after you’ve changed.”

He nods, his face somber, then hesitates. “What should I wear?”

My gaze flickers to him. He’s in his suit, like me. I crane my neck slightly, taking him in. His pale skin look striking against his black suit, and I stare into his green eyes, more wide-set than most people’s, a fraction longer than necessary.

But that makes sense. I have to assess what he should wear.  It only is reasonable that I should remind myself what he looks like. Not that it would be possible to forget, of course.

He looks good though. “You probably shouldn’t wear a suit.”

His face falls. “I didn’t pack going out clothes.”

“Why—” I stop myself. I know why he thought we weren’t going out. “We’re not playing tomorrow.”

Noah nods.

“So Coach wouldn’t mind if we go dancing or something. Everyone else is.”

“Do you want to go dancing?”

I press my lips together.

I fucking love going dancing. Love it.

But if I’m honest, what I want is to rant about Evan and Vinnie.

“Join me in my hotel room.” I glance at other members of the team. “Troy is going out. It will be empty.”

He gives me an uncertain nod, and there’s a nervousness I can’t place.

“The minibar isn’t empty,” I assure him, then I lead him to the elevator.

Maybe it’s a bit odd to take him there, but I’m not going to complain about my not-really-out captain and his boyfriend and also not-really-out defenseman in a Vegas bar. I have some discretion, whatever people think.

Hell, this is my fault for not including information on Evan and Vinnie when I showed Noah around.

I’m relieved when the elevator stops on my floor, and I guide Noah to my room.

Noah looks suitably impressed when we enter, and I grin, as if I’m showing a girl to my apartment for the first time.

“This room is awesome,” he says, taking in the view.

I watch his eyes go from dull to glittering, and I grin.

I give a modest smile since I didn’t choose it.

“More senior members get higher up rooms.”

“With views.”

“Yeah.”

He goes to the window and peers down. “There’s the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yup.”

“And that’s the chapel where people get married.”

For some reason the room heats, and I jerk my gaze away. I land on the minibar and hurry toward it.

I find a bottle of vodka, then pour some into two glasses. I hand one to Noah, and our fingers briefly touch. “Here you go.”

He takes it from me, giving me his happy smile, the one I saw the first day we met, the one I’ve missed ever since.

I take a long sip, then watch as Noah does the same. He throws his head back, and I watch his Adam’s apple move. There’s a space between the collar of his shirt, and his neck, a space that the average tailor might find irritating, but which for some reason I find fascinating.

I move my gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows that take up three panels instead. Las Vegas glitters below us.

The tension swirls in the air again. Noah must wonder why I dragged him up here. Maybe he did want to go dancing with the rest of the team. Maybe I’ve kept him from having a good time on one of the rare days when we can let loose.

The thought makes me sad for some reason, and I pour more vodka into my glass, then fill Noah’s.

“So you, um, wanted to talk?” Noah asks.

“Yes.” I give an authoritative nod, the kind my dad makes all the time.

Noah waits expectantly, and I sigh.

“I wanted to rant about Evan and Vinnie. But they are cool dudes, even if I hated what happened.”

A ruddy color descends over Noah’s cheeks. He lowers his gaze, and I notice how long his lashes are. Madison would be jealous. I shake my head, because there’s no reason for me to think about Noah and Madison, because Madison is my neighbor who might become something with me, and Noah is obviously completely different.

“Coach shouldn’t have called us in to speak to HR,” I continue, because I’d much rather focus on that outrage than why I keep glancing at Noah or why I’m happy to be alone in my room with him.

“I’m not homophobic,” Noah says.

“Of course, you’re not,” I say, feeling a thrill move through my body. Post-game elation probably. There’s no other reason that statement should feel important. “You were surprised.”

“Yeah.” Noah downs his drink, and I top both of ours.

It occurs to me that I shouldn’t be drinking so much, but we don’t get these nights off with no games the next day that often.

Giddiness fills me. The world sparkles below.

“Vinnie and Evan didn’t even speak to each other for years,” I confess.

Noah’s eyes widen slightly.

“Your eyes are very green,” I tell him.

His lips swerve upward. I want to tell him they’re very pink, but there’s some reason I’m not supposed to tell him that. I frown, wondering what it is.

“They shouldn’t criticize you,” I say. “And they shouldn’t have gotten Coach involved.”

“Coach happened to be there,” Noah says.

I shrug. “Whatever. The point is that we’re not homophobic.”

Noah nods.

I glance at the sparkling buildings below, and the bright, neon-light adorned chapel.

“We could get married,” I say. “Because we’re not homophobic.”

Noah glances at me, then laughs. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, we’re both laughing. Joy barrels through me, and I descend into hiccups.

“That would show them,” I say.

“Totally.” Noah nods. “We’re already wearing suits.”

My eyes widen. “God, we totally are.”

“No ring though,” Noah says with a smile.

I jump up. “Wait!”

Noah scrambles after me. “Where are you going?”

I fumble through my drawers, then pull out a ring. “My class ring.”

“Oh.” Noah snorts. “You do have a ring.”

“I am an exceptionally well-prepared groom. Noah...” I frown.

“Fitzpatrick,” he supplies.

I nod gratefully. Noah is great. Noah knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Noah Fitzpatrick, will you marry me?”

His eyes round, then he chuckles. “You’re my favorite person.”

“I’m pretty sure that means yes.” I slide the ring onto his finger. “Now we’re engaged.”

I move toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I turn and smile. “The chapel is below.”

“Dude, we can’t really get married.”

“They can’t call us homophobic if we’re married,” I remind him, then I take his hand and lead him out the door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Noah

The morning after

We’re married.

I blink at the blue-and-white document in my hand.

Finn scrambles from the bed, and I avert my gaze from the blanket tied around his waist.

“Are you not wearing boxers?” I ask.

“I mean, you’re not either.”

My skin heats, and I clutch my sheet tighter to me. “There’s probably a logical explanation.”

Finn’s gaze flickers to my hand. “Let me see.”

His tenor voice cuts through me, and I hold out my hand meekly. Even though he plays hockey, his skin is soft. Probably something to do with moisturizer or something.

“That’s my ring,” he says flatly. “My class ring.”

“It’s on my finger.”

“Yeah.”

We stare at the document again.

Shit.

Did I accidentally marry Finn Carrington? Hockey star Finn Carrington? The star of my favorite YouTube channel? The nicest, kindest, most fun man I ever met?

Guilt swirls through me.

“This is my fault.” I tumble onto the fancy floor.

Finn’s eyes widen, and he dives beside me. The room spins, my hangover, only the second one I’ve had in the world, strong.

“I’m so s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

My heart speeds, my nerve endings jump back and forth, my world skitters.

“Dude, I proposed.” Finn lays a hand over mine.

I gaze at him, wide-eyed.

Finn removes his hand, then stares ahead. “I’m sorry. Obviously, I’ll fix this. We’ll get a divorce.”

“An annulment,” I say eagerly, “since we didn’t, you know...”

He glances down at me. Maybe he’s thinking about how I’m not wearing boxers.

I’m thinking about how he’s not wearing boxers. I think about his bare cock, covered by a layer of diamond-patterned blanket. Did I touch it? Did I hold it in my hand? Did I stroke it? Lick it? My cock twitches, and I squeeze my legs together.

Finn does not need to see me get hard. Absolutely not.

“I mean, we wouldn’t have, you know, since we’re straight,” Finn reassures me.

“Totally,” I affirm, nodding multiple times, even though I’ve been feeling less straight lately. I’ve felt untethered, finding things appealing I’m not supposed to. Like broad shoulders and flat chests and muscles that ripple over sturdy bodies. I’ve been feeling...off.

Maybe I’ve always felt that way, and never examined it. Plastering one’s childhood bedroom with posters of hockey stars isn’t unusual behavior. Any question about liking men...that way, would have been absurd when I had Abby at my side, on the rare occasions we made our schedules work and saw each other.

But now, I’m unsure.

My heart pounds, shoveling blood away and rearranging my organs. My insides feel slippery, like when one tries to stop suddenly on the ice and can’t. I am out of control.

“Noah?” Finn asks, his eyes round.

I want to tuck myself under the outrageous heart-shaped bed and wait until these feelings subside.

“I don’t remember much of last night,” I confess.

“I don’t either.” He frowns. “I think we went into a fountain.”

I blink. “Maybe that’s why we took off our clothes.”

Relief darts over Finn’s face, and I hate the way happiness descends so readily over his face, contemplating that he never touched me. I hate that that is a cause for joy. Most of all, I hate the pang of disappointment in my body.

“Okay. That makes sense,” Finn says.

“Maybe this is a fake document,” I say, because, despite everything, I want to make him happy.

“Like a joke?”

He scrunches his lips together, then his eyes widen. “Maybe the team is pranking us!”

I nod, because I like the excitement in his voice, and it seems technically possible.

I mean, mightn’t NHL teammates prank one another?

“Maybe we should contact the, um, wedding bureau to see if we’re actually married?”

Finn snorts. “I don’t think it’s called that.”

He scrunches his lips, and I wonder if last night we kissed. Why did he book the honeymoon room for us? I look away because I shouldn’t be staring at some guy’s lips. Some guy’s lips who might be my husband.

I glance at the document. It looks super official.

Finn grabs his phone, then smiles. “X is boring today. Apparently, nothing interesting is happening in the hockey world.”

Finn concentrates on his phone again, then steps away. I hear him speaking to someone, hear his face pale, then nod.

“So?” The word shouldn’t be hard to ask, but my voice totally wobbles.

“We’re married. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Finn still looks crushed.

“But the news isn’t out,” I remind him, enjoying how his face brightens.

“No one has called us,” Finn says. “My agent would be all over this if he knew.”

I feel a wave of relief. I don’t want Finn to regret hanging out with me. He barely knows me, and I don’t want to cause him a massive PR nightmare.

“Guess it’s good we went to a different hotel,” I say.

Finn nods. “We’ll figure out how to get an annulment, and that will be that.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll sort it out once we return to Boston. Don’t worry. And at least neither of us have girlfriends who would be upset.”

I snort. “That would be difficult to explain.”

Finn chuckles. “How was your trip, babe?”

I laugh at his falsetto. “Super great, but I accidentally got married.”

Finn’s laughter rises, then he grows more serious. “It will be fine. We’ll keep this secret. Gotta pinky swear though.”

He stretches out his pinky, and I join with my own. I haven’t pinky sworn since I was in single digits. Maybe that’s why a wave of emotion rushes through me, as I link my pinky with his. Nerve endings dart, my heart patters, my skin heats.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Finn vows.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Finn

Apparently, what happens in Vegas doesn’t actually stay in Vegas.

The news breaks one day later, as we prepare to play Los Angeles. Noah and I are sitting beside each other, getting dressed. A few players have massages in one of the adjoining rooms, and others meet with their athletic trainers.

We’re relaxed, happy about our win against Vegas, and optimistic for our upcoming game this evening. I love the ice, I love the adrenaline rushes, I love playing against actual people...but this is my second favorite part of hockey: hanging out with the team.

All of a sudden, I notice Troy grinning at us. He shows his phone to Luke, who stares at us, wide-eyed.

I blink.

“Why is everyone acting weird?” Noah asks, his voice low, just for me.

“I’m not sure.” I scramble for my phone, my heart sinking.

I open X.

And there it is.

An article that we eloped in Vegas yesterday.

I slide my phone over to Noah, my fingers trembling, but he’s already craning his neck to read from my screen. Our heads touch, and we stare at each other wide-eyed.

This is not good.

No no no no no.

“Dudes,” Axel asks finally. “You guys got hitched?”

“Um...”

“And you didn’t invite us to your wedding.” Troy flings his dirty clothes at me.

I toss them back. “Shut up, Troy.”

“Aw... It was an intimate moment for them,” Luke says. “Why would they want you on their big day?”

Troy punches Luke’s arm.

Axel continues to stare at us. “So you really got married?”

The others in the room quiet, thinking about the implications.

“You’re in love?” Jason asks. “You’re bi?”

My heartbeat quickens. Everyone in the room stares. No one is laughing.

My mouth dries.

“They met a week ago,” Vinnie says, his voice booming through the room. “Finn has never mentioned an interest in men. They’re not in love.”

People blink, taking in that information. Their eyes harden, and I want to sink into the bench. Noah trembles beside me, and I want to pull him toward me and calm him.

Instead, I cower and hate myself.

Vinnie stalks toward us. “Are you making fun of us, Finn?”

“N-no.”

“Because everyone knows you’re straight.”

It suddenly occurs to me how terrible this is. This is the news that makes national headlines. Have any two players on any team, in any sport ever gotten married?

“Why would it be bad?” I ask.

“Because you’re not taking marriage seriously,” Vinnie snaps.

His gaze darts to Evan, then he looks away quickly.

Maybe he wanted to ask Evan to marry him.

And maybe I’ve made a mockery of their love. Can I announce that it was a joke? That Noah and I got married in Vegas because we could?

No one would be happy with us. The team’s reactions make that perfectly clear. They can tease us for secretly running off together, but they don’t want to think we did this to mock gay marriage.

“The last thing I remember from when we were last in the locker room was you spouting homophobic statements.”

“I wasn’t,” I say.

“It doesn’t look good,” Vinnie says.

And I’ll give him that.

It looks terrible.

I glance at Noah. We’re supposed to meet with Coach and be sent to HR for further training on how to be decent people. Noah almost got sent back to the AHL. Plenty of people are willing to take his place. In a battle between the captain of our exceedingly awesome team who has been a Blizzard for most of his career, and Noah, who got here a week ago and had the worst entrance to the NHL in NHL history... Well, this doesn’t look good.

I won’t ruin Noah’s career. No way. Absolutely not.

This is his chance. I won’t destroy his life because he made the mistake of becoming my friend.

I need to fix this.

I rise, so I’m practically eye-to-eye with Vinnie. I am not going to have him lecturing to us while we’re sitting.

“Obviously, we did not intend for this to get out.” I grab hold of Noah’s hand, noting his wide green eyes and the zing that moves through me as he tumbles up beside me. “Excuse us, while I confer with my husband.”

I drag Noah out of the room before he can say anything, my heart pounding fast, fast, fast, as I feel everyone’s eyes on us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Noah

Finn marches through the Los Angeles arena, still holding my hand tightly. I’m not sure if he’s realizing he’s doing it.

He ushers me inside, putting a hand on my back, then closes the door.

“You didn’t tell them the truth,” I say.

“I-I know. I’m sorry.” Finn rakes his hand through his hair in a frantic motion I don’t associate with him, and I soften.

“It’s okay.”

He blinks. “It is?”

“If you think we shouldn’t tell anyone, then we shouldn’t.”

He stares at me, and I reconsider my words. Maybe they sound couple-y.

“I mean—”

“Look.” Finn grabs hold of my hands. “If we tell them we didn’t plan to marry, they’ll think we did it as a joke. They already do. And that’s...”

“That would be disrespectful.”

Finn nods eagerly, his eyes wild. “I don’t want you to be sent back to the AHL.”

I blink. “You’d rather we what...pretend to be married?”

“Yes. Move into my penthouse.”

I nod. “Yeah. If you want me too—”

“I do,” Finn says, his voice desperate. “It’s spacious. We don’t have to see much of each other. I mean, no one has to know what happens there.”

I ponder his words. They don’t sit well in my stomach. “I like hanging out with you.”

A slow smile spreads over Finn’s flushed face. God, the man is handsome.

I stifle an odd urge to trace the swell of his cheeks with my fingers.

“You want to tell everyone we got married on purpose?” I ask, wondering if somehow, I’ve gotten this wrong.

“It’s the only way, Noah. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

His eyes soften. “I know.”

“So we tell them that we fell in...” My voice trails, but he knows what I was going to say.

“Love.” The word isn’t said particularly loudly, but it booms through the elliptical room all the same, bouncing from machine to machine. “Yes. That’s what we do.”

“We just met, Finn.”

“So we fell fast. We saw each other, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about you...” I murmur.

Heat blazes through my body, because of course he’s telling me our cover story, and of course I shouldn’t be saying something like that.

His smile is pleased.

“And remember, I have been following you for the past four years,” I say, stepping away.

His eyes round. “That long? That’s when I started.”

I nod, embarrassed.

He grins. “You’re my super fan.”

“I wanted to mention it to make it more believable. That we, um, got married so quickly.”

“I’m not just a pretty face?” He winks, and my stomach flips like those years I had figure skating lessons because I wanted to be on the ice every chance I could, even if it meant skating to sappy songs.

“That’s smart,” Finn says. “Maybe we were exchanging messages all that time, and once I realized who you were...”

I nod.

I wish I had been sending him messages all those years. He always seemed so lofty, so perfect, but maybe he would have answered. Maybe we could have become friends.

“You’re a hockey player,” Finn says. “You understand me better than anyone else.”

I smile, but it’s not what draws us close together that I’m thinking about. It’s all those things that make us different.

“My background is different,” I say. “My dad ran the gas station in our tiny, tiny New Hampshire town.”

“My dad would be the first person to say that he is extraordinary. Not in a bad way... Just in that there aren’t many people who have what we have.” He frowns. “I’m saying it wrong.”

“I get it. My experience is more normal. But it’s still super different, Finn. I don’t think your family would approve. I think all your fans would be shocked. And I don’t know what your sponsors would think. It’s okay to tell me you changed your mind. Maybe we should come clean to Coach and the team.”

“And the world?” He grits his jaw. I don’t like the tension in it, and I want to smooth away the pebbled texture that has formed.

I nod. “And the world. If the world wants to know.”

He narrows his gaze.

“I didn’t play well the first night. I played terribly—”

“That was because—”

I touch his chest, wanting to calm him. “I know. But it’s still a fact. Maybe I’m not meant to be here. I don’t want you to risk your career for me.”

He smiles at me now, his eyes crinkling with fondness.

“They would try to trade me, Noah. This is good for both of us. I like Boston. I like my team. And I like you.” He frowns. “Not in that way, of course.”

“I know,” I say hastily, and I wonder if I should tell him that maybe I like him in exactly that way.

But I don’t want to make things even stranger between us, especially if I’m going to be moving into his place.

“In a year we can get a divorce.”

“Divorces happen,” I say, and something hurts my chest.

I guess contemplating divorces makes anyone sad.

Footsteps sound, and Finn’s eyes widen.

“Finn! Noah!” Coach’s voice barrels through the air. “Where are you?”

“We have to sell this,” Finn says, his voice desperate.

And so I kiss him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Finn

Noah flings himself into my arms, and I wrap my arms around him instinctively, inhaling his clean scent. His back is muscular, and I trail my hand from muscular plane to muscular plane, and I raise my chin slightly so that he can have the best angle as he explores me with his mouth.

The kiss is hot.

The kiss isn’t supposed to be hot.

Maybe we’re both excellent actors. Maybe waving to the audience during hockey games trained us for more than we thought.

His hands find my hair, and he seems to enjoy moving his fingers through my slightly-too long cut. His mouth is more aggressive than any girl I’ve kissed, but I guess my kisses are also more aggressive. He sucks on my tongue, sucks on my lips, and my cock expands.

It expands too much, moving from something not on my mind to top of mind.

The door opens.

“Finn?” Coach’s voice is astonished, and I stifle a smile.

Noah acted perfectly.

Noah stops the kiss, and I press my lips to keep from whimpering. His hard chest no longer presses against me, and his hands no longer play with my hair.

Coach is supposed to think we’re madly in love, but I don’t want Noah to think that. I mean, I’m the one who proposed. I remember that much. I’m the one who slid my ring on his finger. I don’t want Noah to think I’m some creepy guy who is so desperate to have him around that I got him drunk, for the second time, and married him when he was too tipsy to understand what he was doing.

A swerve of guilt courses through me, but now is not the time to consider that.

“What are you doing here?” Coach’s gaze bounces around the room.

“I wanted to spend time with my husband.” I take Noah’s hand in mine.

“And doing more than that.” Coach stares at us, baffled.

He’s not the only baffled one.

“I guess you read the news.”

Coach sighs. “What is this about, Finn?”

Noah squeezes my hand, and calmness moves over me. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand how the news got out.”

“You wanted to get married and not have anyone know?” Coach blinks at me.

“Yeah. I mean, that’s why we didn’t invite anyone.”

Coach furrows his brow. He opens and closes his mouth, moving from me to Noah and back again.

I’m glad Noah kissed me. Coach was planning on doing much more yelling at us, and now he can’t. Now he’s confused.

“Do you know how many paparazzi look through marriage certificates in Vegas?” Coach asks. “There’s no more public place to elope.”

Oh.

“I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve had girlfriends, Finn. I’ve met them. I mean, you’ve had a lot.”

Noah whitens, which is the appropriate reaction if he were actually in love with me, and his muscles go stiff.

I nudge his shoulder, hoping to ease some of the tension.

All I want now is for him to be happy. To not have destroyed his life too much.

“I had a lot of dates,” I say. “But only one Noah.”

I smile up at him, and he smiles back.

His eyes are beautiful. I could get lost in his gaze.

Coach clears his throat. “You just met.”

“Actually we’ve been corresponding with each other for years,” I say.

“You didn’t say anything when I introduced you one week ago.”

“I followed his vlog,” Noah says quickly. “We exchanged messages. He didn’t know it was me until I told him later.”

“And then you told him, and he got you drunk?” Coach asks, brow furrowed.

My heart pounds. This isn’t going to work. Coach totally sees through us. He knows we’re random teammates and doesn’t believe a word we’re saying.

“I don’t drink often,” Noah says. “It was an accident.”

I nod.

Coach sighs. “You were sitting apart on your way to Vegas.”

“And looking miserable,” Noah says, which is some awesome quick thinking. He squeezes my hand again. “I love Finn, sir. We didn’t plan to elope, but that doesn’t mean our feelings aren’t true and strong.”

“The last time I spoke to you it was because you were acting homophobic.”

“Which we told you wasn’t true,” Finn says.

“And now I know why you got so angry.” Coach closes his eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“We didn’t mean for the whole world to know.”

“You just wanted to get married,” Coach says.

“Because we love each other.”

Noah smiles at me exactly as if we were really a couple and I had told him I loved him.

“You need to call your agents,” Coach says. “They’ll need to talk with team management. This is a huge deal, guys.”

“I know,” I say softly.

“You’re supposed to disclose relationships.”

“That’s not in the handbook,” Noah says. “I, um, just read it. Since I’m new.”

Coach sighs. “I guess HR didn’t think about homosexual relationships between players when they wrote it.”

“I don’t want Noah to be sent away,” I say. “I’m sure the team owners don’t want a scandal about the Blizzards thwarting young love.”

“My son is gay. That’s, um, no issue.” Coach backs away, his eyes still wide. “Call your agent. And this is an elliptical room. Not a kissing room.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Noah says.

Coach nods and flees the room, and we’re alone again.

I step away, even though I miss the feel of being beside me. I glance at my phone. “Twelve missed calls. Better call my agent.”

Noah nods, not meeting my eyes.

God, he probably hated kissing me. My stomach churns at the thought, guilt once again flooding me. I fumble through my phone, my fingers shaking, until I see my agent’s name, then I inhale, and press call.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Noah

The game is a blur. We win, which is good, though neither Finn nor I play a huge role.

The PR department released statements about Finn and us during the game, mentioning our excitement for our marriage and a request for privacy.

Finally, we are in our hotel.

“It’s your honeymoon,” Troy says with a grin.

“Um, yes.” My gaze flickers to Finn. My husband. He’s talking with his friends. Not my friends. Since, technically, I don’t have any here.

Troy holds up his card. “I can’t share a room with Finn during your honeymoon. Change with me.”

“You want to share with a rookie?” I’m currently rooming with Andy, who is almost as new as I am.

“You don’t want to share with your husband?” Troy’s gaze narrows slightly, and I grab the key.

“Of course, I do. Thank you. That’s, um, great.”

Then I find Finn. Nervousness flutters over his face when he sees me, and I try to ignore the way my stomach sinks. I shouldn’t be so in tune to his every micro expression. I shouldn’t be able to judge the millimeters shifts of his stance and his facial expression, even from yards away.

He recovers quickly. Hockey players move faster than most people, then he pulls me into a hug. I pretend I didn’t see his nervousness, and he pretends he’s in love with me.

“Hi babe,” he says.

I’m not sure if anyone else hears the hesitation in his voice before he gives me his endearment.

“I’m rooming with you tonight,” I say. “Troy switched keys with me.”

“That’s...nice.”

Okay, I’m sure that multiple people noticed the pause there. I pull him toward me, hoping that people will be distracted by our romantic pose, and not spend their time analyzing our language.

Because even if he’s uncomfortable, he wants this to work. I don’t want him to do all the work in establishing that we have a romantic relationship. This isn’t only his burden.

I brush my lips against his temple, the sort of casual move that longtime couples make without thinking. He shudders beneath my lips.

I’ve done too much. My stomach twists, and I remember Madison, the curvy brunette in high heels who wandered his apartment like she owned it. She didn’t stare at the view in disbelief, her eyes widening at each fixture. She fit with him, and I don’t.

Because even if Finn was anything besides a heterosexual athlete with a deep admiration for the female form, he wouldn’t be with me.

I’m sure Boston is swarming with attractive men who would slot into his life nicely. I swallow hard, and he nudges my shoulder, as if he can notice when something is wrong even if we’re not looking at each other.

“You should go out to dinner tonight,” Luke says. “LA has lots of romantic restaurants.”

Finn smiles. “Luke loves watching dating shows.”

“If you watched more of them, you wouldn’t be suggesting you spend your second night of marriage in a hotel room.”

Finn raises his eyebrow, and Luke’s face pales.

“Oh,” Luke’s mouth rounds, like his jaw struggles from resisting gravity. “Oh.”

Finn grasps my hand in his. “Let’s go, honey bunny. I bet this hotel has room service.”

Laughing, we hurry for the elevators, as our other teammates drift away for dinner and dancing.

“I hope you didn’t really want a romantic dinner,” Finn says, as we enter the hotel room. “I thought we might have to avoid paparazzi.”

“I like spending time with you,” I say, and he flashes me a wide grin.

Maybe we’ll be able to pull off this year of pretend.

Finn’s phone rings, and when he looks at the screen, his face drains.

He shakes his head and gives me something that resembles a smile. If one hasn’t seen many of them. And if one is in the dark. “Want to meet your in-laws?”

FINN

Noah nods, because he’s brave, and I lead us to the tiny couch on one side of the hotel room and answer the FaceTime call.

My mother’s face pops on, freshly moisturized face glowing. White furniture, arranged by a top decorator, appear in the background. I can practically hear the classical music playing, though my mother is sufficiently technical to tell Alexa to turn it off before she gets on a call.

“Finn Percival Carrington,” my mother says, her voice loud and barreling.

My mother studied opera at her fancy boarding school, and she is fully capable of making herself heard to thousands of people.

Noah’s jaw drops, and his skin pales, and he sends me a scared look as if he thinks teleportals might have become a thing and we’ll find my mother in this bedroom.

“You’re married.” Her lips twist, as if she can’t decide whether she’s amused or angry. “You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.”

“No.”

“And you also didn’t tell me you have a fondness for men.”

“No.” The pounding of my heart increases as I stare at her. Guilt courses through me, as if I’ve kept a secret from her for years. I slink my arm around Noah, relieved that he is here. “I have a fondness for Noah.”

That does not feel like a lie.

“In fact, he’s beside me. Would you like to say hi?”

“That would be highly appropriate,” my mother says, her voice cool and crisp. “An etiquette must.”

I glance at Noah. Worry darts over his face, and his green eyes are rounder than before. I trail my fingers around his arm, running up and down his muscular frame.

“Don’t be scary,” I tell my mother.

She rolls her eyes. “You both face off against strong men on the ice.”

Noah’s face is in one corner of the screen, and I make sure he’s okay.

He looks nervous, and I squeeze his shoulder.

“My mother isn’t actually scary,” I tell him.

My mother clears her throat. “A healthy fear of in-laws is desired.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m told it assures a more hasty answer of phone calls. And making sure I don’t hear about major life events about my only child from my next-door neighbors.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“I don’t even like my next-door neighbors. Now they think I don’t speak with my son, or that I’m homophobic and he was scared to tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know I don’t care,” my mother says, and her voice wobbles.

“I should have told you,” I say. “We thought the ceremony was secret, but the tabloids found out. Now everyone knows.”

“That must be stressful,” my mother says.

“It is.”

Noah pats my leg, and I smile, and place my hand over his. Strictly speaking that’s not necessary, since the phone screen shows our faces, and not our whole bodies. But maybe it helps for overall body language or something.

“When can I throw you a party?” Mother asks.

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

“Nonsense. I need to introduce Noah to everyone. And Noah needs to meet everyone.”

“You don’t need to go to any expense.”

“I’ll decide that.”

I nod. I know better than to argue.

“Noah.” My mother turns her attention to him. “Tell me about yourself.”

Noah draws back. “I play hockey.” Then pink ascends his cheeks. “Not like Finn, of course.”

“Where did you go to college? What did you major in?”

“Mother—” I say.

“I went to the University of New Hampshire. But I, um, dropped out to join the AHL. I was studying exercise science though.”

Mother flinches. “How interesting. And when did you seduce my son?”

Noah’s eyes widen.

“It was a mutual seduction, Mother.”

Now Noah’s cheeks pinken.

The conversation is spiraling. Noah is becoming more nervous, and Mother is becoming more dismayed at her new son-in-law.

“Finn, your father and I will visit you this weekend. Noah, I hope we can meet your parents then too.”

Noah’s face whitens.

“It was nice speaking to you, Mother. We have to go now.”

“Fine. But don’t think I don’t know you’re making an excuse.  I have been a hockey mother for years.”

I give an awkward laugh.

“Don’t forget to tell me when you want your wedding celebration to be.”

“It’s not necessary...”

“Of course, it’s necessary.” My mother sighs. “Welcome to the family, Noah. I hope you make my son happy.”

Then the screen goes dark, and Noah and I are left in the hotel room alone.

“How do you think your parents will react?” I ask Noah.

“I’m not sure.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Noah

Telling Finn I wasn’t sure how my parents would react was a cop-out. I know the answer: terrible.

Because I remember being in high school. I remember my mother warning me about one of my friends being a bad influence. Since Terry was the only one of my friends who had never even tried alcohol and since his grades were consistent As, I knew it was because of his demeanor. About the fact that everyone could tell that he was gay, just when he was speaking, just something in how he dressed and how he smiled and how he laughed, even when he’d never dated before.

My stomach flips.

My parents must have heard the news. I need to call them. I need to tell them that all their fears for me became correct.

My heart skitters, and I want to delay this forever. But the word is out. I want Finn to hold my hand while I call them, but that’s impossible. Finn doesn’t really like men, and he knows I know that. And I can’t introduce Finn to them with the same casualness with which he introduced me to his Mom. Finn’s Mom lives in Boston.

Because Vinnie was right. There aren’t that many people in my tiny rural community, and anyone who preferred men left long ago for one of the coastal cities. I don’t think my parents know anyone who is in a same-sex relationship, and I don’t want them to be upset at Finn. 

I turn to Finn. “Can I have some privacy?”

His face twists, but he nods. “Of course.”

He leaves the room quietly, shutting the door with care. It’s all I can do to not run after him.

Instead, I stare at my phone, my heart doing crazy things it doesn’t normally do when I look at the glossy rectangle. Finally, I call.

My mother answers on the first ring, and I remind myself that this is good.

“Hi Mom,” I say, trying to make my voice casual, even though my heart thunders.

I want her to be okay with this. I need her to be okay.

“How was your game today?” Mom asks. “I saw you play!”

“It was fine, Mom.”

Silence fills the air. My breath is too heavy. I can hear the dishwasher clatter from our house in New Hampshire.

I wonder if she’s going to bring up the news, or if she’s waiting to see if I will tell her. Sweat prickles my skin, and my grip on my phone loosens.

“So, um, you may have read something on some gossip sites. I think it was on the news. I, um, think the announcers spoke about it too during the game.”

My mother laughs, and hope moves through me. “Don’t worry, honey, I didn’t believe that.”

“You didn’t?”

“You’re not gay. I don’t know where they get these crazy ideas.”

My mouth dries, and I try to inhale, but there seems to be a sudden oxygen deficiency in the room. I want to laugh along with her, but I can’t.

Finn and I are going to pretend to be married, pretend to the whole world we are in love, and our plan will collapse if I assure my mother that none of this is real.

Because, to be honest, it could be real.

Not with Finn, of course, the man is heterosexual. But maybe with someone else. Maybe someone else could push me onto the bed and do all the things I imagine when I’m in the safety of my room, tucked under the covers in the dark. Maybe a deep voice would rumble beside me, telling me that I’m amazing, even though I’m not, and maybe strong arms would hold me. More than hold me.

And, oh God, I shouldn’t be thinking about gay sex when I’m speaking to my mother on the phone. Maybe I shouldn’t have broken up with Abby. Maybe I shouldn’t have let myself unravel, until I’m unsure of who I am and what I want.

“The thing is, Mom,” I begin, my voice halting and unfamiliar, “it’s true.”

Silence greets me.  I can imagine my mother frowning, sitting down.

I sink onto the bed, waiting, and I run my hands over the polyester apple green bedspread. It’s not a color I would have chosen. Everything is unfamiliar.

“You mean, honey, that it’s true that I shouldn’t believe the gossip?” my mother asks.

I hate the hopeful edge in her voice.

“No, Mom,” I say. “Everything is true. I am married to a man. Finn and I eloped.”

“Oh.”

One syllable.

One syllable of disappointment.

I swallow against the sudden acrid taste in my throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? I thought you were single. I-I thought I knew you.”

“You know me, Mom,” I assure her, but I don’t think it’s true. Or maybe she did know me better than I knew myself, making sure I didn’t spend time with the only gay guy in my teeny, tiny high school.

“Finn is great, Mom,” I say. “I’m happy.”

“A woman was supposed to make you happy.”

“Isn’t the main thing that I’m happy?” Tears prickle my eyes. God, I didn’t think I would be emotional.

I stare at the green-and-blue striped wallpaper and will myself to act normally. Just coming out to my mom. Perfectly normal. Totally.

“You don’t sound happy,” she says.

She’s correct about that.

“Finn’s parents are throwing us a party in Boston this weekend. It would be nice if you and dad could join.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Right. I imagine explaining how my parents are too busy to come to their only son’s wedding party.

“It’s important,” I plead.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Do you want me to tell dad?” I ask.

She sighs. “Better let me tell him.”

“Right.”

Unspoken words flit between us, then she hangs up.

The I love you she normally says at the end of each call doesn’t come, but maybe my words have distracted her too much.

She loves me. This is fine.

I lie on the itchy bedspread as my heart pounds and pounds, as if desperately attempting to restore energy to me. It won’t work. Pain shoots through me, unrelenting and unstoppable.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Finn

I sit in the stairwell and wait for Noah to finish his call. Normally, I would have visited one of my teammates, but I don’t want them to ask why I’m not in my bedroom with my brand-new husband, having the amazing sex they think I’m having. I stay.

Sad pictures of me alone splattered over the news is not something I want to see and won’t convince anyone that Noah and I are madly in love.

My legs bounce, and I run my fingers along the cool edges of my phone. Normally, I would wander to all my favorite social media sites, but tonight they’re speaking about me.

And I’m too scared to venture there.

I pace the stairwell, moving over its bland concrete steps and bland white painted walls. The wallpaper does not extend here, and the tiny windows looks out over a black night. Even the cars are indistinguishable.

Finally, I decide to check if Noah is finished speaking with his family. The room is dark, and I think he’s left, but then I hear his soft breathing.

He’s asleep.

He didn’t tell me to return. Hurt barrels through me, then I remember my new husband and I haven’t yet shared phone numbers.

I prepare for sleep, keeping the lights off, then slip into my bed.

My thoughts race, and it takes a long time for sleep to come. I don’t move, careful not to wake Noah, and the aches from my muscles roar. The blanket feels heavy against my body, as if I’m being flattened, and I wish I’d untucked the sheets.

When I finally awake, it’s to the sound of the shower. Noah’s bed is empty. I hear the buzzing of a razor, then Noah appears, towel around his waist.

Water slithers down his not yet dry torso, and I have an odd urge to trace each drop as they slide down his muscular planes. I remember too late to avert my gaze. My cock twitches, no doubt eager for its normal morning attention session. It’s totally not because of Noah. I scramble up, trying to rearrange my position into something modest.

Noah grabs some clothes from his suitcase, then hesitates, and goes to the bathroom to change. My throat dries. I’ve seen Noah naked before. We’ve changed in dressing rooms. I mean, I’ve never examined him, but I have a general sense of what he looks like.

I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or not that he’s now changing in the bathroom.

I squeeze my cock willing it to be less overt, then scramble to find my own clothes. I clutch them before me when he exits the bathroom, then hurry inside, my heart racing.

I feel uncomfortable and disoriented, and the dread that filled me as I attempted to sleep is only stronger.

When I exit the bathroom, fully showered and dressed, Noah is sitting on the bed.

“You’re here.”

His gaze turns apologetic. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go down there together.”

“Oh.” I blink. “Yeah, it’s good to go together. I’m, um, sorry for taking a long time.”

“You’re good.” Noah rises.

“How was the phone call?”

Noah hesitates. “Okay.”

“Your parents were cool?”

Noah stares at the floor and chews on his lower lip. “They might come this weekend. I told them what your mother said.”

“Good.”

“But maybe they won’t,” he says hastily. “New Hampshire is far.”

I nod, feeling like there’s more that’s being unsaid. He averts his gaze, examining the thin carpeted floor.

I flash him a smile. “Breakfast?”

Noah gives a relieved nod, and I smile at him for a second too long. We stroll down the corridor in silence, passing the framed paintings chosen for their inoffensive color scheme that matches the wallpaper and overall blandness.

I inhale his scent, and my heartbeat quickens. I feel his gaze on me, but when I look at him, his gaze is focused straight ahead, at the brown double doors, and a ruddy color ascends his cheeks.

Others exit their rooms.

Doors slam, people chatter.

By the time we reach the breakfast room, he’s trembling.

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “They’re good guys. Everyone is cool with Evan and Vinnie.”

He nods, and his cheeks flame, and I remember that Vinnie said that Noah wasn’t cool with Evan and Vinnie.

How painful is this charade for Noah? What have I dragged him into?

Guilt gnaws me as we reach the breakfast room. Forks and knives scrape against plates, people gulp coffee in desperate swallows, and our teammates are scattered throughout the large room. I want to take his hand as we enter, ruse intact, but something away the way he steels himself and the terrified expression of his eyes makes me not do so.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Noah

My hands sweat as I pretend to watch an action movie even though I long ago last track of how the characters go from explosion to explosion. I shift my position on the swanky white leather seat of the team’s private jet, and it squeaks beneath me. 

We’re going to Boston.

And I’m going to move in with Finn.

My husband sleeps beside me as we fly back from San Jose, but he rests his head against the window, as if to get as far away as possible while still feigning happy wedded bliss. Around us teammates play cards and chatter after yet another victory.

The plane lands, and Finn blinks sleepy eyes at me. I have to pull my gaze away, lest he wonder why I’m staring into them, as if I want to estimate the precise length of each thick black eyelash.

“I need to pack up my hotel room,” I tell him, my voice low, as we exit the plane. “I could stay there tonight.”

He frowns. “I have clothes and a spare toothbrush. We can go there tomorrow.”  

“Okay.”

Finn orders an Uber, and it drops us at his Seaport apartment. We’re quiet as he swipes his keypod to enter the gleaming lobby, we’re quiet as we stand in the elevator and it whooshes to the top floor, and we’re quiet as we enter the apartment.

We had no problem talking in Vegas, but now my mind is dull and thick as I try not to stare at my husband. My gaze bounces around the gleaming counters, no longer covered with bottles of alcohol and squished limes and sugar grains. Nobody is here except us, and no hip-hop beat booms.

“Home, sweet home,” Finn says after an awkward pause, and I give an awkward laugh.

“So you’ve seen the living room and kitchen already,” Finn continues, and we both look at the bathroom door. Finn is thankfully silent. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

I follow Finn down a corridor that manages to look equally expensive. The floor is dark and glossy, and modern art hangs on the walls, splotches of bright color.

Finn opens the first door. “I use this as an office and exercise room.”

“Cool.” I nod at the high-end equipment.

Finn closes the door. “And this is my guest room. I thought you might want to use it.” He blinks, and his forehead crinkles. “I mean, this is your room. It has an ensuite.”

It’s far fancier than anything I’m accustomed to. I drop my bag on the corner.

“I’m on the other side,” Finn says. “If you need me, I’m there.”

“Okay.” I give him a reassuring smile, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly.

He hurries away, and I’m alone.

NOAH

I am not alone though when I wake up. Footsteps sound outside my room, and I open the door. “Finn?”

A petite woman holding a mop widens her eyes.

Shit.

This must be the housekeeper.

I glance behind me, wondering how obvious it is that I slept in my own room and not with Finn. What new husband doesn’t sleep in the same room as his spouse mere nights after the wedding?

“Just exploring the apartment,” I say brightly. “All nice.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widen.

“I wanted to test the bed. Make sure I don’t need to order new mattresses or anything.” I laugh. Too loudly. “But I ended up falling asleep. So yeah, no new mattress for that room!”

The housekeeper’s eyes widen further, and her eyebrows definitely get involved in her expression of surprise.

Shit.

I inch toward the next room. “I’m, um, returning to Finn’s room. My husband. Because we sleep together. Every night. Very passionately. Newlyweds, you know.”

And with that, I open Finn’s bedroom door behind me and slip inside.

FINN

Light emanates through my soft woven blinds. I like mornings. I like waking up and knowing I still have time to lie in bed before I start my day.

I shift, stretching my legs against the soft sheets. The movement intensifies the ache between my legs, and my cock hardens further, needy and confused as to why I haven’t paid it any attention these past few days. I so wasn’t going to stroke my cock with Noah in the next bed, and I so wasn’t going to touch it in the shower when he was outside the bathroom.

Even though I wanted to.

Even though it’s been fighting for attention.

Even though, lately, it’s been contemplating the appeal of broad shoulders and a deep voice and a muscular chest. 

My cock thickens, and I reach toward it. I run my fingers along it, and if Noah’s image pops into my mind, it’s because it’s only natural to think about him.

It’s not because I’m thinking about a symmetrical face and big blue eyes.

It’s not because I’m imagining running my hand through his hair, and it’s certainly not because I’m remembering what he looks like without his shirt. Not that he looks bad with his shirt on either.

I frown at the direction my mind has taken. My cock is hard and has begun to leak.

I consider ignoring it, but I don’t want to be horny when I go to the locker room later today. I don’t want an erection when I change clothes beside Noah, and I don’t want to think about why the image of Noah changing beside me makes my cock twitch.

I shouldn’t be wondering what the slope between his neck and shoulder would taste like. It would taste like skin. With maybe some sweat.

But desire still pulses through me.

Footsteps sound outside my room and the swishing of a mop. The housekeeper.

I hesitate, then decide to move quickly. I need to get off, then I can go be a good host for Noah and a good employer for my housekeeper and greet them both without fear of an accidental lower body salute.

So, it’s not terrible if I think about Noah, right? It will let me be a better host later. Because face it, if I’m thinking about Noah, this is going to be over soon.

I fumble in my bedside drawer, then squirt some lube onto my palm. I throw off the blankets and lather my cock.

I brush my fingers around my cock, until every nerve ending is fully alive. I stroke faster. And faster.

Then the door swings open, and Noah is before me.

For a wild moment, I think I’ve conjured him from my imagination. He’s shirtless after all, and his hair is mussy and bedroom worthy. The air between us zings and thickens, as if I’ve been swept into some Caribbean paradise where the only color is the green of Noah’s eyes.  A second too late I realize that he’s standing in front of me and I’m still stroking my cock.

His eyes jerk toward it, then his mouth drops, followed shortly by mine.

I yank the sheet up, and Noah hastily closes the door.

Behind him.

He’s still in the room.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Noah

My jaw drops, and my gaze bounces over him for longer than it should.

That was his cock.

I saw his cock.

His hard, large, throbbing, leaking...

“Noah?” Finn’s voice is rough, and I halt my cock reverie.

My mouth dries, and I force my gaze upward. Finn’s eyes are round, and he clutches his sheet to his waist. Pink stains his cheeks and spreads to his chest—muscular, of course, and I contemplate what the scattering of hair might feel like...

“Noah?” Finn repeats. He scrambles so he’s sitting up on his bed. He rests his torso against the dark gray tufted velvet headboard.

Shit.

Finn was, self-caring, and I stormed in, and—oh, God. He must think I’m... What person walks in on something like that and stays?

“I’m sorry!” I stammer. “The housekeeper is here, and I didn’t want her to see that I wasn’t sleeping in the same room as you.”

Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Gabriella came into your room?”

“No. She was in the hallway. I, um, tried to explain that I was exploring the apartment and testing the bed...”

His mouth rounds. “Like Goldilocks?”

“That was the best I could come up with on short notice.”

Finn chuckles.

“It’s early.” I glare.

“Dude, Gabriella doesn’t speak English. She also doesn’t clean the bedrooms on Thursdays.”

My shoulders droop. “I should have stayed in my room.”

“Yep.” His eyes dance, then his face sobers. “But I didn’t warn you. Sorry.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Too much apologizing. No more. And I...”

I glance in the general direction of his sheet, then force my gaze away, my skin heating. His naked cock is underneath. His hard, large, throbbing, leaking cock. I swallow hard. “I’ll return to my room.”

Finn sighs. “Is Gabriella still in the hallway?”

“Maybe?”

“You should wait here.”

“Oh. Are you sure? You were...”

Finn’s cheeks redden. “I’ll survive.”

“I could...”

His eyes round. For a moment, scenarios from porn flit through my mind.

I could offer him a hand.

Or a mouth.

Or we could lie side by side and practice self-care in front of each other.

But Finn is straight, and so am I. I shouldn’t offer him either of those things. Yeah, he would think something is up. And not just his hard, large, throbbing, leaking cock.

My own cock rises.

I wonder how long his cock was. Was it seven inches? I think seven inches. Longer than one of those half foot rulers I used to carry around for years in my pencil bag, back when I needed to carry around a pencil bag for most of the day. And what was the width? Suddenly mathematics seems essential. It didn’t look skinny. But it wasn’t like it was so big you couldn’t ever contemplate it going...there.

Okay, I probably shouldn’t think about bending down for him. That thought is... Well, strictly thinking it’s not unpleasant. It’s...intriguing. But yeah, maybe I shouldn’t think about it too much.

I don’t want to see him in pain though. I don’t want him to ache...there. And I don’t want to destroy his morning.

“I could close my eyes,” I suggest finally. “And maybe...hum?”

Finn’s eyes widen, then he snorts. “Oh, God. No, let’s not do that.” He chuckles some more. “We could watch a movie?”

I blink. There’s no TV in the room. Does he want to want to watch one in the living room? With Gabriella cleaning around us?

Finn scrambles to his nightstand and opens the drawer. I see a bottle of lube and jerk my gaze away. Finn removes a remote control and presses a button. Then he throws the lube in the drawer, and his cheeks are a ruddy shade.

This is not awkward. This is not awkward. This is not awkward.

Something rumbles behind me, and I turn my head. Then a large TV groans down.

“Nice.”

Finn smiles. “Sit down.”

I move toward the bed, then he frowns. “One moment.”

I hesitate, half-expecting him to tell me to leave. Then he ducks his head beneath his sheet, and the sheet bounces up and down.

Finally, he stops squirming. “Sorry. Just thought I should put on boxers.”

“Oh.” My mouth dries, and the image of a nude Finn surges through my mind all over again. I sit abruptly on the bed, because obviously joining a half-naked Finn in the bed will make me stop thinking about him naked.

I swear my brain is normally less fuzzy when I’m not around Finn.

I inhale, then realize I’m smelling Finn’s pre-cum.

“Why don’t you choose?” Finn passes me the remote control, and something zings through me as our fingers brush together.

“Huh?”

“A movie?”

Right. I nod multiple times. “I’ve seen movies before. I—I can choose one. No problem.”

His lips twitches, and my heart drops. “Excellent. I’m glad I’m with an expert then.”

FINN

Noah and I watch something with action. Or at least, he watches, and I pretend to watch and that the five minutes before he entered the room didn’t happen. I’d been thinking of him, and now here he is, beside me, on my fucking bed.

He’s so close to me. I could totally lean in and kiss him. My heart thunders.

Fantasies are supposed to be fantastical though, right? I mean, most women don’t want to sleep with vampires or dragon shifters or aliens, right? And I don’t really want to sleep with Noah. Obviously.

The thought feels like a lie, and I try to focus on the movie. Sometimes I think I feel Noah’s eyes on me, but when I look at him, his focus is on the screen.

He’s in my imagination. But then, he’s also my husband.

God, I can’t believe we married. That’s so wild.

I find myself smiling.

Noah’s gaze rolls onto me. “Most people don’t smile at this scene.”

I glance at the screen at the scene and snort. Body parts are flying. “I promise I don’t love violence.”

“Good to know after the wedding.”

My lips twitch, then I burst out laughing, and he joins me. We wriggle on the bed, relieving all the nervous tension that filled us after Vegas.

Finally, we head for the arena. Noah and I stop by my favorite juice shop on the way and grab green juices, then I drive us to Cambridge in my Mercedes EQS. The Nappa leather hugs us.

“I’ve, um, never been in such an incredible car,” Noah says wide-eyed, staring at the long glass dashboard.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Not a good question to know about my new husband?”

He stares at me. “Blue? But with gray in it.”

I frown. “Oh, that’s not a color most people say.”

“I mean—red.” For some reason, his cheeks go pink, even though it was a question about colors.

“You got it.” I grin and flick on the LED lights, so they glow red around the edges of the car, flickering bright lights.

“Super cool.”

“Wait until you see it at night. The dashboard looks awesome.”

I slow as we near the glass structure. The Blizzards logo has never looked so intimidating, and I hope I’m not trembling or something.

“It won’t be that strange,” I promise.

“Yeah,” Noah agrees.

Tension still moves through my body, and I might be trembling. I park the car in the underground lot.

The guard gives us a curious look when we enter together, because of course he knows we’re married.

“Congratulations,” he says, his voice gruff.

I flash my best blissful smile because we’ve got to sell this romance, then grab Noah’s hand. His fingers link with mine. I’m used to female hands. I’m not used to a hand bigger than my own, solid and grounding. I don’t mind it.

Noah and I stride through the corridors. Black-and-white photos of successful past Blizzards players line the corridor, illuminated by a golden glow.

I doubt my heroes lied to the team. My heart tenses, but this is fine. Totally fine.

Troy ducks his head out of the locker room, then grins. “It’s the lovebirds!”

“Have we stepped into the fifties?” I grumble. “I thought goalies were supposed to be quiet and mysterious.”

“Who says I’m not mysterious?” Troy’s eyes dance. “You’ll get used to him, Noah.”

“It will be my life’s pleasure,” he says, and something about the way he says it, his voice earnest and happy, makes my heart pound.

I think about kissing his hand, but then realize that might be unnecessary. Guess I’m good at this acting thing.

I swing the locker room door open, still holding Noah’s hand, then stop.

We’re greeted by bright gold and silver balloons and streamers and the wide smiles of the team. Vinnie and Evan eye us in a bemused manner, but even they smile when we enter. A banner that says, “Just Married” drops down, and someone flicks on “Here Comes the Bride.”

The music drums through the room.

“Surprise!” Troy yells, then he flings glitter and confetti at us. “The paper store didn’t sell rice.”

I try to get the glitter and confetti out of my hair. “You shouldn’t have.”

Troy laughs.  “Kiss!”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Of course.”

I stiffen, and Troy’s bright smile fades. I sense the others looking at us more, and my mouth dries. I’m conscious of Evan and Vinnie staring at us.

“Maybe they don’t want to,” Vinnie says.

Oh, no.

“I, um, always want to kiss, Finn,” Noah says, like the good sport he is.

“I mean, dude, the chemistry between you two is off the charts,” Troy says finally. “Get some of it out of your system.”

Some of the others laugh. I feel like they’ve exposed a secret. Like they’ve read all my secret thoughts. I stiffen. The guys can’t really want us to kiss, even if they seem to be nodding and smiling and laughing.

I rake a hand through my hair, then slide my gaze toward Noah. He’s looking at me wide-eyed. I’ve never noticed how long his lashes are before. Pink assaults his cheeks, and he bites his lower lip.

I remember what his lips tasted like when we kissed in the elliptical room in Los Angeles. I remember what his chest felt like pressed against mine. I remember the citrus scent of his skin.

“Um...” I don’t like being uncertain. I know I’m a great skater. I know I’m great at hockey. I know I’m great at throwing parties. I know I’m great at making videos.

But this, this makes me uncertain.

I’ve already gotten Noah into this. Does he want to keep on kissing me? The guy saw my dick this morning. That was supposed to be the traumatizing event of the day. He doesn’t need to also feel my tongue, also feel my lips.

But then Noah dips his head and murmurs into my ear, “Hollywood kiss?”

My skin tingles from where his lips almost touched my neck, then I remember to nod.

Noah sweeps his arm around my waist and dips me down.

Wolf whistles and applause erupts around us, and it occurs to me that if we were an actual couple, this would be amazing.

My team is the absolute best. These guys are incredible.

But when Noah brushes his lips against mine, the only thought I have is that he is absolutely, 100% wonderful.

“It appears the rumors are true,” a deep voice says behind us over the whirr of the air conditioner.

Startled, Noah’s grip on me loosens. I slide from his arms, then he grips me toward him in an awkward manner and sets me on my feet.

We both stare at the Blizzards’ owner, and my jaw tenses.

Shit.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Noah

This is not how I expected to meet Hiroshi Tanaka, one of Japan’s billionaires, who made his fortune in electronics and decided to diversify everywhere.

Usually, I see his picture on the occasional magazine cover. Sometimes clips from his interviews appear on SlickSlide, as he sprouts wisdom so everyone else can become billionaires too.

He’s slightly shorter than I envisioned, but no less impressive. Now his distaste is not focused on rising energy costs, but me.

“This is why my advisors told me not to buy an American team,” he grumbles. “You two better come with me.”

“Er...Of course, sir.”

The others shoot us worried looks and begin to clear the glitter and balloons. This is not good. The team owner isn’t supposed to know who I am, and he’s not supposed to scold me.

My position suddenly feels precarious. Am I going to be sent away, after all? Will Providence still want me? I’ve been replaced there. Panic seizes my veins.

“I didn’t realize locker rooms had turned into orgies.”

“We were the only people kissing.”

The team owner glowers. “You’re the guy who fell on the ice.”

I close my eyes. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“So sorry you married one of my star players? I believe you Americans call that a Cinderella story. Makes it difficult to send you away now, doesn’t it?”

I stiffen. I didn’t expect to be called out on our plan so thoroughly.

Finn slides his hand into mine and leans against my shoulder. “We’re in love, sir.”

My heart flutters at his words, even though I know this is all pretend.

“Americans,” Tanaka murmurs. “So romantic. So expressive. So individualistic.”

Nervousness rushes through me, making each part of my body stiff and uncertain. “Is there going to be a problem?”

“People in Japan are not always heterosexual,” Tanaka mutters.

“Right. Of course.”

“I like my locker rooms to not be converted into party rooms. I like my star players not distracted. I like to not find my team being the punchline in late-night TV shows when our brand-new player plonks onto the ice like my five-year old daughter.”

“Right.”

“To be clear, she doesn’t fall anymore.”

“I won’t fall anymore too,” I promise. “I never fell in the AHL.”

“Saved it for us, huh?”

Tanaka opens one of the wooden doors that manages to look way more expensive than anything I saw in New Hampshire, and ushers Finn and me into a conference room.

My stomach does one of those figure skating twist things, and Tanaka gestures to us to take a seat. If I didn’t know any better, I might be relaxed.

But everyone knows about Hiroshi Tanaka and how he’s grown his business to dizzying heights. He abhors mistakes. He fires people. He’s probably not used to being in the news for anything except articles praising him.

I mean, it is super cool that he’s become so successful. But that doesn’t stop my stomach from knotting, as if it’s recreating the fishing knots my Uncle Will does.

Tanaka enters something into his phone, and I’m not surprised when the room starts to fill with other people.

Other people in suits. Other people who look at Finn and me the way my mother might scrutinize a spider that made its way into the house, calculating whether to smash it with her shoe or go through the trouble of putting a glass and cardboard over it and transporting it outside.

They sit in modern, no doubt ridiculously expensive leather chairs.

Maybe we’re the kind of problem likely to leave stains and antennae on shoes and destroying us is something to be avoided.

“These are the troublemakers,” Tanaka gestures to us. “The ecstatic couple.”

He flashes a cold corporate smile that grabs hold of each of my limbs, and I smile back and attempt to not look on the verge of fainting.

A flurry of unconvincing congratulations ring out in soft voices I almost can’t hear.

“I have been informed that there are rumors online that this love affair is about keeping Noah with the Blizzards. Is that rumor correct?”

Finn places his hand over mine. “That thought never occurred to us when we got married.”

“I don’t think many thoughts occurred to you when you got married,” Tanaka says, and the words leave Finn’s face stained red.

‘There’s some truth to that,” Finn concedes.

“Ha.”

“We were motivated by love.” Finn glances at me. “My honey bunny was looking adorable, and I wanted to make him mine for the rest of time.”

The cold breeze of the air conditioner creeps up my spine.

“Never go into poetry,” Tanaka says.

“I promise, sir.”

Tanaka rolls his eyes, but glances at the people who do not go to work wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts. “What are our options?”

“This is an opportunity to show the country that the Blizzards is at the forefront of diversity,” a woman in a lime green suit says.

“Would have been more convenient five years ago.” Tanaka’s eyes land on Finn. “Couldn’t you have fallen in love then?”

“Um...”

Tanaka examines his iPad. “And you’ve dated many women.” He frowns. “Many, many women.” He continues to scroll. “Wow.”

I stiffen. How many women is Tanaka talking about? I might have watched every single one of Finn’s videos, but those are what he put out. Maybe I know him less well than I thought.

God, I wonder if he can tell I’ve had not strictly teammate thoughts about him. I wish I hadn’t suggested the kiss. I’ve kissed him twice now.

He’s been kissed by the hottest women in the city. He doesn’t want to kiss...me.

Shame gurgles through me, and my shoulders are suddenly far less square. My organs are a slithering mess.

Finn’s skin reddens. “You track that?”

“We make it a point to track all the times you’ve gotten into the news,” the woman in the lime green suit says.

“Then I have an incomplete list,” Tanaka says.

“I’m not a horrible partier,” Finn says, and the table snorts. “And I didn’t marry any of those people.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Tanaka says.

I slide down in the seat, my shoulders dropping like my heart. Images of Finn with female bombshells who drape themselves around him in clubs before tabloid journalists and paparazzi, then drape themselves around him in his bedroom inundate my mind.

Perhaps I’m not acting sufficiently like a starry-eyed newlywed beginning his happy-ever after with the person of his dreams, because Finn’s lips turn downward.

Then Finn drapes an arm over my shoulder, and I hate that I take strength from it as if we are a real couple. I know he’s worried I look out of my depth. Maybe he’s worried I’ll blurt out the truth, like Tanaka is a priest and I think I’m in confession.

I lean back, so I can feel his arm more thoroughly, so that its warmth will ground me. God, what the man has sacrificed. Finn likes to party. He enjoys sleeping with super sexy women. I even interrupted his morning masturbation. He couldn’t even do that because I was in his apartment and thought it a good idea to burst into his room, then not leave.

He’s done so much for me. Maybe I should accept the team management’s wrath and go back to the AHL—assuming they’d let me return.

Finn casts another glance at me. His expression is worried, as if he can read my emotions. Perhaps he can hear the rapidity of my breath or the constant, ever-increasing, ever more violent strike of my heart.

“What’s the plan?” Finn asks. “Because we need to get back to training.”

“Right.” Tanaka looks regretful. “We’ll send you out for interviews.” He glances at the woman in the lime green skirt suit. “Daniela, set up as many as you can. We want TV interviews, newspaper interviews, magazine interviews.”

“Sports broadcasts?” Daniela asks, scribbling something down.

“And anything LGBQ...” He frowns.

“LGBTQ,” Daniela says.

Tanaka nods.

“We could of course hope this story gets swallowed by the news cycle,” Daniela says.

“People have been waiting for this story for years,” Tanaka says. “Two teammates falling in love and marrying? No, we need to have them tell the story. We need to control the narrative.” He frowns. “Because the alternative, thinking they got drunk and married because they could...”

I struggle not to squirm, and Finn tenses beside me. My heart seems to be doing its best to burrow out from my ribs and fly from the room, over the Charles River, and not stop until it’s in Europe.

Tanaka fixes a stern gaze at us. “That would be a scandal. One the creators of it could not recover from.”

Daniela slides her gaze toward us. “Should that be for some reason true, shouldn’t they tell us that now?”

She knows.

Finn inhales sharply, and I press my hand on his thigh. His breath comes more even.

“No.” Tanaka’s voice is firm. “The Blizzards is a team filled with professionals who play hockey that makes every other team afraid. The Blizzards is not a team of little boys who laugh at the concept of marriage.”

“I’ll work on scheduling interviews.” Daniela glances at Finn and me. “I trust you’ll keep your schedules open?”

“Happy to.” Finn’s voice is calm and steady and reassuring. He’s so much better at this than I am. The air feels less thick, less tense with his words. Calm moves over the room.

“We have a plan,” Tanaka says.

“My mother is planning a wedding celebration for our families this weekend,” Finn says. “Should we send you some snapshots?”

“I think you’ll need a professional photographer to memorialize your love effectively,” Tanaka says.

“And some journalists to write everything up.” Daniela beams.

The room is happy, but anxiety crawls through my body, and when I look at Finn’s withdrawn face, slick with sweat, even though we haven’t skated yet, I know he feels the same.

We’re fucked.

And it will all come out this weekend.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Finn

I try not to let lose a slew of swears as Noah and I walk back to the locker room. Getting reprimanded for swearing is so not what I want to happen now, and I’m not sure who is paying attention to us.

I mean, a normal couple would be completely happy that his big day is going to be recorded by professionals, right?

And it’s not like it’s my actual big day: it’s a party to celebrate our love.

No big deal at all.

But it feels tremendous.

“I don’t know if my parents can come.” Noah’s green eyes dart toward me, before he concentrates on the photos on the wall.

“Oh.” My forehead wrinkles, and I imagine Noah’s parents not being there. Yeah, after our talk with the owner and team management, that wouldn’t be a great look.

Noah’s steps are rigid, and I want to pull him toward me.

“Because it’s expensive?” I ask.

I know Noah and I come from different financial backgrounds. Most people come from a different financial background than me, though Noah’s seems particularly different.

“How many hours away are they from Boston?”

“Three and a half.”

“Tell them they can stay with us.”

“I wouldn’t want them to impose...”

“They don’t need to think about having a seven-hour drive in one day. I have the bedrooms. Besides, how often do they see you? They must miss you.”

Noah’s lips do something that resembles a smile, but that only makes my heart ache.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure what the problem is.

But I know I miss Noah’s giggles and full-throated laughs, the kind he gave me on my bed this morning, the kind he’s given me at other points, the kind I haven’t heard him give anyone else.

I don’t like other versions of Noah, where he’s flashing polite, strained smiles that he thinks I want, when all I want is to hear him laugh and see him relax.

“I’m not sure it is,” Noah says.

“Tell them they can stay with us,” I repeat.

He stares up at me, and for a moment, his gaze dips to my lips. The moment is so short, that I think I might have imagined it. Noah is now hurrying toward the locker room. Whatever private conversation we were having in the hallway is not to be continued. Not anytime soon at least.

But this morning I thought I saw him look...there.

And I thought I saw embarrassment on his face after.

Did his pupils dilate? Were his cheeks a ruddier tone than when he entered?

It’s suddenly essential that I remember everything that happened in that moment of horrifying embarrassment.

Is it possible Noah likes me? Those kisses we had were good. Am I the only one who feels that way? Is it possible he feels the same?

I want to ask him everything. But the words feel ridiculous on my tongue. Noah has never given any indication he likes men. The man had a girlfriend. A serious, years-long affair.

I can’t approach him and ask if he’s feeling squishy romantic feelings. I can’t ask him that and see shock and unease on his face. We need to pretend we’re together for the next year and I won’t have him worried I’ll put another move on him. I won’t have him think this is one long crazy seduction attempt. He’s in my home. I got him into this. I can’t ask for the crazy, the impossible, and I’m relieved when we reach the locker room.

The streamers and balloons have disappeared. We walk over the glitter, and this time, no music plays as we enter, and no cheers sound.

NOAH

Finn is quiet the rest of the day. He’s by my side on the treadmills, then we spot each other when we lift.

But his gaze is troubled, his jaw stiff.

No one else notices.

We play Carolina in the evening and lose, 1-0. I avoid looking at the owner’s box. I don’t need to wonder much to know what Tanaka is thinking.

Normally, Finn might be called on to answer some of the reporters’ questions, but Daniela has us slip away. We’re not going to accidentally hold a press conference about our relationship on the same night of a loss.

Finn is quiet as he drives us back to his apartment. Boston sparkles by us, all tall imposing building that glitter through the panoramic sunroof. Every facade downtown is beautiful, each exceeding the town hall of my home in New Hampshire. We pull into the fancy parking lot beneath Finn’s gleaming Seaport apartment complex and are silent as the elevator zooms up to Finn’s apartment.

The conversation we make in the kitchen is stilted. Apparently, neither of us is hungry, and we’re both eager to go to bed.

Once in my room, I text my mother and pass on Finn’s invitation to stay with us.

She responds at once.

Mom: We’ll think about it.

I sigh and shove my phone away. I fight the urge to go into Finn’s room and tell him, and instead focus on going asleep.

Then the doorbell rings.

I tense, wondering if I should answer it or if Finn has heard it. Finn’s footsteps pad toward the door. After a moment’s hesitation, I slip from the room and follow him down the corridor. Foreboding grips my stomach, and I linger in the hallway.

Finn opens the door, then Madison glides into the apartment, carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Madison?” Finn asks. “What are you doing here?” He frowns. “Did something happen in your apartment? Do you need my help?”

“You want to lend me some sugar?” Madison giggles. “Or open a pickle jar?”

I step against the wall, hoping the shadow will obscure me.

“How come my phone is exploding with news about your nuptials?” Madison asks.

Finn inhales, and I hate we are in this position. “Noah is my husband.”

“Your fake husband.”

The words echo through the apartment. Are Finn and I that obvious?

Finn inhales. “Our marriage is real.”

“You mean, your fake marriage is real.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Madison.”

“I saw you both. You didn’t know each other. It doesn’t make sense.”

I should leave. Clearly this conversation isn’t meant for me. And yet my feet have turned into trees, and I can no more leave Finn’s presence than trees can walk away from their roots.

“We had a good time together,” Finn says finally.

“You mean when he threw up? Or when he disgraced the Blizzards through his appalling skating?”

Every word scrapes against my soul, and I lean further against the wall. I so don’t want them to see me listening to this conversation.

“You don’t skate, Madison. Besides, a puck hit his skate. It could have happened to anyone.”

“I didn’t come to hear you lie to me, Finn Carrington. I’m your friend, remember?”

“I remember.”

“I thought you could use one right now.”

Finn rakes his hand through his hair. “That’s nice.”

She swivels toward him, and even from here, I can see the expansiveness of her Sydney Sweeney bosom, and the tininess of her waist. She’s gorgeous.

Her voice turns husky, and she wraps her arms around Finn’s neck. “Besides, I thought we were going to have a sleepover.”

“You want a sleepover now?”

She leans her head back, and her dark locks whoosh behind her. She is sexiness. “Fuck me, Finn.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Finn

Madison looks amazing, and her floral scent wafts around me. Her dark hair bounces, and her black lashes swoop up and down. She has sexiness down. She flashes me a knowing look, and glossy coral lips swerve into a smirk.

We’ve been flirting for months. We’ve been building our tension, and now she wants sex. It would be easy to wrap my hands around her tiny waist, lift her onto the kitchen counter, and have the sort of wild sex she implied.

“I’ll pour you a drink,” she says, her voice husky.

It would be easy to go along with everything she says. It would be easy to whisper the secrets about what Noah and I truly are to her, so I have someone in the world who knows what I’m going through.

I would finally know if her nipples are tawny or pink peaks, and I would finally know what landing strip she has down there.

I would work off all the stress surging in my body and remind myself that I do not have a crush on a man.

She smirks, and I know she thinks I’m going to say yes. I know she thinks we’re going to be kissing in about three seconds, and I’m going to be fucking her in the time it takes to remove her panties.

But I’m not going to sleep with her with Noah in the next room, and to be honest, I’m not sure I want to. Madison hasn’t been on my mind.

If there had been something between us, we would have gotten together way before. No, Madison thinks it’s hot to know secrets, and I’m not giving her this one to protect and keep safe. I’m not putting Noah’s future in her hands, no matter how sexy her hands are.

I square my shoulders. “Madison.”

“Babe?”

“You need to go. Now.”

“But—”

“I’m a married man, Madison.”

Her face reddens. “You’re no fun, Finn. I thought we were friends!”

“We are.”

“Then why...” She frowns. “Are you telling me you actually like him?”

“I married him.”

“Fine.” Madison saunters past me.

I don’t turn to say goodbye again, and when the door clicks behind her, I lock it.

Shit.

I pour myself some water, then I think I hear footsteps in the hallway.

Did Noah overhear my conversation with Madison? When I pass by his room though, his door is closed.

NOAH

I don’t ask Finn about his late-night visitor the next morning, and he doesn’t bring her up. But he didn’t spend the night with her.  A fact that makes me guilty, but sort of happy too. And then guilty again for thinking that.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Finn says, as we drive toward the arena.

“Have I?”

“Is there something you want to ask me about?” Finn’s voice fills with faux-casualness.

I stiffen. Does he wonder if I heard Madison last night?

My phone buzzes, and I gratefully take it out.

MOM: Your father and I will be in Boston at 4 PM. See you soon.

I blink at the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Finn turns the wheel. Light gleams on his sun-kissed wrists, and I pull my gaze away.

“My parents are coming.”

“That’s great!” Finn flashes his shiny smile at me, and my heart does its ever increasingly normal wobble.

“They’re coming today.” I frown. “I should have been more specific when I invited them for the weekend.”

Finn frowns. “Today is Friday. It’s natural for them to come today. And then they won’t be exhausted by my parents’ bash.” His eyes round. “It’s cool, Noah. Really.”

“But they’ll sleep...”

He blinks, then leans back. “Oh.”

Sounds from outside fill the car because we’re not speaking. The car wheels swish over the pavement, and the right turn signal clicks as he turns toward Cambridge.

I don’t squirm in the seat. I’m absolutely still, as the knowledge that I’ve inconvenienced Finn yet again slides over me as effectively as any compaction roller.

“Hey...” Finn ducks his head toward me. “It’s totally cool, dude. No worries. You’ll give your parents your room, and we’ll bunk up.”

“I don’t want to take your room.”

Hurt flickers over his face for a moment. I’m handling this all wrong.

“I mean, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“A bother? Are we talking like grannies now?”

I blink.

“We roomed together for away games. I’m sure we’re going to keep on rooming together on away groups, because no one wants to separate the newlyweds.”

“I don’t want to encroach on your space.”

There’s a slight awkwardness. I walked in on him jerking off yesterday.

“It’s going to be great,” Finn promises. “Besides, I have a TV in my bedroom. We’ll have a blast.”

“So the TV can cover up the sounds of all the noisy sex we’re not having?”

Finn’s eyes dilate for a moment, and a car behind honks.

“Shit. Sorry.” Finn tightens his grip on the wheel, and I decide not to distract him anymore.

There are other things to think about. Like what my parents will think about meeting my husband. And then I remember that they are coming to visit. Even though I’m married to a man. Even though I’m sure they don’t know another gay couple in real life and have always been disapproving.

I find myself smiling into the wet, cloudy day.

Finn’s lips twitch. “It’s going to be awesome. You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Finn

It’s possible I slightly exaggerated my enthusiasm for Noah’s parents’ visit. The knot in my stomach doesn’t feel awesome.

Noah has moved his clothes and things into my bedroom, where, frankly, they belong.

Now I’m pacing the kitchen, waiting to buzz Noah’s parents up.

I haven’t met anyone’s parents before, and I check and recheck that everything is ready. I’ve never been introduced as someone’s boyfriend before, and now I’m being introduced as someone’s husband.

And it’s a lie.

Whoever these people are, I’m going to be lying to them. A year from now, they’re going to learn Noah and I are divorcing, and they’ll hate me.

And God, they’ll be right. I swallow down the acrid taste in my throat.

Then the door buzzes. Shortly after, they’re on their way.

“Noah! Your parents are almost here!”

“Okay.” Noah rushes toward me from my room. His socked feet slide on the slick polished floors. Gabriella does a fantastic job, and I steady him.

“Careful, babe,” I say.

His eyes widen. “You’re going into character.”

I blink, then consider what I said. I flash my most confident smile. “Of course.” I lean closer to him. “Or would you prefer honey bunny? Pumpkin? Snugglemuffin? Puck?”

He blinks. “No one calls their significant other puck.”

“Guess that’s yours, my sweet puck.”

Noah laughs at me, astonished. His green eyes are larger than before, and something in my heart absolutely warms.

“You can’t call me that,” he exclaims.

“Why not?”

“It sounds dirty!”

I snort. “Is that why you got into hockey?”

Pink sweeps over Noah’s cheeks.

The doorbell rings, and he turns toward the door. I rush to open it.

Two older versions of Noah stand awkwardly. His mother has his bright green eyes and high cheekbones, and his dad has his athletic figure, if somewhat more rounded. Cold air rushes into the apartment, and they gaze at me warily.

God, I don’t blame them.

My heart marches faster and faster and faster. I want to leave.

Still, I flourish my hand at the apartment and smile, even though his parents don’t attempt any upward lip movements of their own. “Welcome.”

NOAH

“We’re so pleased you could make it,” Finn exclaims. “Absolutely delighted.”

My parents exchange wide-eyed glances.

“My parents are eager to meet you tomorrow,” Finn continues, with all the energy of a super host. “I thought we could hang out, then go out for dinner. Does that sound good?”

“Um...”

Finn’s expression sobers. “Or if you want to sleep, you can. You two must be exhausted. Or maybe you want to see the city? I, um, can drive you around?”

“Your plan sounds great,” Mom says.

“Right.” Finn nods more times than necessary, then after questioning them on their drinking tastes, hands my dad an IPA and my mother some white wine. Fortunately, he neglects to mention what happened the first time he gave me alcohol.

Finn directs my parents to the couch, so they have the best view of Boston harbor. Both of us take armchairs on either side of them, and Finn and I don’t have to worry about our body language so that we look sufficiently smitten.

My parents gratefully nibble the appetizers that Finn ordered from some caterer. Given the generous slathering of goat cheese and the frequent use of ham, the caterer has gone more for delicious than the healthy side of the spectrum.

“So, you’re really married?” My dad asks after filling his plate with appetizers and leaning against the sofa.

Finn and I exchange a glance. I have an odd urge to curl on the edge of Finn’s armchair or sit in his lap. But that’s ridiculous.

“We are married.” Finn shifts in his seat, and his gaze flickers away for a second. “It was sudden. We, um, hould have invited you.”

“Were you drunk?” my dad asks.  

I stiffen.

“Noah wouldn’t be drunk, honey,” Mom says, laughing. “He’s a responsible man.”

This time, Finn stiffens. The pleasant conversation has veered into unpleasant territory.

“I care about your son,” Finn says, not making eye contact with me. “He is incredible. You should be very proud.”

My parents nod, appeased.

I wait for them to muse about the oddness that I’m married to a guy, not a girl, but the statement never comes, and before long we leave to walk to the fancy restaurant Finn has selected.

Boston has fortunately decided not to rain tonight, and we stroll the short distance to the wharf. The harbor is quiet and still, and the bright lights of the city are reflected in the water, until a tiny boat smashes through it, making the lights disappear in its ripples.

“This is beautiful,” my mother exclaims, and my father grins and kisses her cheek.

“They’re holding hands,” Finn whispers, and I shiver when his warm breath hits my ear.

“They’re disgusting,” I say, because God, they’re my parents.

Finn flinches. I want to shove the words back into my mouth. Finn steps away from me, and I’m suddenly aware of the cool evening breeze.

Why is disappointment on his face? Did he want to hold my hand? I mean, obviously, he didn’t. But he doesn’t look happy. He’s probably not impressed with my acting abilities.

I reach out my fingers to him, and he smiles and grips them in his hand. My heart stumbles, and I’m breathing through my nose and mouth, just to get enough oxygen. Because Finn’s hand is warm and large and a completely different experience to holding Abby’s hand. I like it. He squeezes my hand, and something zings through me. Huh.

Probably I was cold. His hand is warm. We’re still holding hands even when we wait in line for the hostess, and even when she brings us to the table that overlooks the water. Only then do I remember that our hands are still linked, and I give an awkward giggle when he drops his hand.

A waiter guides us through the menu, and another brings a small table for my mother’s handbag.

Big band music floats through the evening air, and my mother’s eyes widen as she takes in the black-suited bandmembers playing their shiny brass instruments. “How lovely.”

“Uh-huh.” My father nods in agreement, and his face softens as he gazes at the twinkling lights, happy people, and the dark harbor.

“Oh, honey. This is great,” my mom chatters. “Is this one of your favorite restaurants?”

“It’s my first time too.”

“They just got married,” my dad reminds my mom, and the awkwardness that Finn had successfully banished earlier returns in full force.

“This is one of my parents’ favorite restaurants,” Finn says, bringing out his wide smile again. “You’ll get to meet them tomorrow.”

“So they’re, um...” My father’s voice trails off, but not before his glance bounces between us.

Finn glances at me.

“I think my father is trying to ask if your parents mind that we’re married.”

“They only mind they didn’t get to see it,” Finn says.

My father nods rapidly. I want to ask him if he has more questions, but I don’t like the guilt and confusion and even anger that bubbles up. So instead, I concentrate on the menu and let Finn launch into a lengthy discussion about his mother’s enthusiasm for birthday parties and horror at what she might turn a wedding into.

My mother tries to laugh in all the right places, but the catered affair his mother evidently enjoys is so far from our own experiences.

“There will be some reporters at tomorrow’s event,” I warn them. “You don’t have to answer any questions.”

Four waiters swarm us with food at the exact same moment, averting the crisis of having some of us be forced to wait for the others’ food to arrive. My parents exclaim at the grilled seafood and their immaculate presentation.

Soon, my dad and Finn chat about hockey, while my mother interrupts to marvel more at the food and the decor.

Finally, we stroll back to the glossy apartment complex, pass the always friendly doorman, and take the elevator upstairs.

My parents express their thanks for the dinner again, then Finn and I go back to his room.

“You have nice parents,” Finn says, when the door is closed, and he takes off his shirt.

“I-I know.” I remember to avert my gaze, and I pretend that the plain white painted wall is more interesting than Finn’s rippled chest.

“What’s wrong?” Finn asks.

“I thought they might wonder why I married a man.”

“They didn’t have to wonder after they met me.” Finn winks.

I scrutinize the pillows on the bed. “Are those there so I can throw them at you?”

Finn gives a strangled laugh.

I decide violence, even the pillow variety, isn’t how I want to thank Finn for this evening, but when I glance at Finn, he is frowning, as if I did pummel pillows at him.

“Did your parents meet your past girlfriends?” he asks.

“I don’t think my parents will bring them up tomorrow,” I reassure him. “They won’t quiz you.”

His brow remains furrowed. “I just wanted to know.”

“Oh.” I sit on the bed and remove my shirt.

His gaze bounces away from me, then he goes to his chest of drawers and pulls out some pajamas.

“I dated Abby through college. We broke up earlier this year.”

His eyes widen. “Dude, you dated her a long time.”

“I guess.” I stand and remove my belt, sliding it from the loops.

“So you were in love?”

“I thought so.”

“You’re not sure?”

I rake my hand through my hair. “How are we supposed to know what love feels like? It’s something we see other people say they have. Something we watch in movies. Or read about.”

His eyes don’t soften.

“Abby was nice. And smart. She was a premed student. We got along fine.”

“Then why did you break up?”

“Technically, she broke up with me.”

“Oh.” He draws back. “You wouldn’t have broken up with her.”

“Probably not,” I admit, but it’s not a statement that makes me feel proud. “She was sweet. I could have dated her forever.”

Finn blinks rapidly, then turns away. His reaction is strange. I mean, we’ve promised to divorce each other in the next year, but that’s different, right?

This marriage was accidental.

And neither of us is gay.

Or at least, Finn isn’t. The awkwardness that has filled me this past year, doesn’t stop when I’m in Finn’s presence. My gaze drifts to his body more often than I’m comfortable with, more often than I want him to know.

And though I can talk to Finn about lots of things, I can’t talk to him about this.

There’s no going back from the statement that maybe you’re not actually that straight, that you would be open to...more.

I don’t want him to have to awkwardly explain that he doesn’t feel that way, and I don’t want him to wonder if I enjoyed his kisses too much. God, I’ve seen the man naked before. I don’t want to make the man who has been so kind to me, so kind to my parents, uncomfortable.

Finn is still acting strange. His jaw is tight, his body stiff. Maybe he’s upset he can’t simply topple into the bed. Why he wants to make conversation about Abby is beyond me. But I’m not going to deny him anything.

“I don’t miss her,” I admit. “I should have missed her, right? But even though I didn’t consider splitting from her, I wasn’t distraught or anything when she told me she wanted to leave herself open for someone new and that she didn’t see me in her future.”

“Oh.” Finn’s shoulders move down a fraction.

“She was smart and sweet. We rarely saw each other. She was busy with pre-med, and I was busy with hockey. I liked having someone to call at the end of each day, but that was mostly what it was in the end. Maybe we didn’t work hard enough to go on dates. Maybe we didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn says.

“It’s okay. She was a good person and enhanced my life. But she wasn’t my forever. And I don’t think I ever was crazy about her, even at the beginning.”

I frown. Obviously, I’ve said too much. Finn doesn’t need to hear that my longest relationship was not passionate.

But when I look at him, he’s smiling, and maybe I said what I needed to say to make him happy again.

“You’re a passionate guy.” He winks.

I find my cheeks warming and I force myself to the laugh, but the sound is awkward, no doubt because of my tightening chest. “We gave Coach a show.”

“He’s probably still scarred.” Finn slips into the bathroom, and I try to chuckle, but my chest remains tight, and the sound doesn’t come.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Finn

The light filters from the curtains, as it’s done a thousand times before since I moved into the apartment three years ago.

But this time is different.

This time, a warm body is pressed beside me.

And though that’s not a novel occurrence, generally my hookups leave my bedroom after our athletic activities and endorphin rushes are over.

I’m the master of hinting that Coach wants us to have a super early morning, and my hookups are generally experienced enough to not expect me to call. Other players are better bets as future boyfriends.

I have too much of a reputation for them to give me much serious consideration.

So when a warm body is wrapped around me I don’t think much of it. But when I turn, it’s Noah I see. Noah who has burrowed himself into my arms.

My breath catches, and I don’t pull away. Instead, I find myself studying him. I examine the swoop of his cheekbones and nose, and the fullness of his lips. Lips that I’ve kissed. My lips stretch upward, remembering my shock in that elliptical room. The kiss had been good. The kiss in the locker room for our teammates had also been fucking good.

Noah breathes evenly. My arm is wrapped around him, and if I were to slide away, he would wake up.

So I don’t.

I nestle against his warm skin, and I examine the way the light flickers over his short dark hair.

My cock thickens, a morning issue that gets more dramatic. I try to angle that portion of my body away from him, but instead, I manage to brush against his cock.

And it’s hard.

I swallow back a groan.

But the thing is...it feels fucking good.

And now I’m thinking about Noah’s cock.

Shit.

I slide my arm away from him because there’s no way that the ethical thing is for me to continue to lie in bed with him in my arms when I’m obviously getting some sexual pleasure out of it.

I feel creepy, and when Noah predictably wakes up as I unravel my body from his, I feel worse.

His long lashes flutter up, then I swear to God, horror moves over his face. He practically lurches from my arm.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was sleeping.”

“It’s cool.”

He turns onto his stomach, but I don’t tell him I already felt his cock, already liked it.

Instead, I slip into my ensuite and prepare to start the day, and if I put the shower on cold so that my cock shrivels and I don’t find myself orgasming to the thought of Noah, that’s between me and my shower.

NOAH

I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the Egyptian cotton sheets. Did Finn feel me? Could he tell I was hard when I woke up?

Almost certainly.

When Finn exits the shower, sending steam billowing through the room, his demeanor is...shy. Finn’s demeanor is never shy. But now he’s avoiding my gaze and confirming all my fears.

I rush into the bathroom and prepare for today. At least the party will distract me. But when Finn parks in front of his parents’ swanky townhouse on Marlborough Street, and I exit the car with my parents and him, anxiety floods my veins.

I’m going to meet his parents.

“Finn! Noah!” A man shouts, and when I turn, the world explodes in yellow.

Finn is by my side at once, and I think he’s going to usher me toward the fancy red townhouse door, but instead, he holds my hand.

Heat shoots through me at his touch, and maybe I look surprised, because he immediately presses his lips against my cheek.

He kisses me.

Right there, in front of the paparazzi, in front of my parents.

My heart glows, which is ridiculous. He’s selling that we’re a couple. I hope he just thinks I’m good at acting if he sees any photos of me with a wide, goofy grin gazing at him.

Because God, my husband is amazing.

I practically float as we enter the townhouse, vaguely conscious of my mother’s exclamation of awe as we enter the hallway.

I knew Finn was wealthy, but I still expected his parents to live in an apartment. Apparently, they have the whole townhouse, because a refined woman with an impossibly sophisticated dress purchased for an impossibly expensive price, flings her arms around me. I inhale a complex vanilla-and-spice perfume, then she proclaims in an alto voice, “welcome to the family.”

Then we separate, and she is greeting my parents.

Finn let go of me before his mother launched herself into my arms, but now he takes my hand.

“What do you say, my sweet puck,” he whispers into my ear. “Shall we show them the happiest newlyweds in Boston?”

“Should I worry about my parents?” I ask.

“My mother will take care of them. She is an excellent hostess.”

“The guests look content.”

And with that, we’re off making the rounds. We flit from conversation to conversation. He is always beside me, and he only drops my hand to shake hands with other guests.

Everyone adores him. He is the star of every conversation he joins.

“My new son!” A large man in a blue suit slaps me on the back. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Dad, this is my husband,” Finn says.

My father-in-law shakes my hand heartily. “We can always use another Carrington.”

“Noah hasn’t changed his last name.”

“Why the hell not?” His father’s voice booms. “Let me tell you about the Carringtons, Noah. We came over on the Mayflower. We’ve been doing great things ever since.”

“That’s...cool.”

Noah’s father grins and pokes me in the chest. “And that’s an understatement.”

Noah’s father wanders away.

“See...” Finn says. “They’re nice.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “I can see where you get your dynamism.” 

“I’m a shrinking violet next to my dad,” Finn says.

We stare into each other’s eyes, and I’m only vaguely aware of the clink of plates and glasses as guests munch on canapes and drink champagne.

I don’t have to work hard to pretend to adore him, and my only worry is that he’ll be able to tell tomorrow whenever photos are released how much I like him.

I spot a floral dress in the distance, then Daniela glides toward me. A few of the older men shoot her appreciative glances. Huh. I suppose she’s attractive. She wouldn’t look out of place on a movie poster, if younger Margot Robbies are your thing.

Daniela’s blonde hair is pulled into a French twist, and she flashes me a smile. “I’ve set up one of the bedrooms as an interview room. Ready for interviews?”

“As in plural interviews?” I jerk my gaze toward Finn.

He must see the alarm on my face and be concerned, because he squeezes my hand. “We didn’t know there would be sit down interviews.”

“Would you prefer to interview each day for the next two weeks in your lunch break?” Daniela laughs, but her face sobers when she sees our expression.

“Of course not. But how many interviewers are there?” Finn asks.

“Don’t worry, they’ll each get fifteen minutes with you.”

“Okay.” Finn touches his tie, and his hand wobbles.

I don’t often see Finn nervous, but he is nervous now.

Will the journalists be able to see through our charade? What will happen if we’re not successful?

Because one thing is convincing our parents and their friends that we are meant to be together. Our parents aren’t accustomed to seeing the worst in us, and because of that we’re lucky, but isn’t it journalists’ job to sensationalize everything?

My heart beats unsteadily, like a top doing its final rotations.

Finn wraps his arm around my waist. “I’ll be right next to you.”

And even though I know that Finn is as out of his depth as me, his words must relax me, for my shoulders ease.

Daniela ushers us upstairs, and we enter a bedroom.

Everything is baby pink, which is why it’s one of the unused bedrooms, but the place emanates expense. The room technically has a bed, but it also has a sofa and four armchairs. The ceiling is high, the crown molding spectacular.

I want to tell Finn how amazing his parents’ place is, but then I notice a man holding a pad of paper. Maybe emphasizing how different our positions are is not the way to go.

God, I shouldn’t be in Finn’s circles. I certainly shouldn’t be his husband.

“I’ll fetch your first interviewer,” Daniela says with a smile she wouldn’t be making if she knew our entire marriage was a lie and that if we say the wrong thing, everything will be exposed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Finn

I guide Noah to the pink couch and plop down beside him. We’ve got this. Maybe I panicked earlier, but Daniela is right. We’ll smash these interviews. Team management will be happy, and we’ll have the blissful satisfaction of those who’ve gone through their checklists early.

So what if Noah and I have to pretend to be madly in love in front of unfriendly strangers with the ability to broadcast any faux-pas to a degree that would make your average mean girl steam with jealousy?

The door opens, and Rex Manley from Sports Showcase saunters in.

Shit.

I mean, we’ve got this. Totally. I’m not nervous. No way. Not me.

His lips contort into a smirk, and his eyes dance. He settles into an armchair, also pink, then places his pad of paper onto his lap. His pants stretch around once-muscular thighs—I’ve seen videos of his old games.

Rex knows sports. He’s been following me for years.

“I never thought we would be having this conversation,” Rex says. “Maybe the vlogs should have given me a clue.”

I clear my throat, unsure what to make about his comment. “Rex, this is my husband, Noah. Noah, this is Rex Manley.”

“You don’t need to make introductions. We’re not friends.”  

“I’m being polite,” I mutter.

“That won’t score you extra points.”

I press my lips together. Is Rex trying to irritate me? Did he take a course on how to be a hard-hitting journalist? Or did we lose our earlier camaraderie when he found out I’m married to a man?

Rex is an ex-hockey player and decent enough at writing or at least frowning into the camera and speaking in solemn tones to earn him a spot on Sports Showcase.

He’s also about twenty years older than anyone on my team.

“Noah, how do you like being part of the NHL?” Rex asks.

I frown. That’s not a question I can answer. I want to do the talking here, at least on our first interview, so Noah can see how it’s done.

I’ve given interviews before. Noah hasn’t.

“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Noah says.

“You had quite the spill on your first appearance. I was certain that was the end of seeing you.”

Noah tenses, and I slide my hand over his. I’m not sure if it will make him more relaxed, or more cognizant that he’s found himself married to a man instead of a woman, but his shoulders ease, his breath comes more evenly, and I do not remove my hand.

“Noah is a talented player,” I say. “Everyone has a bad night, and the first entry to the NHL can be nerve racking. Noah has performed well the other nights.”

“And yet the Blizzards have entered a losing streak.”

“A temporary one,” I assure him.

“Hmph.” Rex examines his notes, shaking his head. “I can’t get over the fact we’re having this interview. I never thought you would marry a man, Finn.”

I try to conjure some of the cold wrath my ancestors excelled at. “I fell in love.”

“Do you have a history of dating men? How were you able to keep your proclivities secret for so long?”

I hate the way Rex says proclivities. I hate the way smirks settle onto his face with frequency. I hate the way his voice wobbles, as if barely able to contain laughter.

I suddenly understand why Evan and Vinnie have not made a formal announcement that they are dating, and I think I understand why Vinnie overreacted at Noah’s astonishment when Evan and Vinnie kissed.

“I fell in love with Noah,” I say, “because he is the best person for me. I enjoy spending time with him. We have similar interests. And no one can call him bad looking.”

Noah tenses, and a rose color spreads over his cheeks. Does he want me to stop holding his hand? Or would that look strange?

My breath quickens as I debate, and it’s only after Rex clears his throat, that I realize I haven’t said anything.

“Anyway,” I continue. “Nothing about the fact we got together is shocking.”

“A sudden marriage is shocking,” Rex says.

“You can call me efficient. And I want to use that same efficiency to ensure that the Blizzards wins over and over. Other teams should be afraid.”

“I see.” Rex scribbles something.

A knock sounds on the door, and Daniela peeks her head into the room. “I have your next interviewer.”

Rex rises. “That’s enough information. Congratulations on your marriage.”

I’m not certain his congratulations are heartfelt, but I will take the politeness.

Another interviewer steps into the room, and from the man’s dyed blue hair and wide-eyed grin, I’m not surprised when Daniela announces that he’s from an LGBT magazine.

“I am so thrilled to be here,” the reporter, Jeremy Jones, exclaims.

Noah and I nod, but guilt rages through my body.

We stepped into this role accidentally, and though it’s good if other athletes become comfortable being their true selves, I feel like I’ve usurped someone’s role.

Maybe Noah feels the same, and I tighten my grip on his hand.

Jeremy’s gaze falls to our entwined hands, and his beam grows. “Tell me about how you first met.” He leans closer, his eyes sparkling. “Was it love at first sight? How did you meet?”

And this is why we should have gotten our stories straight.

NOAH

Finn squirms on the couch, and though the reporter hasn’t recognized how much the question unnerves him, I certainly have.

It wouldn’t look great to tell him that Finn and I met a week ago. That’s the sort of thing that might make people think our marriage won’t last.

“Finn has been the highlight of my day for years. I followed his vlogs,” I explain, before the reporter can think we were cheating on the people we were actually dating back then.

“I think Noah knew me better than a lot of my friends,” Finn says after a startled beat. “So when we did meet, it felt right. And of course, we have a lot in common.”

Finn and I gaze at each other.

“You’re so cute!” the interviewer exclaims. “It’s obvious how devoted you are to each other. I do a lot of these interviewers, and you really stand out.”

I shoot the interviewer a wobbly smile.

Finn nudges my shoulder. “We’re happy we can live in a world where we can get married and be true to ourselves and, um, everyone else.”

The interviewer beams and bursts forth with more congratulations, and before long Daniela has the next interviewer.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I think it goes well. I think everyone believes that we are a couple. If I’m honest, I’m surprised how willing people are to believe that. If Finn wanted to date a man, he would have many options. He wouldn’t choose me.

Finally, there are no more interviewers, and Finn ushers me downstairs. My parents smile when we approach, and after another elegant dinner at another elegant restaurant, this time with Finn’s parents, we return to the apartment.

After we say goodnight to my parents, we slip into Finn’s bedroom, and the awkwardness returns in full force.

“Did you really watch all my vlogs?” Finn asks.

I want to lie and tell him I was exaggerating. It’s embarrassing how important a part Finn played in my day over the past few years.

But I can’t lie to Finn.

“You won me over a long time ago.” I bite my lip. “And maybe that’s why I’m here. All those videos on meditation and clean eating... Some of the other people on my team in Providence were stronger, but I was the person who was called up to join the Blizzards, not them.”

Finn smiles. “I’m glad.”

We change and slide under the covers.

“We make a good team,” Finn says. “I don’t think I could have as effectively pretended to be dating anyone else.”

“Same.” I gaze into Finn’s eyes, then pull away, conscious that I’m staring. Heat floods my cheeks, and I practically dive for the bedside lamp, flinging my side of the bed into darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Finn

Tension fills me, and every cell of my body aches, even though today was a rest day. I’m supposed to be asleep, but even though I get practice every night on sleeping, I can’t sleep.

And I’m certain Noah isn’t asleep either.

I want to move, but I don’t, on the off chance that Noah is asleep and that I might wake him up.

“Finn?” Noah whispers.

Okay. He’s not asleep too.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still awake?”

I smile. “I was wondering if you were.”

I take advantage of the fact we’re both awake and readjust my position, so that I’m now on my side, facing him, even though it’s dark, even though our whispers carry.

“Things are crazy, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you for being such a good host to my parents.”

Oh.

“They’re nice people, Noah.”

“I didn’t think they would come this weekend.”

“Of course, they were going to come.”

“I wasn’t certain.”

Something in his tone makes me hesitate. Maybe this isn’t about money.

“Because of the gay thing?” My heartbeat quickens.

“Yeah.”

The word slices through me, and I frown.

My mother certainly had no issue with that. And even my super jock, successful businessman father didn’t have any issues. But then they live in Boston and go to the Cape with regularity. Provincetown bursts with pride. It would be absurd if they suddenly declared a wariness around non-straight people.

But Noah is from a rural part of New Hampshire, and things are different there. Maybe all the gay men and women go to big cities for college and don’t come back.

“I guess they’re more openminded than you thought. That’s good.”

“Yeah. I wish I knew before that it wouldn’t be a big deal to them.”

I frown.

Because that sounds like Noah wanted to know his parents would have been cool with him being gay.

Even though we’re lying on a bed, the definition of inactivity, my heartbeat quickens.

He didn’t mean to imply that. Surely not. No way.

But there were those amazing kisses between us and those confessions that things with his girlfriend felt less exciting. He said he didn’t miss her after they broke up. Does that mean...something? Or might he be bisexual? Might he be interested in something...more?

When the reporter asked if he’d fallen in love with me at first sight, it felt like his answer was yes.

We roll closer and closer together, conscious of not wanting to wake up his parents, even though the walls are fucking well insulated and with the amount of yawning they did, they’re not going to wake up. We’re almost sharing breaths, and every time I inhale, I take in his scent.

He now smells like my body wash.

I love it.

I want to pull him toward me, feel the warmth of his chest and press him against me. I want to trail my fingers along his body, to not only see how his muscles ripple, but to feel them against my touch.

The longing isn’t sudden, but it startles me all the same. I’ve never felt this way about another man. All those times I roomed with Troy, us in our twin beds, sometimes, when we first started, having sleepovers with women in those twin beds, I never once thought that I wanted to see Troy naked, wanted to touch him, wanted to make my main goal to ensure his happiness.

I blink, the strength of my feelings overwhelming even for me.

I’ve never walked into a locker room of half-naked, and sometimes, mostly naked men, and felt the need to stare at the floor or stare at the ceiling or rush into the bathroom to change so everyone in the room couldn’t tell I liked men.

All those times I went out drinking with my teammates, my body warm and happy and thrumming with alcohol, I never once looked at a man and thought...maybe.

But now... God, now things are different.

Because I am thinking about Noah that way. Not just when we are in a room alone together. Not just when alcohol flows through my body, wiping away instincts to prioritize propriety, not just when I happen to catch him with few clothes on, and I can admire the way the muscular planes of his body formed him.

No, it’s all the time.

All the fucking time.

And our closeness now is killing me.

My breath catches, and maybe his does too. I think, maybe, he would be up for something more. But I don’t want to be the brute who hits on him when he has few clothes on and he has nowhere to sleep but right next to me.

His parents are in the next room. He can’t even crawl under the covers of his own bed if he feels he needs to.

So I swallow back my urge to tell him maybe we could and have you thought about... I don’t bring up that a nice way to fall asleep is self-care and that I’m happy to self-care him any time he wants, hand or mouth, his choice.

Instead, I lie still beside him, as our breaths continue to intermingle, and his body finally relaxes, and until his breaths even and I know without doubt that he is sleeping.

This is also nice, I think. Being here with him is nice.

I close my eyes, confident I’m going to fall asleep.

Then I hear his voice. “Finn.”

My eyes jolt open. Does he need me? Why is he calling for me, when whispers worked perfectly fine before?

But when he says my name again, and it comes out like a moan, I keep quiet.

Because something about the way Noah is squirming, something about how my name comes out low and gravely, makes me think he’s dreaming.

And not a normal dream.

My heart glows, and I close my eyes tightly, even though every instinct I have tells me to wrap Noah in my arms right now and wake him up with a kiss.

NOAH

I wake up with a start to the sound of my parents murmuring in the kitchen. I should join them. They’re driving back after breakfast.

Finn sleeps beside me, his breath even. His arm is thrown around me, and I’m burrowed into his chest once again. His long legs press against mine, filling me with warmth, and I absolutely don’t want to leave.

His long lashes flutter, like he’s dreaming, and I pull myself away from him reluctantly. I want to watch him. I want to admire the way his cheeks have turned pink after the warmth of the night, and I want to look at the exact shape and shade of his lips.

But that wouldn’t be being a good guest, so I unravel myself as delicately as I can. I slide the sheet down from us, so I can best leave, even though that means I’ll be confronted with all of Finn’s awesome abs and perfect pecs and brilliant biceps, and I don’t think I can take them so early in the morning.

Finn still sleeps soundly, and I wonder how long it took him to fall asleep last night.

And then I see it.

Something that makes my heart skitter.

Something slick on Finn’s belly. Something slick and whitish.

Something that I used to see sometimes when I was a teenager.

Maybe it’s not me. I glance down at Finn’s dick. But even though it’s larger and has that pleasant plumpness that comes in the morning, his boxer briefs are firmly on, and there’s no wetness coming from it.

And I’m wet...down there.

I had a wet dream, and at some point in the night, I thrust into Finn’s belly or something because now he is wet.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

I reach out to touch it, then stop myself, because I so don’t want to wake up Finn.

Horror moves through me. There are some unwritten rules in hockey, and surely a top one is, don’t accidentally marry your straight teammate, then hump him while he’s sleeping and explode all over him.

Finn has been an amazing husband to me, sacrificing hooking up with women and moving me into his apartment.

This is not how I should repay him.

My cheeks flame, my neck prickles, and my heart is just about to shatter.

I need to fix this.

I slither out of the bed as best as I can, relieved when Finn doesn’t stir. I tiptoe to the bathroom, grab some tissues and wet them. I hold them against the faucet so the sound of water splashing against the basin won’t wake Finn.

Then I scamper back to the bed, still on my tiptoes. My heart threatens to escape my ribs, and every portion of my body is tense, as if I’ve been turned into a statue sometime in the night and am still trying to move.

I approach Finn carefully. I need to clean his belly. My gaze drops to the bed. And there’s something on the sheet too. God, how much did I come last night?

But if I was dreaming about Finn... Well, it might have been a lot.

Tears scrape against my eyes. At any moment Finn can wake. At any moment he’ll know. He’ll think me creepy and childish. No straight man wants to wake up with another man’s cum on him.

I gently tap his belly. Finn stirs.

Shit.

I wonder if I should crawl into the bed, so that if he wakes up, he won’t find me hovering over him. But then maybe the mattress will sink when I get on, and that’s not good either.

My breath comes quicker, and I hesitate. I don’t know what to do. God, what should I do?

I think Finn’s breath is different since I returned from the bathroom, and his lips seem to swerve up more than they did before, but his eyes are still closed, and maybe I’m imagining everything.

I’m probably imagining everything.

Except that wet spot. Unfortunately, that is not part of my imagination.

No way could my subconscious have come up with the possibility that I might humiliate myself in quite so horrible a way.

I gently tap his belly again with the wet tissue, then draw away.

Okay. There’s nothing white on his belly anymore. But he might wonder why it’s a bit wet. That won’t do. I should have taken some non-wet tissues from the bathroom.

Maybe Finn has some in the drawer of his bedside cabinet, but I’m not going to have him wake up to find me poking in there. I don’t think he’ll think I’m any less weird if I tell him that I wanted to see what condom brand he uses or something.

I tiptoe back into the bathroom, then grab some tissues and scurry back.

For a moment, I think Finn’s eyes are open, but that’s probably my fear, because when, heart pounding, I look at him, his eyes are firmly shut.

Okay. I can do this. I lean over him and pat his belly dry, then pat the sheet dry.

I think I’m getting away with this.

I tiptoe from the bed, then Finn’s eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, my sweet puck,” he drawls, his lips drawn into a smirk.

My heart hammers. Does he know? I nod hastily, bobbing like a marionette, then tuck the tissues into the waistband of my boxers.

His smirk widens.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Finn

“I should say hello to my parents,” Noah says, backing away.

I’m sure I know what’s tucked in the back of the waistband of his boxer briefs. I grin. “Don’t you want to put clothes on before you greet them, honey bunny?”

“Honey bunny?” His eyes are wide and startled and oh so green.

I don’t bother to swallow my mirth. “I’m testing out pet names. What do you think? Or more hockey related ones? My sturdy stick? My sharp shooter?”

His face flames.

“Oh, um, whatever you think?” His voice rises as he speaks, and he flings his gaze back and forth, probably wondering how he’s going to gather his clothes without me seeing the various tissues he has tucked inside his waistband.

I flop onto my stomach, because to tell the truth I’m getting hard, but I’m not going to miss this.

Noah backs into the wardrobe we now share and scrambles for some clothes. He doesn’t look at them, he just grabs a t-shirt from the top drawer, then some sweatpants from the middle drawer.

Then he scurries to the ensuite.

The shower sounds, which is probably a good idea since he must be sticky, and I gather some clothes for myself.

Noah was saying my name.

And coming.

I mean, the guy was asleep, so it doesn’t count. But it sort of counts.

The tension I was feeling last night has dissolved into bubbles, and I don’t tease Noah when he strolls out of the shower looking super lickable in clashing clothes.

I hurry to take my shower and get dressed. I enjoy spending time with Mama. and Papa Fitzpatrick.

Noah is cooking breakfast. Avocado and smoked salmon eggs Benedict. My eyes gleam. “My favorite.”

Noah’s cheeks pinken. “Uh-huh. I’m going to make smoothies too, but I wanted to wait until you got out of the shower so they can be fresh.”

I wrap my arm around his waist. “I wasn’t going to take a long shower this morning.”

His eyes widen.

Maybe he doesn’t think that I need to get all lovey-dovey since his parents already seem to be under the impression that Noah and I are not only a couple, but a great couple, but I know better. I’m onto him.

And we’re so going to have a big, serious talk after his parents leave.

Probably good to eat lots of protein first and stock up on vitamins and micronutrients.

“I’ll plate the breakfast, babe,” I say. “You blend the smoothies.”

He nods and scuttles toward the refrigerator. He’s still under the impression he can avoid me. But he doesn’t need to do that. No way.

Maybe I should be freaked out that this fake marriage doesn’t feel so fake now, but I’m mostly thrilled that Noah’s feelings might be aligned to my own.

The day is good.

Mama Fitzpatrick invites us to New Hampshire for Thanksgiving.

“I mean, obviously, you don’t have to come,” Noah says quickly.

I slide my arm around his chair. “I’m coming.”

“Why wouldn’t Finn want to come, sweetie?”

“He has a demanding schedule.”

“So do you, sweetie,” I say, enjoying the way that pink moves over Noah’s face. I want to follow the pink with my fingers. I want to see how far the color creeps down his chest and back. I want to give him a thorough examination.

I stare at Noah.

Noah stares at me.

A throat clearing noise sounds, and when I look across the table, Noah’s dad is grinning.

“Now you’re going to take care of my son, Finn?”

“Absolutely.”

Papa Fitzpatrick rises. “Then we’ll leave you to it. Let’s hit the road, Tracy.”

Mama Fitzpatrick nods and rises. “We’ll help them clear the table.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

“We’ve been imposing on the newlyweds for two whole days,” Papa Fitzpatrick says, and Papa Fitzpatrick is totally the man.

“Oh.” Mama Fitzpatrick pales. “I see. Well, it is a long drive. We should leave.”

Noah’s eyes round. He’s obviously torn between begging his parents to stay and to not making them do the dishes.

Mama and Papa Fitzpatrick’s small suitcase is already waiting at the door, and they wrap both of us in a hug and say goodbye before Noah can decide how to stop them.

Then the door closes behind them, and we’re alone.

Noah steps away, his gaze fixed on me.

I put my arms on my waist. “Time to talk, my sweet puck.”

NOAH

I take a step back and collide with the door. Finn is on me at once. I suddenly have sympathy for all the players who’ve tried to play against him at hockey.

Finn’s gaze does not waver, and even though, technically I’m two inches taller than him, I feel about ten inches shorter.

I aim for innocence. “You want to talk?”

His eyes dance. “Uh-huh.”

“About, um, the news? I think, um, something political happened lately.”

“Something political happened? You think? Remind me never to sit you next to my dad at dinner.”

“Okay.” I duck from his arms, happy to take advantage of his confusion and sprint toward our bedroom.

His bedroom.

Obviously.

“I’ll move my things to the other room...”

Then Finn’s muscular arms wrap around my waist, and his clean scent and Tom Ford cologne waft around me. His voice is low. “Not so fast, mister.”

I squirm, but he pushes me against the wall, then rearranges me so we’re facing each other.

His eyes dilate, and I’m quiet, staring back into them.

“We’re alone,” he says finally.

“Uh-huh.”

He narrows his eyes. His nostrils flare. My heart takes off.

His eyes are stern and unwavering, and I lose myself in them, even though I know better.

His chest practically touches mine, and my eyes widen.

“I saw something interesting this morning,” he says.

“You did?” My voice squeaks, and I feel way too young.

I don’t know how to handle this.

I don’t know how to handle 190 pounds of NHL crafted muscle pressing me into the wall.

My cock thickens, and at any moment he’s going to know.

He’s going to know I’m super turned on, and he’s probably trying to tell me that what I was doing was inappropriate.

Because of course that’s what’s he’s going to say, right?

There’s no world where Finn Carrington, one of Boston’s darlings and skating’s superstars, has feelings for me. Even if he’s looking at me with a lot of intensity. I mean, that could mean he’s intensely amused and upset with me.

I mean, I did come all over him at night. Even the best bros don’t do that, right? Not bro code. Absolutely not skating code.

My heart patters.

His face grows larger, and it takes me another moment to realize that’s because he’s leaning closer to me. God, my brain must be sluggish, because if I didn’t know better, I swear I might think—

And then he kisses me.

And I know I was correct.

Finn Carrington was about to kiss me. And, apparently, he’s still doing so.

His lips press against mine, and his tongue slips in after half a second, because this is Finn Carrington. No way are we doing a closed mouth kiss if he wants to kiss me. No way at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Finn

The kiss is every bit as good as I was certain it would be.

Yup, my instincts are still amazing.

After a few moments of confusion, Noah groans into my mouth, his lashes fluttering, and then it’s on, baby.

My heart races, and I swear I can feel Noah’s heart pattering on the other side of my chest. I inhale his scent, and lose myself in the feel of his arms, slightly slick from sweat.

My body brushes against his waffle-textured t-shirt.

“Too many clothes,” I mutter, breaking free of Noah’s mouth. I pull his shirt up, and his eyes widen.

“You want this?” he asks.

“Of course, I fucking want this.”

He blinks, then we work like the pro athletes we are in ridding ourselves of our clothes as quickly as possible. Our clothes rustle as they drop to the floor. If there were an Olympic category for undressing, we would totally be representing our country.

Then I slam Noah into the wall again because whoever designed this apartment made the hallway far too long.

But this time my chest touches Noah’s bare one, and his flat pink nipples tighten. This time, my thighs touch his just as sturdy ones. And this time, my cock touches his.

Oh, God.

I press against his cock again, feeling my nerve endings jolt. They’ve never experienced anything like this. I’ve never experienced anything like this. His smattering of dark chest hair brushes against me, the masculine sensation not unappealing.

Life is fucking amazing.

“Have you ever—?” I ask.

Noah shakes his head. “No. Never. But—”

“But?”

“It’s amazing...” he murmurs, and his eyes roll back, and I decide my time is best spent sucking on the tender, salty skin of his neck. Noah’s groans and moans and pants have become my own personal favorite soundtrack. There’s no need to buy any music when I can just hear this. Noah has got this covered.

“I didn’t think you would want—” he murmurs, then his cheeks turn ruddy. He’s been thinking about this. I’m certain. Joy surges through me, like hats are dropping around me on the ice, and an audience is clapping, clapping, clapping.

“I absolutely want,” I say. “You’ve been driving me crazy all week.”

His eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah?”

“Totally. A thousand percent.”

A smile breaks over his face, and I would stare at it for centuries, except I want my tongue back in his mouth right now.

Then we’re kissing some more, my new favorite thing. I brush my cock against his. It feels fucking amazing. This all feels fucking amazing.

NOAH

It’s possible I’ve fallen asleep at the breakfast table, and I’m drooling, and my parents and Finn are staring at me.

Because, surely, having a dream about Finn is more likely than what’s happening here.

Finn Carrington can’t be kissing me.

He can’t be groaning into my mouth.

He can’t have torn off my clothes in a fit of passion, because Finn Carrington isn’t supposed to feel passionately toward me.

He’s supposed to like me...as a friend. Tolerate me...like an imperfect colleague.

But kiss me? Slam me against the wall so I thud against its so he can make out with me? Rub his cock against mine? No way.

Finn pulls away, and for a wild moment I think his eyes are going to dance, his lips are going to smirk, and he’s going to announce “called it” and tell me to leave his apartment, leave the team, leave his life.

His eyes dance, and his lips swerve upward, though not in a smirk-like manner. “Bedroom.”

“Seriously?”

“Too much talking, Fitzpatrick.” He bends down, grabs my thighs, and starts carrying me.

“Wait! You can’t do that!”

“I can’t help that you’re a slowpoke, Fitzpatrick.”

The hallway furniture moves at a fast pace, but of course, I’m the person moving. And Finn is carrying me.

“I’m bigger than you!” I exclaim.

He snorts. “Taller. Are you calling me unfit?”

“I would never—”

“Good.” He drops me in front of his bedroom door, putting me down carefully, so my legs slide against his, my chest slides against his sweat-slicked one, and oh, yeah, then we’re kissing again. I’ve seen him bare chested before, but that’s nothing like feeling his warm muscular frame press against me.

Kissing Finn is my absolute new favorite thing in the world. There’s nothing small about his mouth, nothing dainty, nothing careful about his kissing style.

His hard body sends desire shooting through me.

Then he’s backing me toward his bed, the same place I carefully, painstakingly, though perhaps not effectively, cleaned.

He flings me backward, and I fall onto unmade covers, but there’s no way I’m going to fix them now. The privacy shades are still down, and dim golden light floods the room. Finn crawls between my legs, his pupils dilated, lowers himself over me, and we’re kissing again.

Oh, yeah. Finn was totally right. This is even better than kissing in the hallway. I sink into the mattress, feeling all of him press against me. Our skin slides together, and everything is hot and wonderful and smells like him.

Finn grabs hold of my cock and positions his right next to it. My cock hardens.

And hardens.

And hardens.

In fact, I’m sure it’s never felt more like a rock in my twenty-two years.

There’s nothing careful about the exploration of my body, and I’m suddenly reminded of all the awkward sex I used to have. All the smoothing of hair, and the ready flow of compliments that ushered out of me more out of a sense of politeness than passion, and the ordered attention to various parts of the body before I proceeded with the main event.

I thought it was fine. A bit silly that everyone made such a big deal about it, especially since some parts of it made me recoil, but for the most part it was perfectly pleasant.

This isn’t pleasant.

It’s awe-inducing.

And all we’ve done is kiss and rut against each other.

Our cocks slide together, pre-cum spilling and merging. The scent of sex fills the air, and I feel drunk.

He thrusts, I thrust.

We’re animals.

He moves his hand through my hair, unconcerned it’s not long and luscious and Madison-like, and when he looks at me, I only see wonder.

Then I explode.

He follows me right after, and he collapses onto me, pulling me beside him.  

My heart zooms. My nerves zing.

Then Finn starts to laugh, and I draw back. Is he regretting this? Does he think it’s...ridiculous?

“What’s funny?” My voice is cautious, and I focus on the ceiling.  

“All your good work cleaning this morning,” he huffs between laughs. “And now we’ll have to do it all over again.”

Relief swoops through my body, and I elbow him. “I was genuinely stressed.”

“I know,” he assures me. “That’s why I politely pretended to be asleep. You may call me the Sleeping Gentleman.”

“God.”

“That works too.”

Then we’re tackling each other and giggling, and maybe we’ll have to move to another bed because we’re totally destroying this one.

I was with a man.

I was with Finn.

Happiness fills all my cells, and I might never stop smiling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Finn

Obviously, the rest of the day is devoted to sex. Kissing Noah is my new favorite thing. I want to memorize each part of his body with my lips and tongue. He’s been driving me crazy, and now I want to know him in the Biblical sense that would make my proper Episcopalian priest squirm.

We curl into the bed, sinking against the Egyptian cotton, as my eyes blink more and more until sleep is certainly going to overtake me, but that’s totally because I came like a fiend and spent way too much of last night obsessing over Noah.

But I don’t have to wonder any more what if or maybe one day. Noah is game. Noah wants to kiss me and have me lie beside his large muscular body as he strokes his hands over me while gazing at me in awe.

So when we wake from our nap, I get right to business. I didn’t get to be a great hockey player by dawdling.

There are various sex acts I’m awesome at with women, and new male-only ones I want to master.

I slide Noah’s boxer briefs off and tell him he doesn’t need to keep on putting them on. And then I’m confronted with Noah’s cock. It’s hard, but I’m going to make it harder. It’s awesome, and I’m going to worship it.

“Are you going to look?” Noah asks after a minute. “Because, um, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods quickly. “Kisses are fine.” His eyes round. “I mean, if you want, of course. You don’t—”

I arch an eyebrow. “You have no idea how sexy you are.”

His eyes widen further.

Noah has a point. I shouldn’t just look at Noah’s dick. Even though, as far as dicks go, it’s totally brilliant.

“I’ve seen a lot of dicks in my life,” I say conversationally.

Noah’s eyes look like they’re about to bounce from his head. I mean, just how firm are those eyeballs screwed in?

“Dude, locker rooms are filled with them.”

“Right. I didn’t know you were looking at them.

“Of course not! But they’re a major part of a guy’s body. Hard to avoid. Especially if you’re sitting and people are undressed.

Noah’s eyes soften, but I frown slightly. Was I doing locker rooms wrong? Should I have completely avoided a major part of a guy’s anatomy? Would that be possible? That would be like trying to avoid a guy’s knees.

I clear my throat. “My point is that this dick is very pretty.”

“Dicks aren’t pretty.” His voice is uncertain, like he thinks dicks are pretty.

“Are you calling my cock unpretty, Fitzpatrick?”

“No. Yours is—” He swallows hard, and his cheeks turn that pink color I adore.

I decide to put him out of his misery.

I trail a finger from his balls to the tip of his cock. His cock twitches.

“It has no curves,” I say fondly. “And it’s not veiny.”

Noah sneaks a look at mine. “Veiny is good.”

I smile at the way his green eyes dilate and run my fingers through his hair. “And both balls are round and perfectly matched.” Then I crawl between his legs, because that’s the best way to get to his balls. I lick them, which is interesting, because I’ve never had something with that wrinkly, thin texture in my mouth, and Noah groans. I hold each one in my mouth, and Noah’s groans louden. His legs wriggle. His shaft twitches.

I glance up at him. “Be quiet.”

“Okay,” he says softly.

I grin, then lick my way down his shaft. “Good?”

“The best,” he manages to get out. His chest moves up and down in a way more rapid pace than an athlete normally does when lying on a fucking bed, and his breath stutters out of his perfect pink lips.

I bathe his whole cock in my mouth, moving in long wet moves. I want to get to know it. I want to know how it looks and how it feels in my mouth.

And finally, I want to worship it.

I take his head in my mouth and suck.

“Finn,” Noah murmurs.

I slide his cock from my mouth. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” he moans. “Don’t stop. Never stop.”

My lips twitch but I slide his cock back into my mouth. I mean, I’m not cruel, obviously.

I suck hard, hollowing my cheeks, and channel my inner vacuum cleaner. From the wild flaying that Noah promptly does, I’m successful.

“I’m going to—” Noah pants. “Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal, Winnipeg, Ottawa.”

I withdraw from his cock. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reciting Stanley Cup championships in order.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t come!”

“You can come. That’s the point.”

“I might make your mouth wet!” Noah exclaims.

I snort. “Besides the order is actually Montreal, Montreal, Montreal, Winnipeg, Montreal...”

“I didn’t want to repeat myself. You might think I was crazy.”

“I already do, baby.” And then I’m channeling my inner vacuum cleaner again, and Noah is groaning, and then my mouth does get very, very wet. I swallow all his cum. I mean, I’ve done kegs. This is way better.

I collapse next to him, and he starts to crawl toward my nether regions.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“Want to,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of my cock. “Wanted to for a long time.”

His cheeks pinken, like he’s disclosed too much, and something in me melts.

I tangle my fingers in his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“I mean because we’re married. It’s convenient.”

Convenient.

The word thunders through me, and tangles into my soul. But this makes sense. We’re together for this year. Why shouldn’t we be fuck buddies? It’s only practical. This is nothing more than two horny friends living in close quarters doing horny things together. It’s pure bro logic, and there’s no reason an ache should be spreading through my body as if I’ve taken a puck to my solar plexus.

I force my body to relax.

Then his mouth is on my cock, and my thoughts disappear with every lick and stroke and suck.

So I’m not an inexperienced guy. I’ve had blowjobs before. You could call me a connoisseur. I know the different techniques. Personally, I’m fond of the teasing method, which is why I selected that one to give to Noah.

Noah doesn’t do that. He’s in the swallow-as-much-as-possible camp, and I have to say, it’s totally working for me.

He doesn’t go all the way to the base, and to be fair, few people have managed that. They were experts, since I don’t think they developed their expertise in much else—no doubt, a tragedy for science and technology, because by God, did they master blowjob techniques, but I’m digging Noah.

Because no one has seemed to enjoy the process quite as much as him. My heart swells, and my cock swells, and in the next moment I’m exploding right between those succulent lips. Noah’s green eyes widen, and his dark eyebrows leap upward, but he swallows valiantly, holding my hands when I try to pull my dick out of his mouth.

Noah laughs. “That was it?”

I elbow him.

“Just saying, the Stanley Cup technique worked.”

“I’m never going to look at one without blushing now,” I mumble.

I pull Noah into my arms, and he burrows his head into my chest, and I stroke his head and gaze happily at the ceiling until we both nap again.

Then because we’re super professional hockey pros, and fitness is life, we go for a run. We run around Boston’s harbor, past crowds of happy tourists. Sunlight glints on the ocean.

“We should go to P-Town,” I say. “Or Salem.”

“Whatever you want,” Noah says.

“I want to show you all of Massachusetts.”

“My favorite part is the part you’re in.” His tone is earnest, and my heart patters.

Sometimes his words astound me. I want to kiss him right now, but instead I press on, conscious of the people around us. If he were a woman, I would have kissed him, and my happiness dims, before I remember we’re almost at my apartment. I’m soon sprinting through the crowd and selfie-takers, joy jolting through me.

Noah’s shoulder brushes against mine as I enter. “I like this marriage thing.”

I smile, but my lips don’t move all the way up, as I remember that this is all pretend, all for convenience. In one year, this will be over.

“It sure is convenient,” I say.

Noah nods, but looks away, and we’re quiet when we reach my apartment building.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Noah

I am so in over my head. I don’t know what to do with an incredibly attractive man grinning at me from the pillow we now share. My heart is going to explode at any moment.

But at least, yesterday wasn’t a dream. Not from the way Finn is gazing at me with fondness when I wake up, and not from the fact I’m still sleeping beside him, even though my parents already left yesterday for New Hampshire, and there’s absolutely no reason to share a room.

Except this.

Except for the feel of Finn beside me. Except for the way our bodies tangle together, and the happy look in his eyes.

“Ready to beat New York?” Finn murmurs.

Then all the memories of last time I went to the arena burst through the pleasant cloud I’ve been ensconced in during the last twenty-four hours.

Finn kisses my forehead, and I sink into the memory foam mattress, as he shifts position.  I know I’m supposed to say “hell, yeah,” or “totally” or “New York is toast”—but instead my heart scampers.

Because I don’t know how long Coach Holberg will keep me.

“I need to play better,” I say.

Finn’s expression sobers. “You’re a great player, Noah. You wouldn’t have been called up if you weren’t.”

“There are other people ready to take my place.”

Finn is silent.

I suppose I should be grateful he’s not lying to me, but his acknowledgement does nothing to calm my heart and keep it from striking against my ribs.

Because all of this is perfect, but it can be taken away with a conversation from Coach Holberg and Tanaka.

“Have any interviews been released?” I ask.

“I try to stay away from social media.”

I give Finn a hard glance, and he has the good sense to blush. “The pride articles were the most effusive.”

“And the others?”

“They were okay. A bit bewildered. I-I wouldn’t bother reading them. Who cares about social media?” Finn’s laugh has never sounded so fake, and I stare.

“You do. You’re an influencer.” I scramble for my phone, my fingers shaking.

Sport Sphere Network does not think I am worthy of dating Finn.

“We fooled them about the marriage.” Finn slinks his arm around my waist and nibbles on the space below my ear.

I stiffen. His words roar in my head. I’ve managed to fool myself.

Maybe Coach Holberg will send me back to Providence.

Maybe that will be the end of everything.

The perfect excuse from an earlier than planned divorce. Finn can put out a statement about how saddened he is to announce our separation, then put out another one about our divorce, stating that long distance, that one hour train ride, and the media attention proved too strenuous.

And everyone would understand.

Everyone would be sympathetic.

And he could continue with his parties and womanizing until I’m someone he barely remembers.

“I’ll shower.” I scamper from the room. I strip from my boxer briefs and let the water pummel me.

This immaculate marble bathroom with its impossibly fluffy towels and perfect lighting and fancy shower with tons of handles isn’t mine. I’m here because of my own incompetence, and this joy I have found with Finn cannot last.

I should tell him now, but he is too important to me. I cannot let go, and that is my sin. I tell myself Finn wants all this too, and sometimes I believe it, but would he still want any of this if I were to leave and he would be free of the marriage charade? How soon would I be forgotten? Would I be a memory to show how open minded and fun-loving he is? A fun fact in sports memorabilia books? The first married teammates in the NHL, though I didn’t last long?

I slam the shower knob off. I refuse to stress about this. I refuse to overthink.

I am going to go to Cambridge with Finn and play amazing hockey.

I stalk from the bathroom, clothed and ready, and nervousness absolutely not pulsing from any of my veins. No way. That would be inappropriate.

I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this.

FINN

Noah storms from the bathroom, muttering something about excelling. I resist the urge to watch him angrily put on clothes. Instead, I take a shower. When I exit, Noah is making us avocado toast with eggs.

“This is nice.” I lean in for a kiss.

He wraps his arms around my neck and deepens the kiss. Maybe he’s not in as bad of a mood as I thought.

I tell him everything I know about the New York players, though he knows their style from watching games.

Finally, we arrive at the arena. Noah’s eyes are rounder than before, but he keeps his steps steady, and his chin remains parallel to the polished concrete floor.

I pretend to not notice how he stiffens when we pass Coach Holberg’s office, like he’s expecting Coach to usher him inside, then break all his dreams.

Normally, I’m not super against this being a high turnover sport and making room for another person with bright eyes and big dreams. But selfishly, I want Noah to stay. He didn’t get a good start, and that was all on me. I need to believe there was a reason he was picked, because there sure as hell is a reason for him to stay.

But Noah is stressed enough without me laying romantic proclamations at his feet, and certainly the hallway where we both work is not the ideal place.

We enter the locker room, and eyes shift on us.

“No celebratory music?” I moan.

“Nope. Wait until your next marriage,” Troy declares.

Noah stiffens behind me.

“I’m not a one-week marriage kind of guy,” I say.

“I wasn’t sure when your hookups are one night only.”

“As if I have them spend the night.”

Noah’s gaze is pale. And sickly. Actually, he doesn’t look super good. Maybe he’s experiencing trauma from the last time he was here, and Tanaka dragged us to his office.

Troy slides his gaze to Noah. “Don’t worry, Noah. I’ll make you cocktails.”

The guys erupt in laughter.

I scowl at my teammates. “I am the only person here who has a six-figure side hustle making drinks.”

“You make smoothies,” Troy corrects. “And those green juices. Besides, I bet loads of people watch you for your looks.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “Those green drinks probably destroyed your taste buds and made you serve Noah poison.”

“My cocktails are not poison,” I say primly. “And wheatgrass shots are an important part of any athlete’s diet.”

“I, um, don’t need cocktails,” Noah says in a soft, strained voice. “Beer is fine.”

“The important thing,” I declare. “Is to party. And to all become friends.”

“And live happily ever after?” Troy’s eyes glint.

“I am pro living happily ever after.” I don’t meet Noah’s eyes when I say it, and he seems occupied with studying the shape of the cubbies.

Noah seemed cool this weekend with the whole living together and acting married thing, but forever is an awfully long time for two people who met a week ago.

I’m relieved when Troy excuses himself to get a massage, and the other guys dissipate, choosing lifting and the machines over teasing me about my bartending skills.

“You should have a real wedding,” Luke muses.

“We had a real wedding.”

“With tuxes and things.”

“We were in suits.” I glance at Noah because the whole night was fuzzy.

“You should have tuxes,” Luke says. “And boutonnieres.”

“That’s a big word for a hockey player.”

“You should watch Finding Mr. Right,” Luke says happily. “They’re doing a Christmas special in Boston. I want to see if I can watch a filming.”

“Isn’t the whole point of Finding Mr. Right that people are all stuck together?”

“Nah. They’ll film it around Boston. We can casually—”

“Film bomb them?” I raise an eyebrow.

Luke’s expression takes on a dreamy tone. “That would be so cool.”

I shrug. “See Noah? The Blizzards are a great team. Super romantic.”

“Cool,” Noah says, and he seems a bit less nervous than before, and I’m sure everything is totally going to be okay.

But when Vinnie and Evan arrive and they cast long, assessing glances at us, I’m rather less confident that we’re getting away with this.

Because they’re onto us.

Maybe they remembered we weren’t acting like secret boyfriends in Vegas. Because wouldn’t I have mentioned them to Noah if we were? Discretion isn’t one of my top twenty qualities.

A shiver slinks down my spine, and I usher Noah to the machines far away from where Evan and Vinnie work out.

I’m not sure it’s enough distance.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Finn

I burst onto the ice and line up for the faceoff with New York. The New York players are mean. Their coach seems to find joy in picking the people with the most aggressive instincts, then honing that aggression so everyone will cede their puck to them.

I’m not scared. Anxiety isn’t a Carrington thing. Well, my cousin Cameron was anxious, but since he’s approaching billionaire-level wealth and is no longer a child, I doubt that’s still the case.

But this time the New Yorkers encircle me, and even behind their masks, it’s easy to see their smirks. A dull feeling drops through me.

I have an idea where this is going.

I suddenly feel like I’ve been put inside an eighties movie, and that’s so not cool with me. I am not the bullied. Absolutely not. I don’t do things vice versa either.

But the air has changed.

McGregor slams me into the boards. “You like men, Carrington?”

He sneers at me, and I know he thinks I’m going to fumble my stick. I wrestle with him, and in the distance, Vinnie skates toward us, his face stern and avenging.

“Uh-huh.” My lips curl into my best smirk. “Want me to fuck you hard, McGregor?”

His face pales, and Vinnie’s jaw drops.

“Do you want me to feed you my big cock?”

McGregor’s jaw drops, and I whack the puck toward Luke who scores.

The lights flash, and the crowd cheers. I wink at McGregor and skate away.

“Um, what did you say to him?” Vinnie asks, befuddled.

“Everything he was going to say to me,” I say, before setting off after the puck again. The applause rings in my ears, filling my soul and smoothing away my worry.

I love this game. I grin at the crowd and bask in my assist, but I can’t shake the feeling that Vinnie is suspicious. Maybe I was supposed to act self-hating and cower.

Well, fuck that.

The puck glides toward me, and I sprint toward it. This time I’m going to score a goal. I shoot it hard into the goal, grinning at McGregor’s angry, disappointed face.

New York is so going to lose.

NOAH

We win the game. Coach put me on the ice, and everything was respectable. Tanaka smiles from the owner’s section when the game ends and we’ve won 2-0, and the home audience screams their enthusiasm.

Elation bubbles through me. Okay, this is happening. I am an NHL player on one of the top teams in the country, married to one of the top hockey players in the country.

Even if Finn doesn’t technically have the most goals, he’s super awesome.

The team flashes wide exuberant smiles on one another as I enter the locker room.

“Finn, I want you out there for questions,” Coach orders.

“Yes, sir!” Finn nods, then rushes for the shower.

“Congratulations, everyone!” Coach says.

I move more slowly since I’ll be here a while. When I leave the shower and put on my suit, Finn is still talking with reporters. I slide onto a bench.

A few of the guys shoot me curious looks. They whisper to one another, then turn their heads to me.

Mostly I’ve been with Finn. He’s been my protector, even though I never asked him to take on that role.

Finally, Troy approaches me. “I thought we should talk for real.”

“Okay.”

“Finn’s a cool dude,” Troy says carefully.

“I know.”

He nods. “Because we could take you if we had to. If you weren’t serious or anything.”

My mouth drops, then I start to chuckle. Troy has it all wrong. If any hurting is going to go on, it will be from Finn, because I’m so far gone on him.

But that’s more personal than I want to get into.

“He has good friends,” I say instead.

Troy smiles. “And we’re going to be your good friends.”

I nod and wait for them to comment about how odd it is for them to see Finn with a guy. I wait for them to muse about how used they are to seeing Finn with a variety of women, and I wait for them to joke about how seeing Finn make any commitment, much less with someone of my gender is something that’s going to take some getting used to.

They don’t say any of those things.

Luke asks me about Providence, then they both ask me about New Hampshire. It’s the polite conversation that they might make to any significant other or new teammate, and it’s the nicest thing ever.

Finally, the rest of the players emerge from the interview room.

Finn heads straight for me, rushing past Evan and Vinnie. “I missed you.”

He pulls me toward him and kisses my cheek. I wonder if he’s going to give me a deeper kiss, the kind that is actually on my lips, but Finn turns his head, and I see he is observing Evan and Vinnie.

Finn drags me away, and we’re soon driving back to Finn’s apartment.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Finn

Noah snuggles into me as the plane takes off after a night playing Carolina after another win. His eyes are shut, and his breath sends warm pulses through my body. The curious glances of my friends as they see Noah and me together have eased almost entirely. Noah and I are always together, and that’s fine with everyone.

My team is awesome.

This is only for this year though.

That’s the secret that Noah and I have. The promise we’ve made each other.

At some point, I’ll have to explain to my friends that Noah and I have split. At some point, I’ll see him dating other people. And at some point, I’ll be going on dates of my own, trying to capture something of what I felt with Noah, even though I’ve never felt close to this before.

I stare out the window and keep my arm still so that Noah will not wake, as my heart thunders.

Because Noah and I are in our early twenties. And even though hockey players marry young, I don’t know if Noah had that same goal. Noah has partied less than me. Why would he give up the option of doing that, now that he is making good money for the first time in his life?

No, if Noah wants this to be for one year, then that’s what we’ll have. But my heart already aches. I’ve met someone so right for me, but every game we play is a day closer to the end. When Noah acted surprised that I wanted to have all the sex with him, I decided not to press anything.

Murmurings sound around me. Some guys play cards, while others have inserted their AirPods into their ears and are watching movies on their iPads. Evan and Vinnie share an iPad in front of us, and their deep voices rumble whenever a particularly funny scene comes on.

My iPad is tucked in my bag. I could get it out. But Noah is sleeping so soundly, and I won’t wake him. Warmth fills me where our skin touches. I close my eyes and imagine stripping him naked once our jet lands and we’re safely checked into our next hotel. I imagine kissing every inch of his body, like I’ve done before. But this time I also imagine spreading his cheeks. I imagine seeing his pink hole, and I imagine licking it. It’s not a fantasy I’ve had before, but I may have ventured to my favorite porn sites when Noah was sleeping, this time clicking on the gay category.

Yeah, there are things I want to try.

I want to hear Noah moan beneath me. I want to thrust inside him, and I want to pound against his special button and see if it drives Noah as crazy as I see it drive people crazy in porn. I want his long legs to dangle from my shoulders, and I want to flip him over and take him doggy style, so all I can see is that great, round hockey ass, and I want to lie him down and kiss him as I thrust inside him.

I want everything. I want him.

My cock twitches, and I force my mind away from images of Noah’s naked body and attempt to sleep.

If we have one year, I want to make it count.

My Apple Watch buzzes. Isaiah is inviting Noah and me to his wedding on the North Shore at the fucking Peregrine Estate. I’ve been in society long enough to know what a nice place that is.

My lips swerve up. Guess I’m going to see Noah in a tux.

But a new feeling fills me: guilt.

Noah and I married in private. I didn’t give him a nice wedding. I didn’t even let his family watch. And I served him minibar drinks and neither of us can remember what happened. I’m not Mr. Super Husband, and the thought that Noah doesn’t expect me to be doesn’t make me feel better.

NOAH

Finn and I tumble into bed at the hotel. Our arms wrap around each other, just how we always sleep. Finn crawls down my body. He sucks warm, wet kisses on my torso. It’s possible I’ll have hickeys tomorrow, but I don’t tell him to stop. I can take any teasing, and his mouth feels amazing.

Then he’s sucking my cock. He doesn’t tease me. He’s straight there, and it’s amazing. Finn swallows it like a desperate man, like me orgasming means the same as someone defusing a bomb at a stadium.

Soon I’m coming, surging on a wave of pleasure. My back arches, my hands tremble, and I’m not sure my heart will ever be the same.

I press my lips together, so I don’t accidentally spill how much he means. Those three little words are everywhere. A whole aisle is devoted to them at CVS, and the married guys on the team, the married guys except us, say it effortlessly to their spouses on their phones.

I want to say it.

The words appear in my mind every time I see him, like bubbles floating over him in a comic strip.

I love him. I love him so much.

I probably loved him before we met, when he would stare into the camera, hair mussed, eyes sleepy or alert, and reveal all his thoughts about living his best life so his viewers could do the same.

But I can’t say them. He’s already given me so much. He put his life on hold for one year for me. I won’t make him feel that I’m trapping him for forever.

So I swallow back the words, and kiss him so nothing can get out accidentally, even when my mind blares with I love yous and you are my everything.

I reach down and take his cock in my hand. It’s slick with precum, and it only takes a few strokes before his body tenses, then shakes, and for him to lie asleep with me clutched in his sturdy arms.

My heart continues to beat, uncertainty moving through me. I’m not going to be able to let him go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Noah

I sprint toward the puck. I’m practically flying over the ice. The arena’s lights seem to brighten, and I’m only vaguely aware of the crowd of blue-and-white jerseys on the other side of the glass.

I move my stick, intercepting the Chicago player’s pass, and whack it toward one of my teammates. I hurry forward, ready for any passes.

Then the puck glides toward me. Luke is open, and I can send it to him. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Except something else catches my eye.

The goal.

I don’t have the best position. They also don’t expect me to aim for it.

And so I do.

I adjust my grip on my stick, then strike the puck.

The light flashes.

God.

I did it.

I scored.

Happiness thrums through me, then Luke tackles me into a bear hug. We spin on the ice, then separate to play more.

I wrestle the puck away from a Chicago player.

“Hello, Fitzpatrick.” The Chicago player narrows his gaze. “You enjoying being in a game and not just on a magazine cover?”

“Jealous?” I wink as I flick the puck away from him, then head back to the benches with the rest of my line.

I float around the arena. My training is stronger than ever.

FINN

EACH MORNING NOAH MAKES breakfast for us, as interested in keeping us healthy as I am. Our refrigerator is filled with cucumbers and kale, lemons and lettuce, mangoes, and melons, and I awake to the sound of him fiddling with the juicer and blender. Sometimes he broils eggs in bell peppers or sweet potatoes.

Though he’s shy about being on the camera, he loves learning about filming, and he makes B roll for me.

“You can wake me up,” I tell him.

His cheeks redden. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You want to surprise me every day.”

“Because I want to start off every day good.”

“The day would be better if you were sitting on my lap,” I say.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Maybe straddling my lap.” My throat dries because that totally sounds hot.

“I would hate for the day not to start amazing for you,” he says.

Then he straddles my lap, and we grin at each other.

God, the man is so handsome. How did I ever not know that the most amazing sight in the world was not a man with sparkling green eyes and short dark hair and a sturdy jaw? I trail my fingers along his cheekbones, then capture his lips with mine.

Today, we float into the locker room, and a few of the other guys smirk when they see us.

“Enjoying the honeymoon?” Luke asks.

“Uh-huh.” Noah plops onto the bench. He has a blissful expression on his face, and I smile.

“Someone’s well-fucked,” Axel says.

Noah stiffens, and I avert my gaze.

We haven’t fucked yet. I’ve dreamed about it, fascinated about it, but I’m not sure if he wants to go that far. Though I mentioned it earlier, we haven’t talked about it since. To be honest, I’m not sure how into it I am. How can I suggest doing something with him that I’m not sure I want done to me?

We’re both in our early twenties. We’re at our sexual peak. But when all this ends, does Noah want to tell someone that he used to get fucked?

Uncertainty moves through me, and when I look at Noah, he is on the other side of the locker room, talking to Evan.

“Finn! Noah!” Coach Holberg interrupts me from my reverie. “Come.”

I dart a glance at Noah. His eyebrows are up, his demeanor as worried as mine.

“Did we do something wrong?” I ask carefully.

Coach sighs. “Come with me. Now.”

A few of the other guys give us tight smiles. Having to speak to Coach alone is not a good sign. Noah and I have been in the news too much. We were once worried about feigning being together, but now that we’ve realized that part comes easy to us, we’re everywhere. Wasn’t Tanaka worried about us? Didn’t he complain that he bought a sports team?

We’re not going to be traded. We’re not going to be traded. We’re not going to be traded.

Coach Holberg flings open a door, and it’s not to his office.

Tanaka greets us with a cursory nod. He sits at a desk.

God, we’re in Tanaka’s office. Why?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Noah

I thought Finn and I were playing well, but Coach Holberg has brought us to see the owner as if we’re misbehaving students who need to see the principal.

My heartbeat quickens, and I step closer to Finn.

“You have become famous, boys,” Tanaka says.

“Noah is new to Boston,” Finn explains. “I’ve been showing him around.”

“He must be an expert now.” Tanaka scrolls down a website. “It seems you’ve been everywhere.”

“I try to be thorough.” Finn’s voice wavers.

Tanaka narrows his gaze. “Have a seat.”

Finn and I sit down abruptly, and Tanaka’s lips curl.

“You’ve provided a lot of publicity for the Blizzards.”

“Is that a problem?” Finn asks carefully.

“We would like to monetize it better,” Tanaka says. “We want you to represent the Blizzards.”

“Really?” Finn’s jaw drops. “But doesn’t Evan always do that?”

“Yes. But for some reason Evan wants his privacy.” Tanaka’s eyes dance. “It’s his preference. I think we all know the reason why, even though no official press conferences have been held.”

“Yes,” Finn says.

“Perhaps ironically, we have found that you are the most recognizable people in the team. Obviously, we would like to work with you.”

“You don’t mind that, um...” Finn glances at me, then his voice trails off.

“That you’re gay?” Tanaka asks.

Finn flinches, and I realize that’s not a word he associates himself with. Unlike me, Finn did really seem to like women.

Tanaka is already leaning back in his chair. “We pride ourselves on being modern. We welcome diversity. We want gay children to grow up knowing they can play hockey. Gone is the time when we sent for straight white Canadians to play.”

“I suppose that is virtuous,” Finn says slowly.

“Of course, it’s virtuous.” Tanaka’s tone is stern. “The PR team will set you up with some meetings with charities and photoshoots.”

Finn nods. “We want to be helpful.”

“We will show the world that the Blizzards is a kind and great organization.”

“With the best hockey in the country,” Finn says.

Tanaka’s eyes gleam. “Yes. But even if you don’t play great hockey, everyone will know this is a good team to support. We will expand our tickets from hockey players to—”

“Readers of gossip magazines?” Finn suggests.

Tanaka frowns. “This is a good opportunity for you both. Not every team owner would be as kind as I have been.”

Finn appears chastised. “You’re right, sir. Thank you.”

Tanaka gives a bright beam, as if he hadn’t appeared stern and solemn, like a teacher of a particularly challenging subject at school.

Finn and I exit the room.

“That was unexpected,” Finn says.

“Is there a problem?” I ask carefully.

He shrugs. “More exposure for us. It’s good, it just comes with...”

Risk.

He doesn’t say the word, but it still thunders through me.

Finn and I are together now because we want to convince the world that we did not marry by accident. But do we want the world to scrutinize us more? Because what if they discover the truth?

An uneasiness I wasn’t experiencing slithers through me, and my movements are more uncertain as I follow Finn toward the PR department.

It will be fine. How high profile do they want us to be? We’ve already given interviews to major sports and LGBTQ magazines.

We stand in front of the PR department door, then I knock.

“Come in.” Daniela’s voice sails toward us, and when we enter, she gives us a big smile. “I see Tanaka talked with you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to go on TV?”

Finn’s eyes round, and he turns to look at me.

“TV?” I ask.

Daniela beams. “You two are going national. You’re going on the Belinda Show,” Daniela says.

“Seriously?”

“No one jokes about the Belinda Show.”

“My mother watches that!”

“As does mine.”

Finn puts his hand over mine. “Then we’ll make sure to do a great job for them.”

My mind whirls as Daniela explains the next steps, then we head back to the exercise room.

“This is a big deal,” I tell Finn.

“Face it. We’re a big deal.”

I smile down at him, and he smiles up at me, and suddenly we are caught in one of those heated stares.

Finn scrunches his lips in an adorable manner, and I wonder if I can kiss him. I want to kiss him. Finn’s lips swerve up, and his eyes have a mischievous look. He looks both ways, then drags me into a massage room.

NOAH

The door clicks behind me, and I stare at the large massage table, the rows of battery powered candles, the still smoking incense stick.

“Why are we in here?” I ask.

“Because, my sweet puck, Fernando takes his lunch break now.”

“He does?” My heartbeat quickens. Maybe Finn will kiss me.

He stalks toward me, smirk firmly in place. “I happen to know he has a hot date. I don’t expect him to rush back.”

“How do you know that?” My eyes soften. “You had a massage today. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

I nod, but fine means something else for athletes. Fine means aching with pain, covered in bruises. Fine means you only sometimes remember the operations you had. Fine is not good enough for Finn.

“I can massage you later tonight,” I promise.

“Okay.” He grins. “If that means I can massage you right now.”

“You want...” My eyes widen, and my heartbeat quickens. I glance at the massage table, glance at the locked door. “I don’t think that’s proper.”

“Nope.” Finn leans closer to me, and his voice drops. “We’ll also have to keep it a secret from your second-grade teacher.”

“We might have to write “I’m sorry” ten times.”

“Silly Noah. With what I want to do with you, we might have to write it a thousand times.” Finn lifts me onto the massage table, then climbs on after me. I spread my legs, and he moves in between them. My cock rises to meet his, and he grins when he feels it.

“My sweet puck,” he drawls, his eyes dancing.

“You need to come up with a better name for me.”

“Not when this one is so perfect.” Finn slides down my sweatpants, then moves his own down.

“People are outside,” I whisper.

“Then you better be quiet, My Stiff Stick.”

I roll my eyes, because of course I’ll be quiet. No way would I not be quiet when people might overhear us.

Then his lips fall on mine, and I remember this might be more difficult than I think. When his cock presses against mine, I’m truly in trouble. My nerve endings zing, and it so doesn’t help when Finn uses his hand to jerk us off. Pre-cum spills from us both easily, merging and gliding down our shafts. Finn’s hand speeds, and I watch our cocks disappearing and appearing with his steady strokes.

This is so hot.

God, how did I ever think I was straight? Breasts have never had the same fascination for me. But this... I could watch Finn do this all day.

Except I’m going to come now.

My breath quickens, and Finn smirks.

“Quiet, sweetheart.” He stares into my eyes. I’ve never noticed how beautiful his own eyes are. I wonder if I’m supposed to praise him for choosing a different nickname or tease him and tell this one is just as over the top... but I don’t. I can’t.

Because when Finn looks at me like that, he has my heart. And maybe that’s not something I’m supposed to give him or something he wants.

Because all of this comes with an expiration date.

We shouldn’t be risking this. We might get caught. This is our workplace.

The massage table wobbles beneath us, and I hope we don’t come crashing down, because who knows how those injuries could be explained to the public.

“Come, baby,” Finn says.

My heart patters, and the whole world consists of his eyes, his succulent lips, and his hand.

And so I come.

I shoot into Finn’s hand, and in the next moment, Finn’s cock is also shooting. I crane my neck as thick white melds together.

Then Finn is kissing me again, then searching for a tissue, then cleaning us both up.

“That was a risky,” I try to say sternly once we exit the massage room and hope that the AC will waft away our scents before Fernando returns.

“It was a stressful day,” Finn says, and my heart sinks, because this whole thing must be super stressful for him.

Everyone he’s ever met will see pictures, videos of us together. Will they all think he was lying about his sexuality? Or will they simply think him clueless? Will they wonder how he ended up married to the man who fell straight after he skated onto the ice in his first NHL game?

I’m not sure, and he probably isn’t either.

We go to the exercise room, because we need to work up some sweat before we can justify a shower. I lift, he spots. We both count together.

Footsteps sound behind us, then Troy appears. “I swear to God, how can you make lifting look romantic?”

Heat sweeps over my cheeks, but I notice another person looking at us... Vinnie.

I haven’t talked with him since that debacle in Vegas, when he accused Finn and me—well, mostly me, of being homophobic.

Occasionally he looks at us in bewilderment.

I get it. I didn’t think I would be married to Finn either. I certainly didn’t think he would throw himself into the physical side of a marriage with such vigor.

Then again, he would be the first to say that he had a long history of hookups, and he is too caring to risk my reputation by hooking up now. It’s only natural for him to seek me out when he feels stressed, which is probably more and more often.

I shouldn’t dream about impossible things, and I shouldn’t let my mind wander and imagine a future that it is not fair to ask of him.

I’m almost relieved when Coach calls me away, until it occurs to me that maybe he found out what happened in the massage room.

“How, um, can I help you?” I ask him.

“I’m going to try you on the second line,” Coach Holberg says.

“Me?”

“You’ve come a long way,” he says. “We want you to be on the ice more.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Thank you.” I nod a few times, then leave his office before he can make comments about marionette dolls are something similarly unathletic.

Then I hurry to Finn to tell him the good news.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Finn

Cole Hawke bounces when he walks. I’ve never seen my agent so happy. I didn’t know it was possible. The man seems to only growl and count money, channeling all his competitive instincts honed from when he used to play hockey two decades ago.

“Can I meet Belinda?” he asks.

I roll my eyes.

Belinda Pierce used to be a famous child actress at the turn of the century. She excelled at being sweet. Then after a period as a teenager when she made it clear she was not sweet and had been a much better actress than everyone imagined, she now has her own talk show.

I would feel better if there were fewer pictures of her screaming at people outside clubs.

“Please, meet her,” I say. “Ideally do the whole interview.”

“You’re nervous.” Cole narrows his eyes. “Don’t fuck up this interview, Carrington.”

My mouth opens and shuts a few times.

“You’ll be great,” Cole assures me. “Because you better be.”

“You’re the worst agent ever.”

“Ha. I got you into the Boston Blizzards. I’m amazing.”

“I take some of that credit,” I grumble.

“Besides, think about how much extra money you’re getting from this marriage thing.”

My eyes widen. “What do you mean, extra money?”

“Who do you think convinced Tanaka to make you the face of the Blizzards?” Cole asks. “Me!”

“I thought Tanaka came up with that himself?”

“Nah. He hates sports. Always has.”

“He shouldn’t own a sports team.”

“You sound like him.”

“You still haven’t explained the money.”

“You’re in more ads. Of course, you’re getting more money. This interview will help us get better sponsorship deals for you.”

“I guess I have been doing more ads.”

“Yeah.”

My stomach feels wobbly. When I asked Noah to marry me, I didn’t think about financial benefits to my own career. But then we’re in the 2020s. People are eager to support a gay couple.

I swallow hard.

They should be supporting Vinnie and Evan. Not me. And even though I know Vinnie and Evan like their privacy, guilt sweeps through me.

I dart a glance to Noah, but he is happily chatting to a makeup artist. I smile stupidly in his direction. Noah is adorable.

“You are gone for him,” Cole murmurs, shaking his head.

My skin heats. I don’t want to discuss this with my agent.

“You are so in love,” Cole says. “Never thought I would see it.”

I stiffen, because this feels like an insult.

“Noah is incredible.”

Cole regards me, and my skin prickles as I wonder what he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” Cole says finally. “There’s no need to be nervous, Finn. Show the world your love. That’s all they want to see.”

I nod, but my stomach twists and tightens.

Because even if I’m in love with Noah, he isn’t in love with me. This marriage might have been inconvenient, but at this point, divorcing would be more inconvenient.

Maybe I should have tried harder for an annulment.

“Let’s get some makeup on you,” a 50-something woman with red hair and the sort of curls only possible on someone who knows advanced curling techniques gleefully declares.

“Is there still time to flee this building?” I ask.

“Absolutely not.” Cole turns to the makeup artist. “Better give him a lot of bronzer. His skin looks green.”

“Why do you think I have a job?” She gives a menacing grin, then brushes descend over my face.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

FINN

The days blur as we get further into hockey season, the time when everything focuses on pucks and goals and hockey sticks, but this year, Noah is beside everything. He is the warm body wrapped around me at night, one I did not realize I needed, but now cannot be without.

One year. One glorious year. One year of having Noah beside me. One year of seeing his green eyes land on me when I wake up, and one year of having him pressed against me on buses and jets. One year of claiming his lips as mine, and the joy swelling through me as I make him laugh. One year.

I don’t want to waste a second; we are always together.

We don’t walk from the bus to the hotel or arena when we could be walking holding hands, and we don’t go to a restaurant without my arm flung around his shoulders, even as we eat.

Because I’m greedy. I need to savor every moment with him, because in the future, they will be memories, and I will be alone in my apartment and will need them to get through every day.

I’ve never been in a relationship before. I am an expert at hockey, not life. But then, I’d never met Noah before. I never felt the need to take someone to fancy restaurants, to watch candlelight flicker over an attractive face, and to learn everything about a person’s life.

Hookups are not conducive to learning about someone’s childhood pet or favorite vacation spot. Dinners are, as is wandering the city, side by side.

Now we’re wandering to find a tailor, because we’re so going to look fancy for Isaiah’s wedding.

“Are you sure a tux is required?” Noah asks.

“Of course.”

“Seems overkill.”

“Hah. We wear suits at work. We’re totally all going to wear tuxes to the wedding.”

Nervousness flits over Noah’s face.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll help you get your cufflinks on.”

His eyes widen. “I’m going to need those too!”

“You can borrow some of mine.”

The panic leaves his gaze, and I smile at him. “There are some benefits of being with a guy, huh?”

He gives an awkward laugh, and I swallow back a sigh. I know Noah is attracted to me, but I also know it’s out of convenience. When we’re no longer married, will he eagerly go back to a woman? He doesn’t like the attention of the press, and we have a lot of attention.

Paparazzi realize we are a dependable fixture. Our pictures appear on sports blogs and LGBT blogs and finally all sorts of blogs. We have a scrapbook of our relationship, spread over blogs and articles, though it mostly consists of imperfectly lit and framed snaps. I won’t say unflattering, because Noah always looks amazing, because he is Noah.

We are the biggest sports couple in the country, thanks to Tanaka’s elevation of us. I am famous, and so is he.

Our game is also good. Everything in life is perfect, except the awareness that this is limited. The rest of this year will be the highpoint of my life, and I focus on everything good, the sweetness of Noah’s lips, the feel of his muscular body against mine, knowing we are throttling toward the end.

I travel often, and I have no doubt that Boston is the most perfect city in the world. It has an ocean and a river, and historic townhouses, contemporary skyrises, and groomed parks in between.

I love it.

Noah and I explore the city together when we are not playing hockey, not training for playing hockey, and not in each other’s arms.

Sometimes I think I should talk to Noah about having more time together. About stretching this marriage as far as we can imagine into the future, to a time when hockey won’t want anything from us, when our bodies will have filled out and our muscles will have slackened, when we can count the creases in our faces, when we won’t be able to count the gray in our hair, because we will have so much.

But most of all I want Noah to be happy. He is agreeable, and I don’t want him to make me promises he does not want to keep.

And so I am silent. Fortunately, I have Noah’s lips to drown myself in and the hot seed from his cock which I am ever more skilled at drawing out.

I am happy.

But I want him to be free.

That’s why I decide I need to pay a visit to good old dad. More specifically, I need some lawyerly advice.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Noah

I AM NOT NERVOUS ABOUT attending a wedding with Finn. No, absolutely not.

I am not nervous when I put on my tuxedo, and I am not nervous when Finn puts on his tuxedo, and my stomach turns to butterflies.

Because he so might notice that I’m so far gone for him. Finn looks hot in his tux. The black fabric makes his golden-brown hair look even more vibrant.

“You know what would be more worthwhile than going to this wedding?” I ask.

“What?”

“Testing the mattress. See if the springs are evenly distributed.”

Finn’s eyes round, and I swear to God, he licks his lips.

“Ugh.” Finn swivels around, and his hand drops to his crotch. “Maybe when we get back.”

“Fine.” I try not to pout. From the tender look that flashes through his eyes, I doubt I succeed.

He cups my cheek, and oh yes, this is wonderful. “We’re going to have a great time.”

“It’s a wedding.”

“Lots of people get married when they’re our age. It won’t be the only one we attend.”

“Really? This year?”

Finn stiffens and steps back. His face dims. “Actually, I can’t think of any other ones. You’re right.”

I nod.

“You like being right,” he reminds me.

“Maybe,” I concede, but I feel like I’ve lost something. “I think it’s strange to go to a wedding when we don’t even remember our own wedding.”

“Yeah.”

Isaiah’s wedding invitation was on thick stationary. He’ll have the sort of wedding Finn should have had. The type of wedding Finn will have later, whenever he marries the person whom he actually loves, when his marriage to me will eventually become a “fun fact” for sports people in the know, and even he will forget most days about it.

We are walking into a ticking clock, and I’m the only person who cares.

“I think we’re finished getting ready,” Finn says suddenly. “Let’s go.”

Right.

I cast a lingering look in the mirror and set my pomade down. Then I follow Finn from the apartment to the parking lot. We slide into his super fancy Mercedes, and I no longer ask him what all the buttons do on the screen.

We leave the city and its dense, beautiful architecture via the Zakim bridge and its large series of cables. We pass Boston’s sprawling suburbs, presumably more elegant when not viewed on the I-95, pass dreary mini-malls and bright fast-food restaurants, until we finally turn off onto a coastal road. The Atlantic billows beside us, the waves undulating at more intimidating rates than whatever we see on the harbor, and I watch dark clouds march over the sky.

“Do you think it will rain?” I ask.

Finn stretches his hand over the console and squeezes my thigh. “Not everyone is as lucky as us.”

I snort.

“What wedding would you have liked?” Finn asks.

“You mean if I ever get marred in the future?” I ask. “For real?”

Finn removes his hand from my thigh, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. His knuckles tighten, and he inhales.

I look at the road. More cars have flooded the road, and I guess Finn needs to concentrate on driving. I turn my gaze and stare at the colonial-houses, some with autumn flags up, and I stare at happy turkeys waving in the breeze, as we continue to head North toward Ipswich.

The road to the Peregrine Estate takes us through lush farmland dotted with red-painted barns and imperfectly preserved stone walls that would inspire the most sleep-inclined sheep to jump.

We glimpse the Atlantic Ocean again as the car moves up a hill toward the manor house.

“I thought they only have places like this in England,” I say, staring at the imposing brick building, imposing and perfectly maintained stone walls, and immaculate garden.

Finn laughs, and I stiffen. He turns his head. “But you’re from New England too.”

“I didn’t know places like this existed.”

“Ah. My sweet virgin,” he says, tangling our fingers together. 

I force my lips into a smile, never a difficult ask when Finn is being silly, but now other thoughts tumble through my mind.

Like not remaining a virgin.

Finn could enter me...there.

I squirm in my seat, suddenly imagining Finn naked and thrusting inside me. Maybe he’s looking into my eyes from above, or maybe I’m on all fours, and yeah... there are lots of ways this scenario could be hot.

I glower at him.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Finn must be practicing for the wedding with his terms of endearments. How many people will be there?

I almost blurt out that I’m thinking of him fucking me.

“We could do that,” I say instead.

“Do what?” He parks in the gravel parking space that an orange-vested teen directs us to.

I press my lips together, but suddenly his eyebrows are lurching upward. He gets it. Oh God, maybe he was joking.

“I mean, if you want to,” I say quickly. “Because no sex with others for a year.” I launch into a nervous laugh, and Finn inhales.

He doesn’t seem pleased. Yeah, I shouldn’t have said what I did and reminded him that we’re stuck together.

“Let’s go, Noah.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Finn

We leave the car. Our footsteps crunch over the gravel parking lot, reminding me that normally we’re talking and not listening to, well, gravel crunch.

“One year isn’t that long,” Noah says.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“It will fly by,” he says. “I promise.”

I give a jerky nod.

I wish Noah didn’t feel the need to remind me all the time that this is for one year. He seems to think that will make me feel better, and it doesn’t.

But maybe he needs to remember it. Maybe he needs to feel free.

I take out my phone and text my dad’s lawyer.

Me: Any updates?

Then I tuck the phone back into my pocket.

Noah narrows his gaze. “Who were you texting?”

Because I don’t want to make him any promises I can’t keep, I just say, “no one.”

His eyes remain narrow. I mean, the guy isn’t an idiot. No one goes around texting “no one.” But never mind that.

Violin music wafts from the manor house, and I take Noah’s hand.

He gives me a startled look.

“There might be photographers,” I explain.

“Right. I forgot.”

I squeeze his hand, then he squeezes my hand back, and when I see Luke and Dmitri taking pictures outside, I don’t have to work too hard to keep a smile on my face when we greet them.

Seats swathed with luxury fabric are lined up in the grand hall, and Noah and I sit on the groom’s side. Usually, we’re with the team. Now, most of the guests are in couples. Even Troy and Axel have dates.

Vinnie, Stella and Evan slide into the seats beside us, and I pretend I’m totally at ease. I mean, obviously I’m totally at ease. Noah is beside me, and life is great.

But I don’t fail to notice that Vinnie’s gaze turns suspicious. His eyebrows narrow, and he scowls even more than normal. The man is grumpy. Well, not when it comes to Evan and his daughter.

“I know you!” Stella exclaims, crawling over Vinnie.

“Hmm...” I frown. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. I mean, I know Evan had a daughter, but she always wears a hockey jersey.”

“It’s me!” Stella giggles, and Vinnie shoots a nervous look at the floor, and rearranges her on his knee. Belly laughs don’t normally send children flying, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Stella is the exception. That girl is happiness itself.

Clearly Vinnie has only been a great addition to the family.

Vinnie raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure you’re Finn? The Finn I know is always in pads and a hockey jersey, and carries a big stick so...” He shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

“Did you just make a joke?” My eyes boggle, and he gives me an annoyed grunt when my smile widens.

“Besides, I always carry a big stick,” I say.

Vinnie scowls and moves Stella to Evan’s lap.

“Sorry,” I say.

Evan takes Stella’s hand and leads her outside.

“I know how to be appropriate,” I pout.

Vinnie snorts. “No way. But, um, Stella is going to be a flower girl.”

“That sounds adorable.”

Then Vinnie’s lips slide up into a large, dad-like smile that I never saw on him a year ago. “It totally will be.”

“I’m happy for you,” I say, and Vinnie grunts in response, even though I’m sure even Vinnie, with his always questionable sociable skills, knows that the appropriate response is to say he’s happy for me too.

Which means he’s not happy for me.

I pretend that doesn’t suck.

The room continues to fill with people. Coach is here with his wife and son Oskar. When Dmitri and Luke return from outside, it’s impossible to not see the way Oskar’s cheeks pinken when Dmitri passes, or the longing look that Oskar sends him when Dmitri sits down.

“I think someone has a crush,” I say conversationally.

“Maybe.”

“Oskar is out,” I say.

Vinnie sends air flying from between his teeth. “Fine. He has a crush. Old news.” Vinnie slides his grumpy gaze to me. “But you know who I never saw have any indication of having any interest in a man?”

My organs slither together. I shouldn’t have tried to make conversation with Vinnie. I know better. I do.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to waste the energy. But seriously, what are you doing? I’ve known you for three years. It’s been hottie this, hottie that...”

I slide further into the seat, conscious of Noah stiffening beside me. I put my hand in his. I don’t know why Noah is nervous. Vinnie is attacking me. But maybe he doesn’t want the ruse to be exposed. I mean, that makes sense.

Even though the kisses and blowjobs and handjobs didn’t feel super ruse-like. I mean I don’t know how most people work their tongue. But whatever. There’s probably an acting term for what we’re doing.

And Noah enjoys our bedroom activities, and that’s the important thing.

“For the record, I wouldn’t have tried to talk to you about girls if I’d known you were gay,” I say. “I was trying to be friendly. I mean you have that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going.” I wave a hand over Vinnie’s muscular figure. “And you were always sneaking off. We all thought you were banging chicks galore.”

“Did you just call my boyfriend handsome?” Evan leans over.  

I jump. “I didn’t see you return.”

“Obviously. You know I’m not a weakling.”

I nod. “Yeah, you’re our captain.”

He laughs.

I squirm. “I’m not going to cheat on Noah. Vinnie is safe.”

“You’re not going to do anything with Noah,” Vinnie mutters. “Because you’re both pretending. I don’t know why, but I’m sure.”

“Vinnie...Remember I didn’t identify as gay before we got together.”

“But there was all the gay porn you used to watch.”

“Cotton!” I jump up. “I need cotton!”

Evan’s face has turned an unusual puce shade. “Not cool, Vinnie.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to think about my captain like that.”

“You guys are so immature,” Vinnie mutters in a long-suffering manner.

“You’re the one who brought up special videos at a wedding!” I shriek.

More people look at me. Shit. Way to make us all look immature.

“Special videos of hockey clips,” I say quickly. “So we can review our plays. You’re not supposed to bring up work at a wedding function. It’s a no, no.”

The other guests narrow their gazes. I’m not sure they’re buying it.

“I didn’t mean any other sorts of special videos,” I try to lie. “I mean that would be super bad. Obvs.”

Noah and Vinnie both elbow me.

Fortunately, the music begins. Isaiah waits for his fiancée to stroll down the aisle so they can begin the rest of their lives together.

Stella bounces down the aisle, flinging rose petals. It’s possible that she’s showcasing her athletic ability a tad too much, because some of the petals land on the guests’ laps.

It is all adorable.

But when Isaiah’s jaw drops, I know he’s not only smiling at Stella. I crane my neck and find Jasmine at the entrance. She looks stunning. Her white dress shines against her dark skin, and her smile is wide and joyful.

All of her family is here. All of her friends.

A knot forms in my stomach.

God, I never should have proposed to Noah. I shouldn’t have taken this day from him.

I proposed to him in a room in Vegas when we’d had too many drinks from the minibar. I couldn’t have made it more unromantic.

Jasmine continues down the aisle, beaming at the man who loves her. Isaiah might be out for the season, but he is gone for Jasmine. Hockey is no longer his life...she is.

Noah squeezes my hand, maybe sensing the rapidity of my heartbeat, because he’s amazing, but guilt continues to smash into me, like an opposing player has slammed me against the boards.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Noah

THE WEDDING IS GORGEOUS, but Finn is silent when he leads me to the dance floor after we’ve eaten our perfect food and listened to the wedding party deliver perfect speeches. Love fucking wafts through the air. I mean, there are humungous vases stuffed with flowers on every table, and the violins have been abandoned for Frank Sinatra-style jazz.

It’s not unromantic. Movie directors of romcoms would want to take notes on this event.

I wrap my arms around Finn’s neck, and we shuffle together. I guess dancing isn’t one of Finn’s fabulous qualities. We can work on that.

“Maybe we should leave,” he says.

“Already?”

He gives a miserable nod, and I move into action.

“Let’s go then.” I take his hand and lead him from the dancefloor, waving goodbye to the teammates I see who aren’t utterly gone for their dates and staring deep into their eyes and murmuring every romantic line from every romantic song ever.

“Sorry,” Finn says, once we’re outside. We stare into the dark, starry night, the shimmering stars brighter outside of the city. “We can go back in if you want. I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “You don’t always need to be on. Let’s get you home, big guy. I’ll even drive.”

He fixes a glare at me. “I’m shorter than you.”

“Oh? I wasn’t sure since you’re always insisting on carrying me around.”

He snorts and almost has a smile on his face by the time we reach the car.

“You weren’t upset by the wedding?” he asks.

“Because I fucking hate love?” I draw my forehead together, probably forming all sorts of abysmal wrinkles.

He laughs. “No, you’re too innocent to be that cynical, baby. I just mean—don’t you wish that we had had that?”

Something stirs in my heart. Something makes it beat faster. Something makes me turn so I can see his exact expression, look at his eyes, and...

His head is turned, focused on the view of the waves.

I shouldn’t have offered to drive.

“You would have wanted us to have had a big wedding?” I ask.

I’m sure confusion ripples through every word in my sentence.

Finn heaves a sigh. “No, of course not. We would have been sober by the time they’d all arrived at the wedding. This takes months to organize.”

I give a weak laugh. “Yeah, that would have to be some bender.”

“We wouldn’t be playing hockey.”

I stare out the windshield at the glum depiction Finn just made.

“We wouldn’t have done that,” I say finally.

“I know,” Finn says, but his voice almost sounds miserable.

But I’m sure Finn doesn’t mean that he wishes we’d gone on a months-long drinking disaster.

“I’ll give you a blowjob when we get home,” I promise.

He laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Better start getting excited.”

“Really?”

“Let’s not shock the security guard or elevator people.”

He snorts. “Elevator people.”

“Yeah. The people we see in elevators sometimes.”

“I call them neighbors.”

“Guess that works too.”

He stares at me. “Pull over.”

I blink. “You want to drive, after all? Is that what this mood has been about?”

“No, idiot. I want to blow you.”

“Oh.”

“Pull over.”

And so I do.

“What you want to do is illegal,” I begin.

“You expect cops to drive past this narrow road with bright-lighted vehicles?”

“Um, maybe?”

Finn chews on his bottom lip, and I realize I talked myself out of getting a blowjob from Finn.

Finn smirks at me, like he knows what I’m thinking. “Let’s take a walk.”

I narrow my gaze, but Finn is already unbuckling and leaving the car. Since I so don’t want to sit in the car by myself in the dark, I go after him. Reeds brush against my ankles, and the ground shifts. We’re walking on sand. Ocean waves fill the air, and I inhale a salty scent.

“This would probably be beautiful if I could see anything,” I say.

Finn whirls around. “I know something that will appeal to your senses.”

And in the next moment he cups my face in his hands, and we are kissing, kissing, kissing.

His tongue traces mine, and his grip is firm. I sink into his masculinity. Everything is harder, firmer, rougher than with a woman. And, oh, God, I like it.

“I could kiss you forever,” I murmur when we both come up for air.

His chest vibrates, and I realize he’s giggling. “Says the man who didn’t even want to leave the car.”

“We might get caught.”

“Better lie down, my sweet puck.”

“We’ll ruin our tuxes.”

“I’ll give the drycleaner a huge tip. It will make her day.”

I give a strangled laugh. “We have to make sure that happens.”

Then I sit down on the sand and look up at the stars, the moon, and Finn.

My husband.

I love you.

I press my lips together, and I’m grateful when he kisses me again, so I don’t accidentally blurt the words aloud. Finn was so quiet at the wedding, so unlike himself, and I don’t want to cause him any further stress.

Further stress he might get if he thinks one day he’ll have to break my heart to be free again.

CHAPTER FORTY

Finn

I CONTINUE TO KISS Noah right here in the open. I was so eager to leave the wedding, and this so isn’t doing anything for our travel time.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but then I often don’t know what I need to do with Noah. Things feel better when we’re touching, and they feel even better when we’re kissing.

“I need you,” I murmur, sucking on the soft skin of his neck.

“You have me,” his tenor voice rumbles against my ear, but we both know it’s a lie. If I had him, he would stop talking about how we’re only in this for one year.

“I’m going to spend this year worshipping you,” I vow, and he tenses, before he wraps me tighter in his sturdy arms. His hand explores my ass. It’s not a sensation I ever thought I might like, but nerve endings jolt all the same.

“I, um, need to get this belt off,” I say.

Noah laughs beneath me. “I thought you would never suggest it.”

Then I move up and remove my belt, zipping down my fly for good measure, then helping Noah. The sound of his buckle moving through the loops shouldn’t send a zing of pleasure tumbling through my body, but it totally does.

I lean down to bathe Noah’s cock in my mouth, but he pulls me up into his arms.

“I believe I was doing something else,” he murmurs, and my heart skitters when he reaches down and cups my bare ass in his big pro-athlete hands.

“Ah... It’s, um, coming back to me.”

“Interruptions are bad, Finn,” he says.

“I’m, um, s-sorry...” My words turn jumbled and stammering when Noah rubs my tail bone. I squirm, suddenly wishing his finger would go in an even more southernly direction, even though that’s never been something I craved.

Noah’s chuckle is low and deep and appealing, vibrating below me. He moves his finger down, going where none of my hookups ventured. But then if you’re together for someone for an hour or two, maybe paying attention to the whole body isn’t something you do. Maybe I’m always supposed to be the big strong pro-athlete in those circumstances, lifting them into various positions, then fucking them hard.

This is different. It’s almost sweet. My nerve endings continue to explode, and my cock hardens. I can totally take any of these rocks on this beach.

He presses the pad of his finger against my hole, and I moan in need. Noah kisses me. “Shhhh...baby.”

My heart glows, and I thrust against him. My cock makes contact with his hardness, and now he’s stuttering a slew of moans into my mouth.

His finger presses inside me, and it’s so good.

“Do you like this?” he asks.

“It’s amazing.”

“I wish we had lube,” he says. “Then I’d stretch you, and...”

I kiss him so he shuts up. Then I start to giggle.

“What is it?”

“We so weren’t going to show up at Isaiah’s wedding with sex supplies.”

Noah giggles beneath me, and the world is happy and bright.

“That might have been inappropriate.”

“Totally inappropriate,” I agree, but my voice is fucking fond because Noah makes me feel light when the world is dreary, when even the perfect arrangements at weddings make me sad.

“You know I’m going to have to do the same for you,” I say.

“You gonna finger me, baby?” Noah asks.

Then I grunt. I mean, maybe actual words come out, I’m not sure. But I’m licking my finger, then sliding my hand down Noah’s tuxedo pants, then doing some exploring of my own.

“Saliva,” he mutters. “You’re so smart.”

I laugh. “That’s me. Want to write a thank you letter to all my prep schoolteachers?”

Then my finger is inside him. “I want to fuck you one day.”

He nods against me, moving desperately, and I smile and capture his lips with mine again. I move my finger, marveling at the heat and tightness of his ass.

I suddenly wish we were on my bed after all, and I could watch my finger disappearing into his tight hole over and over again. I want to see his thick cock leak. I want to taste his pre-cum.

But the sounds he makes as I finger him are amazing. His moans, his pants, even the sound of him squirming against the sand, are my new favorite noises. Taylor Swift has nothing on him. No way.

“My sweet puck,” I murmur. Then I hit something spongy inside his ass, and he shudders.

“Do that again.”

And so, I do. I’m pretty dutiful.

“I think that’s your prostate, baby.”

“My prostrate is amazing.”

“Guess I better give it lots of attention. Show my respect.”

“Guess you better.”

I finger him harder, sliding into that silky canal over and over again. And then Noah tenses beneath me, and I know he’s come.

I pull my finger from him.

“Climb up,” Noah says.

I straddle his face and feed him my cock. It doesn’t take me long to climax, and I collapse beside him.

“This is awesome,” Noah says, his gaze on the thousands of stars above us.

Maybe if I can make every day awesome, I’ll get to keep him.

It’s a nice thought, and my chest swells as I stare at the shimmering diamonds on the inky sky.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Noah

I lift weights, but my back prickles, and it’s nothing to do with the number embedded on the end of the weights. Evan and Vinnie are working beside us. Their gazes come to us too frequently, and their expressions are too assessing.

Finn frowns and passes me my water bottle.

Evan places his dumbbell back. He nudges Vinnie, and they seem to have one of those silent couple conversations that involve facial expressions and huffs but not actual words.

Finally, Vinnie stalks toward me. His muscles bulge and glisten. He’s chosen the most intimidating time to talk to us.

Unlike Finn and me, Vinnie plays defense, and he’s fought on the ice before. I draw back automatically.

Vinnie puffs out some air, then his gaze bounces everywhere but on me. “I’m sorry about what I said at the wedding.”

“It’s okay—”

“Thank you for your apology.” Finn’s voice is sharp, and he slips his arm around my waist. When I glide my gaze toward him, I am not surprised to see that he is glaring at our captain’s boyfriend, the top defenseman in the Blizzards.

Vinnie’s cheeks go ruddy. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

“Gay men are everywhere,” Finn says. “And, um, bisexual ones. “

“Yes.” Vinnie nods contritely.

I’m used to seeing Vinnie look ferocious during games and I’m not accustomed to this meeker version.

“Look. Since we’re both coupled up, it might be nice to have dinner together.”

“You want to double date with us?” Finn’s eyes widen.

“Well, Evan’s daughter will be there. We can meet at our place on Beacon Hill for a barbecue.”

“Oh.” I glance at Finn.

For some reason, Vinnie smiles.

“Yes,” Finn says. “That sounds nice.”

“Er—cool.” Vinnie backs away.

“Be sure not to burn anything!” Finn calls after him. “We’ve already listened to your shit. We don’t want to eat it.”

I squeeze Finn’s hand. “That’s enough.”

Vinnie swings round, laughing. “Guess, you’re the nice one, Noah.”

“He sure is.” Even though it’s not strictly necessary, because Evan and Vinnie seem to be buying us as a couple, Finn wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me close, and gives me a light kiss on the lips.

He steps away after it happens, but my heart continues to beat wildly as we step onto our treadmills.

A couple days later we find ourselves staring at Evan’s and Vinnie’s not very modest townhouse.

Beacon Hill is not far from Seaport, and we strolled the mile or so there, past the tall modern glass buildings to the tall old stone buildings in Downtown Crossing, before we moved across Boston Common, then headed up to Beacon Hill’s narrow cobbled streets.

“Did we go back two centuries?” I whisper to Finn.

“I promise they have running water.” Finn takes my hand, and we stroll up to the house, and ring the doorbell.

Footsteps rush toward us, then a little girl opens the door.

“They’re here!” she screams.

“Hi Stella,” Finn says. “This is my special friend Noah.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your husband.”

“Er—yes. “

“I’m not a baby,” she huffs, then marches into the townhouse.

After a brief hesitation, Finn and I enter, slip off our shoes, and follow her.

Every inch of the townhouse seems to have been thought about. Silver sconces gleam against dark wallpaper, and we pad over oriental carpets.

Evan appears in the hallway. “Vinnie is occupied with cooking. The man loves to cook.”

“He does?”

I feel strange being in the home of these two impressive men, welcomed to a place where few of our other teammates visit.

Finn squeezes my hand.

“You know,” Evan begins, “I made Vinnie apologize to you, but I should have apologized to you too. I was right there in the locker room. It never occurred to me that you could have been gay, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m bisexual,” Finn says, his skin pinkening. “And you’d seen me with plenty of women, so I, um, don’t blame you for making assumptions.”

I haven’t heard Finn refer to himself that way, even in our interviews.

“What are you?” Evan asks me.

“Gay.”

Finn inhales sharply.

My organs slither together. I’ve said my secret musings. I’ve revealed way too much. And Finn is staring at me wide-eyed and wide-mouthed.

“I mean, I think,” I stammer. “I had a girlfriend before. Multiple. I—I just...” My voice trails off. There’s nothing I can say to rectify this.

Oh, God.

I’ve said too much. Now Finn will know that this isn’t all pretend for me. Will he think I made this happen somehow? That I went from superfan to seducer in some terrible calculated manner?

My heart patters desperately, and Finn studies the floorboards, even though they’re the least interesting part of this immaculately designed home. But then, he doesn’t want to land his gaze on me.

My chest tightens, my legs wobble, and when Evan suggests we sit down, I practically leap into my seat.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Finn

Noah didn’t mean to say that, I’m sure. He didn’t mean to tell Evan that he was gay. Because, if he is gay, he definitely likes men.

My mind whirls, and Vinnie thrusts a platter of lamb ribs in my hand, and it takes me a moment to remember I should compliment the ribs and not simply gaze at them in a shocked manner.

“They look good.” Evan shoots me a strange look. “Good job, honey.”

I’m a hockey player. A good one. Slow reflexes aren’t normally my thing.

But now my mind is racing, and it’s forgotten my body.

All I can think about is Noah.

Noah who might be gay.

Noah who should have told me that.

I slide my gaze at Noah again. His cheeks are still a ruddier shade than when we entered, and I don’t think he can blame the beer that someone has slid into his hand at some point.

I look at my hand, and I’m holding a beer too. My eyes widen.

I am really out of it.

Did I concoct that Noah said what he said? There would be no reason for him to not just say that he was bisexual. I mean, that’s what I said. And Noah is the sort of agreeable person who often says the same thing. That’s probably why we’re holding the same drink.

“Do you feel okay?” Evan asks, his brow furrowed, his gaze darting from me and Noah.

“I’m fine.” My voice cracks like I’m a preteen again, and I take a lengthy sip of beer.

“I can get you some water if you’re thirsty,” Vinnie says, his gaze dropping to Stella, as if he’s expecting that I’ll be singing on the table before dessert.

Shit.

They’re already regretting inviting us. Because even though I acted all cool and knowledgeable to Noah when we came here, and even though I explained everything I knew about Vinnie and Evan, there’s still so much I don’t know about them.

Invitations to Casa Evan are coveted and rare.

Stella chatters about her teacher, and I wonder if Noah had the good sense to ask her about that or if she spontaneously filled the silence.

The latter is likely, given Vinnie’s tendency toward silence, though maybe at home he doesn’t spend his time pretending he’s auditioning to play Heathcliff or one of those other tormented heroes found wandering moors in my mother’s favorite Masterpiece Classics period dramas.

I look around the table. It’s decorated impeccably, and bowls of delicious looking food are everywhere.

“You made all of this, Vinnie?” I ask.

Vinnie beams.

Evan beams.

Stella beams.

“Vinnie is an amazing cook,” Stella declares. “Daddy used to do all the cooking, and it wasn’t the same.”

“Those were the tragic days.” Evan bites back a smile.

“Big time,” Stella says solemnly.

God. I didn’t know that about Vinnie. And apparently there are huge things about Noah I didn’t know either.

I try to make stilted conversation, but mostly I’m wondering if I can make an excuse and drag Noah to one of the bedrooms and have it out with him now.

Not the best idea.

Evan is a chill dude, but his eyes seem to be more narrow than normal, and his brow more furrowed.

A chill slinks up my spine. Noah and I fooled Coach H, fooled the team, fooled Tanaka, fooled Daniela, fooled our parents, fooled the press.

We’ve been lying to everyone.

And I thought we were getting away with it.

But now I’m not so sure.

How much shock was on my face when Noah told Evan that he was gay? Given the fact I’m acting quiet and withdrawn, all the things I’m not, I’m sure he noticed.

Wouldn’t I have known that my husband was gay and not bisexual? Isn’t that the sort of thing a same sex married couple knows about each other?

My heart beats unsteadily, and when I try to eat all the delicious food, my throat is dry, and my stomach has turned to stone.

Noah casts a worried look at me, his bright green eyes round and concerned.

Normally I would reach him and comfort him, but now uncertainty has built borders between us.

Finally, Noah says something about an early day tomorrow, and I look down and find a half-eaten dessert—cheesecake, I think—at my plate.

I usher all my platitudes about how this meal was amazing, bringing out my best Carrington charm, but Vinnie’s look is strange, and Evan’s look is stranger, and I don’t think I’ve fooled anyone.

Noah suggests we get an Uber, but I want to walk. I want to walk everywhere and rid myself of the energy and uncertainty moving through my body, and I never want to reach home, because I don’t know what to say to Noah once we arrive.

NOAH

Finn’s steps lengthen, and I hurry after him. The night is dark, the sky black. The beautiful homes in Beacon Hill with their intricate warm red rick design have been replaced with large blocks. The flowers baskets that hung from glossy black lampposts have vanished, and the light from the lampposts, now lit, looks eerie. The Boston Common is dark, and the flowers resemble shag rugs in a dark room, and not anything that people have carefully designed, carefully grown and carefully nurtured.

Then the rain begins to fall.

A drizzle thickens to large raindrops, moving from a playful allegro to a full crescendo.

Still, Finn is silent.

Maybe he always will be.

I shouldn’t have said that to Evan.

I wasn’t thinking. I was too relaxed, and now Finn knows.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I know, but—”

“We can talk at home.”

The knot in my chest tightens. “Okay.”

Shame fills me as I remember ducking into his room my first morning here, interrupting Finn doing an activity that he expected to be private.

Does he think I ventured in there on purpose, eager to try my chances?

My breath quickens, my heart threatens to explode. I think Finn glances at me, but when I look at him, his gaze is straight ahead. Raindrops wet his hair, and I want to brush them away. Yesterday, I would have. Now I totter uncertainly.

“Hello boys!” The security guard beams when we enter the lobby of Finn’s building, but his smile drops when he sees our faces.

The elevator takes forever to reach the lobby, and Finn paces the marble floor, as if dismayed he might have to make small talk with me, might have to talk with me.

The main door opens, and Madison saunters in. She joins us in quick efficient strides, unhampered by her heels. A floral scent wafts around us when she joins us in the elevator, and I can scarcely breathe.

“Ah, the happy couple,” she says.

Nothing about the words are cruel, but they slam against my chest all the same, and Finn’s expression is torn.

Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.

“Hello Madison,” Finn says.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Noah

The elevator pings and stops at our floor. We step onto the landing. Finn and I drip water over the carpet, and Madison arches one of those thick, well-maintained brows that make it impossible not to notice when they’re moving upward.

“Marriage life seems to suit you well,” Madison says, her eyes dancing, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Though perhaps one of you could teach the other about umbrellas.” Her gaze narrows. “Maybe they don’t have them in your part of New Hampshire.”

“That’s enough, Madison,” Finn’s voice is cold and stern and scary, but I don’t know if that is leftover anger from his feelings toward me.

I slide my key into the apartment, while Finn speaks to Madison in the hallway. I don’t get far before Finn storms into the apartment. Rain slides from his face. He is angry and beautiful.

I swallow hard.

So we’re going to have this talk.

I raise my chin. “I can move out. We can say it didn’t work out. That happens to everyone. Or we admit it was a lie. Whatever the team management wants to do. Whatever is best for your reputation—I don’t care.”

Finn narrows the distance between us, and I can see the individual drops of rain sliding down his face.

Madison turns on some music in her apartment. I hear the faint sound of pop music waft around us. Can she hear this conversation? Has she known this whole time how fake this is? Is he going to slip into her apartment tonight and tell her he wishes he’d taken up her offer from the beginning?

I’ll go, and Finn won’t have to worry about me anymore. And that will be for the best.

I know better than to hope he won’t hate me. I know better than to hope any memory of me won’t cause his body to recoil. I know better than to think he’ll ever contact me again, that he’ll do anything now except fold his arms, tap his feet, and tell me to pack straight away.

Unless of course he wants to live in silence and misery, and if that’s what he wants, I’m up for that too. I am up for anything, absolutely anything that he wants.

Finn assesses me with a wry smile, then he kisses me. I sink into his arms.

I need to push away, but I am a weak man. I need to set him free.

Then Finn picks me up in his sturdy muscular arms and puts me on the kitchen counter. He unbuttons my shirt. My breath comes out in quick bursts.

“I don’t want you to talk about moving out.” He removes my shirt, his face still stern.

At another time I would tease him for not being completely hygienic and that kitchen counters aren’t for people, and he would assure me of Gabriella’s cleaning prowess and how she is ready for absolutely any emergency.

But now I am silent, watching the man I love. His eyes flame, and maybe I have this wrong. Maybe he cares about me too.

But he is Finn Carrington, and I am Noah Fitzpatrick, and life is not nonsensical.

I let Finn unzip my pants, and I let him pull them down, removing them with my socks. I let him lift me up so he can slide off my boxer briefs, even though I hate myself, because I know where this is going.

And then Finn takes me into his mouth. I am not yet hard, but Finn’s mouth is warm and wet and wonderful and belongs to Finn. I expand in his mouth, filling it. Finn’s pink lips look perfect around my shaft, and I want to remember the moment forever.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He starts to suck when he’s certain he won’t hurt me, bobbing his head up and down. He is spectacular. I don’t protest when he removes his mouth from me, because I was lucky to have his mouth on me to begin with.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

“I think so.” My cheeks heat. “Maybe. This is so much better than I experienced, and maybe... I’m sorry.”

“I was taken aback,” he admits.  

“I didn’t plan this. I don’t want you to think that I’m some clever fanboy who...”

He cups my cheek. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have told my captain before you.”

“It’s fine.” His eyes glitter. “I worried I was pushing myself on you.”

My jaw tumbles down. “You weren’t. Not at all! How could you think that? I love everything we do. I always have!”

I smile at him, and he smiles back. Then his eyes flare, and he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. I am naked in his arms. My clothes are abandoned, and my heart races.

He lays me gently onto the bed, and I slide onto the soft sheets and the soft mattress. Everything exudes expense. Everything is so different from my apartment in Providence, and I do not deserve this. I do not deserve him.

I need to tell him. “Finn.”

He shakes his head, his face stern. “No talking.”

I nod uncertainly, because how can I possibly do anything else in his presence? I will give him everything.

Finn presses kisses over my body, sucking and nibbling his way down. He never fails to please me, and I try to stop the hormones that swirl through me at his touch, the ones that make me feel lightheaded and warm.

He bobs down again.

This time he does not lick my shaft or my head. Instead, he moves in a more southernly direction. He licks my balls, then he moves lower. And lower.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

I nod, and he raises his head, because of course, he can’t see me.

“It is,” I say softly.

“Are you sure?” Kindness emanates through his voice.

I nod, and he smiles back, then his head is moving down, down, down. He flips me, so that my leaking cock presses against the soft mattress and the soft sheets. He doesn’t care that my precum smears against the Egyptian cotton.

Instead, he spreads my cheeks. It’s not the first time he’s looked at that area, and I smile at his fascination with it. But then I feel something wet. Something like his tongue. Energy jolts through me. My nerve endings ping. I’ve never been touched there before.

My breath quickens, and I swear I can feel Finn smile. I have never felt like this. Then Finn presses the pad of his finger against my hole.

“I want to...” he says, his voice rough and gravely, and I love him so much.

I press my lips together, so I don’t holler my love for him, so I don’t make him uncomfortable, so I don’t need him to remind me that our time is limited. We are being practical and fooling around with each other, so tabloids won’t find us cheating.

But my heart explodes all the same.

Finn is wonderful. And for now, he is my husband.

The word ripples through my body, spreading slowly, forcefully, until everything has changed.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Finn

Noah squirms and moans beneath me, reacting to my every touch. I crave him.  I yearn for him. And now he is on my bed. I press my finger against his hole, and he moans.

He wants this.

And God knows, so do I.

I lurch for my bedside table and remove the lube. I squirt some on my fingers, rubbing the cold thick liquid on my fingers, so Noah does not flinch when I touch him.

My husband’s face is pressed into the bed, revealing the muscles on his wide back. He is beautiful. He is mine.

His ass curves magnificently, the product of rigorous training and hockey playing.

Then I topple back and spread his cheeks again. His hole is tight and pink. I press my finger, now wet with lube against it.

“More,” he whispers, as if unsure I’ll go through with it.

But I want to.

I push my finger in, staring with fascination as it disappears into his body. He is hot and tight, and I suddenly doubt that the lube’s temperature would have made much difference. His body pulses with heat.

I imagine what it would be to truly be inside him. God, my finger is lucky. I move it gently.

But everything makes him moan, and I know him well enough to know his moans are of pleasure. I smile and add a second finger, like I’ve read I should do.

I’ve researched this.

I want this.

And I want him to enjoy it.

I move my fingers inside his tight hole, angling for a particular place that should be even with his belly button.

And then, I find it.

It’s soft and squishy, and I think it’s amazing.

From Noah’s reaction he also thinks it’s amazing that I’m touching it, and he moans.

“You like it?”

“God, yes.”

“I can stop if you prefer.”

“Don’t you dare stop,” Noah says between pants, and I chuckle.

“I want to go inside you.”

“You want to fuck me.”

I blink. “I was being polite.”

“While I appreciate it...” He wriggles his bottom, fucking himself on my fingers, “I would also appreciate it if you would take off your pants and—”

I remove my fingers, because undressing is a two-handed job, and I remove my pants and my briefs and my shirt for good measure, because there’s no way I want him to think about Donald Duck.

I lube up my cock then direct my cock against his hole. Then I hesitate. “It will hurt.”

“Should I catalogue all the ways I have been injured in the past?”

“Not by me!”

“Inside, Carrington,” he mutters, then I push inside. My heart is light, because his mood has shifted, and we are just Noah and Finn again.

Noah and Finn who are joined in the most intimate manner two men can be joined.

I slide inside his tight heat. He is amazing. He is incredible.

And now I’m grunting and moaning like a madman, but Noah doesn’t seem to mind. I slide in and out of his ass, moving gently, getting used to the sensation of so much heat, so much tightness.

“We should have been doing this from the beginning,” I mutter.

Noah laughs helplessly into his pillow. “I like everything we do.”

My heart swells. “We are good together.”

“So good.”

I thrust faster, harder. I direct my cock to that special part of Noah again, and then he shouts.

“Right there,” he says.

“Okay.” I can do that. I thrust right there.

“Harder,” he says.

“On it.”

“Faster.”

“Totally.”

Then we are flying. I move faster and harder inside him, and his moans grow louder, his hands and legs flay.

We are joined. We are one.

“I’m going to come,” he says.

“Come.”

And even though I said it for him, the moment I say it, I explode. My seed shoots into him, and I collapse onto that sturdy muscular back, now every bit as slick with sweat as I am sure my body is.

My heart continues to thunder and thrum, and when I pull out of him and pull him toward me, the only thing I can think is that I love him.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Noah

The audience erupts, a wave of cheers and hollers as scattered voices shout my name. I scored another goal, we won another game, 3-1.

My heart is light. Last night I worried when I admitted to Evan what I was. I worried Finn might hate me.

But last night we made love. Even though I didn’t say the words, it was all I could do to keep from shouting them to the world, or at least, however far Finn’s well-constructed, well-insulated apartment building would let my voice carry.

I’m dragged out to discuss my goal with the media. I notice some of the journalists who interviewed Finn and me at his parents’ house. Some of them give me approving nods, and my heart sings.

“You did good job,” Dmitri says. “Boston is proud.” He hesitates. “I am proud.”

“Thank you, Dmitri. It’s sweet of you to tell me that.”

His eyes darken, and his customary irritation thunders over his face. “I am not sweet person.”

He stomps away.

“I know!” I call after him desperately. “That’s why the action was nice.”

He whirls around, then nods. “I guess. You should come out to The Rinkside Pub to celebrate. If you can pull yourself away from fucking Finn.”

“What do you have against Finn?”

“I meant fucking Finn.” He makes a rude gesture with his hands.

“Oh.” Though Finn has fucked me, I haven’t fucked him. But now I’m thinking of it. Lust bubbles through me. “I see.”

He laughs. “Sometimes I am English teacher not just hockey player.”

I snort. “You’re a Renaissance man.”

He blinks.

“He means you’re one of those men who used to wear tights and paint their faces white,” Axel explains.

“I would never do that,” Dmitri says.

“I meant you’re good at many things,” I explain.

“I would look excellent in tights,” Dmitri concedes, then saunters off.

The team and I celebrate our win against Chicago, and we walk together into Cambridge. Puck bunnies swarm the bar, and they squeal when they see us approaching. From the way they’re texting, more fans will arrive soon.

Fast-tempoed music plays in the pub, and the counters and tables are all dark wood.

“Noah! Finn!” Troy waves us over.

I sit beside Finn, his arm draped behind me in, while people retell my goal.

Joy bubbles in me as I laugh with my teammates.

I love my life. And I love Finn.

“You’re grinning a lot,” Finn says, putting an arm around me, and pulling me close.

“Just thinking about something Dmitri said,” I say.

Finn glowers. “I’m far funnier.”

“Obviously, babe.”

Finn gets that pleased smile he always gets when I use a pet name for him, even though we’re speaking softly so he can’t just be proud of my acting abilities.

Then I lean toward him. “I can go inside you tonight.”

Finn’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open.

“Unless you don’t want to,” I say quickly.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” he asks.

“I’m sorry.” My heart patters.

“It will take us thirty minutes to get back!” Finn whines.

“And that’s...?”

“Way too long,” Finn says, then he grabs my hand, sets my drink on a table, and we leave the sports bar. “We need to go now.”

I laugh, and we brush past the throng of hockey players and fans.

FINN

Okay. I admit it. I didn’t think I wanted Noah to fuck me. I didn’t press the intercourse part of our relationship, because I didn’t want to ask for something I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have myself.

But when Noah says he wants to be inside me, it’s a no brainer. Because that sounds incredible. Of course, I want to be as close to Noah as I possibly can be.

We run back to the arena and grab my car, then I’m flooring it to Seaport.

Once we’re in the elevator, we’re kissing.

“You’re giving the guard a show,” Noah warns me.

“I aim to entertain.” I press the button for our floor, then kiss Noah some more. “That suit makes you look hot.”

“I’m always hot.”

I laugh. Noah’s newfound confidence is so fucking sexy.

“That’s right, my sturdy stick,” I whisper to him, and I don’t even regret it when he punches my stomach.

We kiss our way through the hallway.

A door opens, then rapidly slams. 

“I think that was Mr. Greenberg,” Noah murmurs.

“You getting to know the neighbors?” I ask.

“It’s good to be polite.”

“You are so from a small town,” I say, scrambling for my key. I struggle to turn it. They need to give us pods. How are people supposed to be slipping keys into locks and doing the whole turning thing when they want to be kissing their super sexy spouses at the same time? This is a tragedy people don’t give enough consideration to. “I love—”

Noah stiffens in my arms. I wasn’t going to say that. Not in the hallway where who else might come out. Not when Noah is forced to be with me for most of this year, unless my dad’s lawyer comes through, and I can get an annulment.

Part of me wants to cancel that process. But it seems unfair when the lawyer said there might be a way to do it quietly to halt it. I shouldn’t force Noah to be married to me. Noah who is so wonderful. No, once I learn from the lawyer, we can talk about it together.

Until then, there’s no reason to get his hopes up either way.

Noah’s green eyes are on me, and I want to look into them forever and name every shade of green that flickers in his irises. 

But then I remember I started a sentence with “I love.”

“That about you,” I finish lamely.

He nods and doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Get inside me, sharp shooter,” I say, and his shoulders relax.

He unlocks the door and pushes me inside. In the next moment, he hauls me over his shoulder like he’s Thor and I’m, well, not Thor, and hurries us to our bedroom.

“This is undignified,” I call out, as my face bobs up and down against his back.

“I can’t help that you’re a slowpoke, Carrington.”

“Using my words against me,” I grumble.

He sets me down in front of our bedroom. “I’m getting deja vue.”

“You using fancy French words on me, Carrington?”

I snort. God, Noah’s probably never been to France. Maybe he’s never been to Europe. I want to take him there. I want to take him everywhere.

“I’ll buy you a beret and a Breton shirt,” I promise.

“Then I’ll never have to leave the apartment.”

“Sounds good to me.”

We stare at each other.

“Do you still want me to...” His voice wobbles.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Noah

This is totally happening.

My heartrate surges, unused to all this happiness being pumped into my body. Then I remove Finn’s tie.

My hands shake, but Finn is calm and steady. He is my rock, my mountain, my life.

And tonight, I’m going to worship him.

His tie swooshes as I slide it from his collar, then I unbutton his shirt. His hands reach to mine, and we work together. It’s not the most practical approach, but we both smile, then we move to my tie, my shirt. I remove his suit jacket, then he removes mine.

Clothes pile on the floor. Our cocks harden, and when I remove Finn’s belt and pull down his pants, his cock is already jutting out in an absolutely interesting way.

But I’m not here for his cock.

I’m going to be inside Finn.

I’m going to be as close to him as it’s possible for a man to be.

His eyes dilate.

Suddenly, we’re kissing. Our clothes are mostly off, and I push him toward the bed, managing not to trip either of us on our trousers.

Then we’re both lying on the bed struggling to remove each other’s boxer briefs. Finn’s body is clean from the shower after the game, and I suck on the soft skin where his neck tapers to his shoulders. He moans against me, flaying on the bed.

“This is going to be so good,” he says.

“Totally.”

I move my hands down his back. I have the sense I’m moving too quickly, that I should be memorizing the exact curve of each muscle, but I live here. We’re going to have lots of sex. Finn likes this, likes me.

But an odd uncertainty billows through me regardless, and when I realize I’ve forgotten the lube, I hesitate wondering what else I’ve forgotten.

“Babe?” Finn turns around, and I realize I’ve stopped kissing him, stopped touching him, stopped giving him everything he needs and deserves.

“I, um, forgot the lube.”

His eyebrows rise, and he gives one of those throaty laughs that I love so much. Then he scrambles up, crawls over the bed’s entire California King width, opens up his bedside drawer and tosses me the lube. “There.”

I stare at him, and his grin fades.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says.

“No. I want to.” I shake my head.

He chews on his lower lip, and I force my lips into a smile.

“Maybe I’m nervous,” I admit.

“My sweet puck.” His voice is fond.

Finn crawls toward me, his cheeks flushed from the movement, then he lies me back on the bed. He snaps open the lube and puts it on my cock. I stiffen under the attention from his fingers.

He reaches behind himself and stretches himself. Then he clambers over me, lines himself up with my cock, and slides around me.

Heat pulses through my core, and he grins.

“I’m in,” I say, my eyes widening.

“Teamwork, baby.” Finn inhales deeply, and I wonder if this is more painful for him than he’s acting, but then Finn is moving, moving, moving. His gaze takes on a blissful expression. Sweat shimmers over his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He winks.

I reach to him to stroke his cock, and he scrambles to pull all the pillows underneath me. I thrust up, and he moves down, and our movements are faster, sloppier, as pings of pleasure spread through us. Conversation gives way to silence then to pants.

God, I am in Finn. Tight heat squeezes me. He flies over me, his loose golden-brown locks bobbing.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I press my lips together, because we don’t say those words.

Then he explodes. Cum spills over my chest, and three seconds later I am exploding inside him.

He topples onto me, kissing me noisily. “That was totally awesome.”

My heart zooms, and all I can do is nod.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Noah

Normally, I wake up before Finn, and I untangle myself from his arms and pad to the kitchen. Lately, I’ve been taking to making Finn breakfast each day. I sit on a stool and turn on the Wi-Fi of my phone to find some music.

Messages explode, and I smile.

The media follow Finn and me a lot.

I do not normally get a string of text messages from my agent.

Agent: Have you seen this?

I click on the link, wondering why he’s sending me gossip. Are Finn and I topping a ranking for favorite sports couple?

Then my heart drops.

Hockey Confidential

What Boston Blizzard tried to get an annulment from his new husband? Yes, you’re right: Finn Carrington. Clearly, there romance isn’t what it seems. Were Finn and Noah just another drunken hookup?

My heart thumps and thunders, and I stagger back. My phone slips from my fingers. I scramble to catch it, but I’m too late. The screen cracks on the polished concrete floor.

Finn is looking for an annulment? I thought...

It doesn’t matter what I thought. The joy that had bubbled through me feels foolish now.

I look around, as if something here can ground me.

Oh, God.

I’m living in Finn’s Carrington’s apartment. Finn Carrington the multimillionaire NHL player. Finn Carrington who probably is a multimillionaire anyway from his trust fund. Finn Carrington who was groomed to be perfect.

Perfect, generous, thoughtful character. Perfect at his chosen profession. Perfect at looking amazing.

God, I moved into the apartment of my idol and am busy playing house. How many times have I seen these counters on OurVids or SlickSlide? How many times have I seen this blender?

Foolishness fills me. This whole time I thought we were becoming closer, all while Finn was trying to wriggle out of the marriage.

I had to bite my lips to keep from telling Finn that I loved him last night. I close my eyes, but when I open them, the beautiful kitchen, the beautiful living room remain.

He must despise me. I’m the fan who managed to somehow get my hero to marry me. He never even liked guys.

And though we’ve had awesome sex...how much of it is because of convenience? Because Finn has a high sex drive. Maybe he wanted someone else’s mouth, someone else’s hand, someone’s else’s hole...

Unease undulates through me, and I wobble. For a moment, the world darkens.

God, I’m going to faint. I’m going to faint, and Finn is going to find me in here. And he’s going to comfort me because he’s a nice guy. Will he then send another message to his lawyer? Asking for help for an even quicker annulment?

Or will he tell me he didn’t mean it because that’s the kind of guy he is? Will he resolve to continue to live with me as husband and husband because he doesn’t want to upset me?

We’re both Blizzards players. And I’ve been playing since we got together. Was all this a big ruse to keep my emotions steady? Like when he had me listen to affirmations before the game in Vegas? He told me he listened to them before every game, but I never saw him talk about it on his channel and I never saw him do it again. Mostly he spends time chatting with the others because he’s such a great guy and so special.

Vinnie has been so suspicious. And why shouldn’t he have been? How much of us moving closer and closer sexually is because he wants to prove we’re together? It’s not a lie if it’s really happening?

I close my eyes. It was fake. It was all fake and polite, and I never should have fallen for it. Finn told me that this was a marriage in name only. We both knew that.

But then he saw I was up for more physical activity when I fucking came in his bed. Was I rutting up against him that night? God, I was only there because my parents were spending the night. What must he have thought to find he married into a family where even a single night in Boston at a hotel would be overly expensive, when his family lives in one of the nicest townhouses on one of the nicest streets in the country?

Shame barrels through me.

It’s nice that Finn isn’t homophobic. It’s nice that he’s experimental. But then the liberal elite in Boston don’t normally have that issue, at least when they’re as young as Finn is.

Is this like a prison situation where men get together with other men when they’ve never shown interest in men before? I shut my eyes, but I can’t block away the shame that continues to move through me, filling each cell, so I end up trembling.

I feel sick. But then that’s another thing I already did here.

Finn has been the nicest possible person. And if he wants an annulment, I am not going to stand in his way. No. Not at all.

He won’t like that the letter was released, and he’ll probably be contrite and apologize...but I won’t let him promise things he doesn’t want.

I love him too much.

This isn’t about my career. This is about his life and his happiness.

I need to leave. I tiptoe into our bedroom—no, Finn’s bedroom, and grab my sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

Finn smiles in his sleep. I want to curl into bed beside him and pretend for a few minutes more that everything is okay.

But it’s not, and it never will be.

Finn will wake up soon. He will read the news. I don’t want to wait for him to become sufficiently awake so that he can spew lies. I don’t want to see sorrow in his gaze and wonder if it’s just acting.

I want to leave.

And so I do.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Finn

He’s gone.

Like an idiot, I don’t realize at once.

I wake up, and the light drifts in from the blinds, and I don’t think anything about the fact that Noah isn’t beside me.

I think he’s making breakfast, and I let my mind wander to last night. We had sex. Actual sex.

But at some point I realize I don’t hear the blender whirr, and I don’t hear footsteps as Noah dances in the kitchen, AirPods in, thinking he’s being quiet, when he’s only sort of being quiet.

I slip out of bed, noticing the chill in the air, and telling myself it’s because we’re closer to the end of the year, and not because of a gloomy foreboding. I mean, I’m not in some Alfred Hitchcock thriller, where bad things always come with drafty windows. Besides, my windows are amazing.

But I don’t hear any shuffling in the kitchen, and when I enter it, there is no assortment of chopped up vegetables on my counters.

There is nothing.

Everything is immaculate.

And empty.

He probably went out to get something. It’s absolutely fine.

Maybe Noah has never left the apartment in the morning before, but it’s not like he can’t do that.

But something about this feels different. Uneasiness shoots through my cells, and my stomach tangles, forming a larger and larger knot.

My heart swerves, and I hurry through the apartment, flinging open doors of the bedrooms until I grab my phone. I put it off airplane mode, my fingers shaking.

I wait for the internet to turn on, for the messages to come.

There’s only one I’m interested in.

And there it is: a text from Noah.

Noah: Don’t worry, I’m moving out. Thank you for everything.

And there it is. A fucking goodbye text.

Why? The word roars through my mind, but half a second later I understand, when I read all the other texts that I’ve received from my agent.

Someone leaked I was looking for an annulment. God, I’d forgotten about that.

Does Noah think that means I don’t care about him? I scramble to call him. I need him to understand.

I smile.

This is fine. I’ll tell him, and he’ll come back, and everything will be normal.

But he doesn’t answer the phone.

I collapse onto the bed, hot rage pummeling my veins. This isn’t how things were supposed to happen.

The phone rings, and I pick up.

It’s him.

But instead, my agent is on the other end.

“Finn! What on earth did you do?” Cole blares into my ear. “Did you get drunk and marry Noah Fitzpatrick?”

I’m silent. My heart thumps.

“Answer me,” Cole says. “I know you’re there. I can hear you fucking breathing. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

“I’m here,” I say finally, my voice strained and small.

“Put Noah on the phone,” Cole growls with the vigor of a man who could play villains in animation. “I need to talk to you both. Now!”

My breath shudders. Tears prickle my eyes.

“Now!” Cole roars.

“He left me,” I say finally, and tears blur my gaze. “He’s not here. He’s...gone.”

There’s silence. I sniffle.

“That solves your marriage problem,” Cole says, no longer yelling.

“I didn’t want him to go!” I exclaim.

“The whole nation knows you were faking it with him! Do you have any idea of how the Blizzards will react?”

“Not good?”

“You better believe it. Not good indeed. You tried to slip one over them.”

“I didn’t!”

“Are you or are you not featured heavily in Blizzards promotions?”

“I am.”

“And are you or are you not making extra money because of it?”

My heart sinks. “I am.”

“You need to make things up with Noah. You need to play the happy couple. No one can know what a pair of lying schemers you are.”

“We’re not!”

“Did you pretend to be gay to be treated better? To make sure Noah wasn’t sent back to the AHL?”

I’m silent.

“We like each other,” I say finally.

“Then why isn’t he with you now?”

“Maybe I’ve had this wrong by trying to blame you. Maybe he’s the one responsible. Maybe he’s embarrassed his scheme wasn’t going to work and that’s why he left.”

“Noah wouldn’t do that,” I say, but now not just my heart is aching. Now my whole body is.

“Is he with you or isn’t he?” Cole asks.

I inhale a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, Noah,” Cole says, his voice kinder than I expect. “You’re rich. People can be unsavory. I’ll do my best to clean this up. Get him sent back. You won’t have to see him again.”

“No!” I exclaim. “Noah stays. I don’t want him to go. Not because of me.”

Cole inhales sharply. “Are you certain?”

“Of course. Besides, he was moved to the second line. He’s more valuable now.”

“Okay. You’re right. He scored that goal too. That was something.” Cole clears his throat. “I mean, the time for him to leave was after that terrible entrance. I’m sorry, Noah. I thought you were a great couple.”

“I did too.”

Cole ends the call, and I stare into my bedroom. Was everything fake?

Then I shake my head.

No. Of course not. I’m the person who failed Noah. Again.

My heartbeat swerves unsteadily, and I sink to the ground and burrow my head in my hands.

Noah is gone, gone, gone.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Noah

People in designer suits march toward the Financial District as I exit Finn’s apartment, swinging glossy Italian briefcases and purses. I don’t belong here. I never belonged here.

I’m supposed to be helping my parents at the gas station until I take it over so that they can retire, because God knows, they won’t have much savings after they spent every extra penny on my hockey classes. I’m not supposed to be living with Finn.

I’m not sure when Finn came to that realization, but I can’t even blame him for doing that. I mean, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man who lacked all sense.

I wish I wasn’t the piece in his life that didn’t make sense.

Today is an optional training day, and when I find myself outside, eyes stinging, lips pressed together to avoid the instinct to wail, I head to the arena.

I stroll past gray and red brick buildings until Seaport ends. Dull gray water slices through the city, and I cross the bridge to Boston’s historic district, passing Boston’s Tea Party Ship and Museum. A few people dressed in colonial clothes talk to a swarm of tourists, and I suddenly wish I’d taken an Uber to the arena.

“It’s Noah Fitzpatrick!” someone exclaims.

Hoards of groggy-eyed tourists snap pictures at me, though a few people, thankfully blink at me in confusion, wondering why a guy in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, is getting more attention than the wooden, old timey ship.

I don’t blame them.

I do a half-hearted wave.

“Where’s Finn?” someone shouts.

I pretend I don’t hear and quicken my steps. The air is chilly around me. I’m not dressed any different than normal, but normally we go to the arena in Finn’s car. I feel foolish and pull the hood of my hoodie over me.

Leaving was the right thing to do. Absolutely.

My chest might reverberate with pain, but this isn’t about me. It’s about him.

I’m thankful when I arrive at the arena. I want to lose myself in training, because the other option, wandering Boston with a broken-hearted expression and waiting for paparazzi to snap pictures of me and post them around the nation isn’t optimal.

Hopefully, the exercise rooms will be empty.

When I enter the exercise room and Finn isn’t beside me, my heart aches.

I miss him so much.

But Finn wasn’t who I thought he was. Finn wanted to annul the marriage. Not that I can blame him. I can’t hate him. Of course not.

I can only long and miss a person who I never truly knew. Will he be relieved when he sees I am gone?

But, of course, he will be.

Luke and Troy are both on treadmills, and I step onto the one in the far corner, as far from them as possible.

They flash absentminded smiles at me, then their gazes return to the view of the Charles. Maybe they haven’t read the news.

I walk fast on my treadmill, my face grim.

I am so not going to cry on a treadmill at work. No way. Impossible.

I fiddle with the controls, then jog.

My mind still fills with Finn. Finn whom I love. Finn who is not here. Finn whom I will never be with again.

My eyes burn, and I stab the buttons on the treadmill until I move up to a higher level. And then a higher one. And higher one.

I am running. My lungs burn, my muscles burn, my heart burns.

“Dude,” Troy’s voice interrupts my run. “You want to cool it?”

I jump. I didn’t notice him.

“Seriously,” Troy says.

I lower the treadmill settings, moving back into a jog.

“You’ve got to be careful on these.” Troy’s voice is casual, and he doesn’t meet my eye, but I don’t miss the look he exchanges with Luke. I wonder how many looks they were exchanging before Troy interrupted me. “I don’t want to explain to Finn that I let his husband get broken.”

Luke laughs. “He’d kill us.”

I don’t laugh. My fingers tighten around the treadmill, and though I don’t sway, it takes every ounce of concentration not to.

I think I get away with it.

I think my face is calm and placid.

Luke scrunches his lips and gazes at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t look fine,” Troy says.

“Um—”

Troy’s eyes widen. “Finn and you had a fight.”

“Well—”

“Dude, you gotta make up with him.” Troy shakes his head. “I mean, he probably is super annoying and everything. Totally get it. Set up the lighting for this video, set up the lighting for that video. Do you think the viewers will prefer a tropical smoothie or a berry smoothie?”

“Finn is not annoying,” I say hotly. “He is everything. He is the most wonderful—”

I stop. Troy has a triumphant look in his eyes.

“It’s not important now,” I mumble.

“Of course, it’s important. You’re having a fight with your true love,” Luke says. “Nothing is more terrible than that.”

“He knows,” Troy says solemnly. “Luke watches all the dating shows.”

Luke gives a modest shrug. “I’m an expert. You need to make it up with Finn. You’re supposed to be together. I mean, he went gay for you.”

Troy frowns. “I don’t think that’s the way you’re supposed to phrase it.”

Luke and Troy both look at me.

“I, um...” I rake my hand through my hair. “I’m not an expert.”

I have opinions, but right now it’s all I can do to stay upright. My mind is thick and puffy, and only one thought is going through it: Finn and I are no longer together.

But didn’t Troy say it best? Finn changed himself for me. He changed his whole life for me. I can’t let him continue doing it. He wants to end the marriage, and I will respect that.

I’m not supposed to be married to someone like Finn, and he isn’t supposed to be married to someone like me.

Our marriage always had an expiration date.

“Do you want me to yell at him?” Troy asks. “I’m excellent at yelling.”

“It’s not his fault,” I say. “I wasn’t honest with him.”

“And he didn’t forgive you?” Luke’s eyes are narrow.

“He’s not like that,” I say. “He shouldn’t forgive me.”

“Did you cheat on him?”

“I would never do that.”

For some reason, Troy and Luke exchange glances again.

Troy takes out his phone, and I tense. I know I’ll be able to see the moment where he sees the story.

And then I do.

His face sobers, and his eyes soften. I hate that he looks sorry for me. I hate it.

“Finn tried to annul your marriage?” Troy asks.

I give a miserable nod. Tears burn my eyes, and I blink rapidly and square my shoulders and pretend I’m fine.

Luke and Troy exchange glances.

“Let’s get out of here,” Troy says. “Come. No more jogging.”

I stop the treadmill.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Luke asks.

“Um...”

“Because we have room,” Troy says.

“I can get a hotel.”

“No way,” Troy says. “That sounds depressing. Come with us.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“Actually, that would be great.” Relief moves through me, and some of the frenetic energy inside me calms.

“You’re our friend too,” Troy says, and I don’t really believe it, but I nod anyway.

“It’s going to be okay,” Luke says, but we all know he’s lying.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Noah

Luke and Troy live a short walk from the arena in one of the brick townhouses in Back Bay that face the Boston side of the Charles. It’s not as regal as Finn’s parents’ place, partly because it’s only a single three-bedroom apartment, but also because it is decorated by two guys in their twenties. Pink couches and crown molding isn’t their style. Framed hockey jerseys and memorabilia hang in the dark gray living room. A TV is on one side of the room, a worn pool table on the other.

They show me to a guest room with a large bay window.

“Welcome to Casa Us.” Troy spreads his already long goalie hands expansively.  

I try to smile. “Thank you. It’s, um, really nice.”

I peer out the window. “Is that MIT?”

“It makes Troy feel smart,” Luke explains. “Every bit helps.”

“Shut up,” Troy says. “I apologize for your new roommate.”

I shoot a wobbly grin, and my eyes blur, because that reminds me that Finn used to be my roommate. He used to be more than my roommate. He used to be everything.

Luke and Troy shoot worried looks. I guess I’m really not holding things together.

“Your things are at Finn’s?” Troy asks finally.

I jerk my head into a nod, my chest tightening. I’m going to need to pack. Oh, God. Should I go? Get it over with?

An acid taste invades my throat.

“I’ll get your things,” Troy promises.

“Seriously?”

“Of course.”

The air is suddenly less thick, and the boa constrictor that has wrapped itself around my chest all morning loosens its grip.

“That’s nice of you.”

“We’re all nice here.”

Troy waves goodbye and leaves the apartment.

Luke and I eye each other for a few awkward moments. Luke is quieter than Troy.

Finally, Luke’s face brightens. “Want to watch Seeking Mr. Right with me? I wasn’t able to watch it live last night because of the game.”

“Um. Sure.”

I know enough about Luke to know this is his favorite show. It’s also my mother’s favorite show. And though it wasn’t Abby’s favorite show, it was close.

“I used to watch this with my girlfriend,” I say.

“You had a girlfriend?”

“Um, yeah.” I shift my legs, wondering if he’s going to ask more questions. Guilt spreads through me whenever I think about Abby. “We broke up earlier this year.”

“Oh. Is she still single...?”

“It’s over between us,” I say. “Never that much passion.”

My cheeks flame. Luke doesn’t need to hear this.

“But there’s never that much passion, right?”

I blink.

“I watch Seeking Mr. Right but I know it’s not real. No one is that crazy about someone they just met.” Luke gives an awkward laugh, and I realize I’m staring.

“I was crazy about Finn.”

“Then why—?” Luke closes his mouth, probably realizing that asking why Finn and I are no longer together isn’t a polite question.

“I didn’t know he wanted an annulment,” I say.

“That sucks.”

I tilt my head. “I think Abby may have had a crush on the host. What’s his name?”

“Sebastian Archer?” Luke’s cheeks go a darker shade. “I guess he’s attractive. If you are into that. I don’t pay attention.”

I’m not one to tease.

“The women are stunning,” I say.

“Yeah.” Luke nods, almost gratefully. He leads me to the living room and gestures to a black couch, the sort that swallows pizza and beer stains with ease.

We sit beside each other.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you everything that happened so far this season to catch you up.” Luke hesitates. “Unless you already started watching it? If so, tell me the last thing you remember.”

“I haven’t watched anything this season.”

Luke’s face falls. Maybe he’s self-conscious he watches the show. Normally, Troy teases him in front of everyone about it. Maybe Luke hates those jokes.

“So you can totally catch me up.” I muster all the enthusiasm I can and smile.

“Cool! Okay... this is what happened.” Luke launches into a lengthy story about twenty hot women being narrowed down each week until their current number...four.

To tell the truth, I don’t pay much attention, but I appreciate that he is trying to distract me.

Unfortunately, nothing can distract me from Finn.

I lie against the couch as cheerful theme music sounds, and a handsome man with blond hair in a suit appears on the stage and announces that he is the host. Gorgeous women soon proclaim their affection for a veterinarian who snuggles cute kittens and puppies.

“Do you think they’ll ever have a hockey player be Mr. Right?” I ask.

“A hockey player?” Luke frowns. “They’ve never had a professional athlete on the show. Do you think people would find that interesting?”

I lie against the pillows and contemplate how wonderful Finn is and how I used to follow him for years. “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Finn

Banging sounds on my door, and my heart leaps.

Is it Noah? Is he back? Maybe he left his key in his haste and anger. Or maybe he wants to talk? I’ll tell him how sorry I am. I’ll kneel on the floor and beg him for forgiveness. I want to kiss his fingers, kiss everything.

I leave the dreary sorrow of my bedroom and hurry to the door, sliding on the polished floors. The hallway and kitchen whirl around me until I grab hold of the handle and swing the door open.

And though someone in Blizzards’ gear stares at me, it is not Noah.

“Troy?” I blink.

Troy glowers. His umber eyes have never been darker. “Hello destroyer.”

“Why are you here?”

Troy doesn’t bother to answer me. He brushes his shoulder against my chest as he storms inside so I stagger back.

“You’re my best friend,” I say, hating how petulant I sound, but unable to stop it. It’s all I can do to resist the urge to fling cups and saucers around the kitchen, just to hear them smash, to see something in my mind besides Noah’s face.

Troy’s whirls around. “Isn’t Noah your best friend?”

I’m silent. My heart races. He knows. Of course, he knows.

“Why did you try to annul your marriage?” Troy continues, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He marches to my bedroom, even though every time he’s been here before, he had a wide smile on his face.

This isn’t what is supposed to be happening.

But I don’t know how to fix it.

“Um...”

“Isn’t that something most people let their spouses know beforehand?” Troy asks.

“I wanted to surprise him.”

Troy’s jaw drops. “Most people buy their spouses chocolate.”

Guilt and shame tangle in my body, flooding every cell. I cannot move. I stand still, watching as Troy flings open my closet.

He removes Noah’s suitcase. He doesn’t have to ask which one it is, because of course mine is the designer one like the asshole I am.

He unzips it open. “Fill it with Noah’s clothes.”

“I-I don’t want him to go.”

“So you’re holding his clothes hostage?”

I swallow hard. Can I do that?

“Don’t even think about it.” Troy moves away from me and starts pulling open drawers. The sound grates against my heart. “These his?”

“Yeah.”

Troy nods and starts piling clothes into Noah’s suitcase. “I thought you were a good husband.”

“I was!”

“Good husbands discuss breaking up marriages. Hell, even bad husbands do that. Terrible ones.” His eyes go distant, and I remember that his parents are divorced.

But I’m not bad.

I’m not terrible.

Except I hurt Noah so I guess I am.

“I didn’t mean for that letter to get out. Obviously.”

“Sure is a convenient way to end things though.”

I sigh. “How is he doing?”

Troy’s movements slow. “He’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

Troy presses his lips tightly together.

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” I pout.

“I am being your friend.”

I blink.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Call him.”

“He won’t pick up the phone.”

“There’s your answer.”

“Can you tell me where he’s staying, at least?”

For a moment Troy looks confused, then he looks guilty. Finally, he sighs. “Look. Why don’t you take some time to figure out what you want? There was a reason you looked into an annulment. The same goes for him.”

“Right.” I collapse onto the bed. “This sucks.”

“Happens sometimes.” Troy marches to the bathroom. “I assume you have all the fancy stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Troy grabs some handfuls of toiletries and shows them to me. “This his?”

I nod miserably.

Troy drops the toiletries into Noah’s suitcase and zips it up. Then he drags the suitcase to the door.

“So you’re going to take everything and leave?” Desperation moves through me.

Troy’s temple pulses. “Looks like it.”

This is difficult for him too.

I sigh. “I guess I should thank you. I’m glad you’re looking out for him.”

Troy nods, then exits.

I stare at the door long after he leaves willing him to come back and tell me that he’s taking me to Noah and that everything will be okay.

Finally, I grab my phone to text Noah.

Me: Can we talk?

Message: read

Me: I’m sorry. I never meant for the letter to leak that way. I thought the process would be quiet...I know this damages your reputation. I feel terrible.

Three dots appear, and my heart leaps.

My Sweet Puck: I thought we had a year. I didn’t know you wanted an annulment.

Me: I don’t want to force us to be together.

Message: read

Me: I really like you.

My Sweet Puck: Same.

I scrunch my forehead. If he likes me too, why isn’t he here?

Me: I never wanted to hurt you. Do you want to come back?

I hold my breath. Please say yes.

My Sweet Puck: It’s okay.

I frown at the phone. Obviously things aren’t okay. If things were okay, Noah would be here, ideally with his legs wrapped around my waist.

My Sweet Puck: You have been unimaginably generous and protective. I enjoyed every day with you too. But now that everyone knows, we don’t have to go back to lying and pretending to be something we’re not. You can be free.

I stare at the phone, my heart pounding.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Noah

Today is one of those perfect, rare days in Boston when the sky is a crisp blue. It’s a perfect day for Finn to make B-roll for his vlog, and if this were last week, we would be wandering the city together, filming as the fall breeze rustles the towering maples that dot the Charles embankment and flings leaves of burnt orange, deep crimson, and soft yellow tumbling over the pavement.

But this is today, and everything is different. I inhale the musty scent of wet bark and grass, not yet buried by winter snow. I head with Troy and Luke to the arena and try to pretend I’m calm and happy and all the things I’m not. Tourists kayak on the Charles, and we stroll alongside them until we reach the Blizzards’ arena.

Finn didn’t contact me again yesterday.

And that’s what I wanted.

Unfortunately, today is not an optional training day; we play Colorado tonight.

The brick and glass structure has never looked so intimidating. My heart tightens, and a stone forms in my stomach.

I’m going to see Finn.

Finn who texted me yesterday, Finn who stopped texting me after I said we couldn’t return.

Well, of course, he’s a reasonable person. I wouldn’t have fallen for him if he didn’t possess some modicum of logical reasoning ability, and us not being together is definitely logical.

“Nice day,” Luke says, striving for optimism.

“Uh-huh,” I say faintly. “Really...pretty.”

Luke gives me a sympathetic look.

“Shit,” Troy says.

Luke frowns. “Dude. We’re not supposed to scare him.”

“I’m not scared,” I say, because I don’t want to admit that the prospect of seeing Finn does crazy things to my body. I can probably get through the day without fainting like a nineteenth-century, absurdly tightly corseted virgin, but I’m not certain. I also thought I wouldn’t fall in the first twenty seconds of stepping onto NHL ice. Maybe I’ll drop my weights when I see him or walk into a rowing machine or something.

I mean, it’s doubtful, but I’m not confident I can make it through the day without something happening.

I look on the other side of the river, as if I can see his car approaching. But all I see are tourists and locals and...

My heart clinches. “Shit.”

“He sees them too,” Luke says.

Paparazzi stalk the front of the arena. Their cameras are pointed at me. I wonder if they’ve already taken pictures.

I hope my face looked appropriately bland. Because I don’t want to see it plastered on magazines with articles about how Finn finally came to his senses or something.

No way.

“I don’t suppose there’s another entrance?” I ask faintly.

“Sometimes the only way is through,” Luke says.

“I think the tourist entrance will be worse,” Troy says.

“How do I—” I bite my lip, self-consciousness settling over me.

“You look good,” Luke says reassuringly. “Very, um, casual. Which is an important quality in showing Finn that you don’t care about him.”

“Not a good quality in showing him what’s missing,” I say, then I tense. “Sorry, guys. You don’t want to hear that.”

“Nah, we just think you have crazy taste. Finn? That ugly guy?”  

“Say something funny,” Luke tells me suddenly.

“Way to put pressure on a heartbroken man,” Troy says.

Luke chuckles.

Troy’s eyes widen. “Dude.”

Luke’s chuckle loudens. “Ha, ha, ha.”

I blink, then I start to laugh. “He, he, he.”

Luke elbows Troy, then glances at the paparazzi. Troy blinks.

“Oh.”

Luke elbows Troy again.

“You are both so funny,” Troy says in a flat voice. “I love spending time with you guys.”

I’m sure Luke is contemplating tackling Troy, even though none of us are football players.

“Okay, so you shouldn’t do any commercials that involve speaking,” Luke says.

Troy glares at him, then sighs, and begins his own forced laughter as we near the paparazzi.

I’m not sure that Troy’s laughter is an improvement over his glaring, but hopefully it will look better in pictures.

Because the paparazzi are snapping pictures now. Shutters click, and the world explodes in yellow.

Tension sweeps through me, but I pretend everything is fine, fine, fine.

Because the only thing worse than Finn ripping my heart out in public, then letting the whole world see and comment, is making it seem I am as broken-hearted as I am.

Finn asked his lawyer how to get an annulment for us. For all the world knows, I begged him to contact his lawyer. For all the world knows, I am equally unbothered by the prospect of a life without Finn Carrington. For all the world knows, I am completely happy hanging out with my two friends Luke and Troy, and this is no story.

It’s not the most mature, therapist approved action, but frankly I don’t care in the least.

I don’t want my face splattered over magazine stands and on the internet. I don’t want fans to speculate about what happened between Finn and me, and I don’t want to read that some of them think everything was fake.

Even if it was.

Because I developed real emotions all the same, but if I were to confess that to anyone, I would only get pity or laughter.

Because I should have known better.

I did know better.

I just couldn’t help myself because Finn is amazing in every sense of the word.

Troy and Luke flank me, shielding me from photographers. I keep my back straight, and I try to feign nonchalance.

I’m relieved once we enter the arena, then I remember this is where I’ll see Finn.

The day has only just begun, and my exhaustion has already run me down, like a porter traversing the oxygen-thin air of the Himalayas carrying a heavy backpack, conscious he’ll only have to perform the same task again and again and again.

This is why people don’t recommend workplace romances. This is why team management was nervous when we declared our relationship. They’re older than us, and more used to seeing relationships fail.

And though I’ve never had a relationship that didn’t fail, part of me must have thought we would be together for longer. Maybe forever.

But I at least thought we would get a year.

I was certain there would be at least that amount of time.

I think of all the kisses, Finn and I will never share, all the intimate moments, all the dinners, all the lunches, all the breakfasts, all the movies we won’t watch side by side, all the times we won’t catch each other’s gaze first after a victory on the ice.

The future stretches before me in an empty manner, dull and dreary and dreadful.

We continue down the hallway toward the locker room, then to the training room, and I try not to see the pity on the faces of the few people we pass. The photographers are not here, thank goodness, but that means Troy and Luke are now silent. They no longer feign laughter, and the air feels heavy.

Luke pushes open the door to the training room.

Finn is inside, lifting weights. His muscles, slick with sweat, bulge in their always interesting manner.

His face is grim and stern.

Relief moves through Finn when his gaze lands on me, and for a half second, everything is as it should be. He looks at me, and he smiles, and I want to catapult into his arms so that in the next second we’re kissing and undressing.

But it only takes me half a second more to remember all the reasons that would be wrong. His face freezes, then darkens.

My heart beats quickly, like a bird being chased by a fox and desperately trying to take off.

I trudge through the thick air, each molecule of oxygen laden with tension, to the elliptical machine, even though normally I’m a treadmill guy. He doesn’t follow me, and when I slide my gaze to him, he is facing the wall.

This is our new normal.

The other guys shoot us curious looks, but they don’t say anything to us.

They know we’re broken. They’ll talk about us when we’re not in their presence.

I focus on exercise.

I am calm. I am a lake—and not the Northern European kind with a sea monster tucked underneath somewhere. Nothing troubles me.

My fingers grit as I say these lies in my mind, but if I think them often enough, I will believe them.

Someone clears his throat, and my stomach sinks.

“Finn, Noah. Please come with me,” Coach says.

I hesitate.

“Now,” Coach orders.

Finn’s temple pulses, and he angles his face away from me. His back is still straight, his shoulders still square, and I realize too late that I’m staring as I follow Coach and him from the room.

I force my gaze away, because if I let my gaze fall on him again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look away.

I trudge after Finn, my legs suddenly wobbly, my mind light-headed. I want to fling my arms around Finn’s back and hear his startled laughter, followed soon by kisses.

But if I were to do that, the only sound I would get would be a huff of distaste and a shrug of repulsion. Finn and I are over. I never should have allowed myself to imagine the impossible.

I wish I could think of some excuse that could keep me away. A sudden, desperate toothache? Remembering I forgot my great-aunt’s funeral is happening right now?

But soon we’re in front of Coach’s office, and I missed my chance to remember I left the iron on and didn’t turn off the bathtub, and I must rush back to Luke’s and Troy’s place to see what will destroy it first—fire or flood.

I’m going to be in a small room with Finn.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Finn

A clock ticks, and the light from outside is too harsh. The air conditioner spurts cold air at me. Noah and I sit in Coach’s office. Mere inches separate us. Three tops, maybe two.

I slide my gaze to scrutinize the exact distance, but I’m possibly distracted by Noah’s thigh. Did I ever pay attention to how muscular it was? How many other details have I overlooked? My fingers twitch, desperate to trail over Noah.

Coach Holberg clears his throat.

I snap my attention to him. Heat prickles the back of my neck. At any moment, I’ll be full on blushing.

I spent the last twenty-four hours longing to be in Noah’s presence again, and now I finally am, but we’re sitting with Coach.  

“I was planning to tell you today that Isaiah has formally retired. He wants to become a stay-at-home dad and not risk his body more. But there have been some disturbing news articles about you both that are more important,” Coach Holberg says.

I’m silent.

Noah is silent.

“Now, I’ve spoken to your agents, but I need to hear from both of you, will this affect your game?”

“No, sir,” Noah says.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak, and the rumble of his voice causes my heart to rattle.

“Finn?”

I remember I’m not supposed to contemplate my husband’s—God, we need a divorce before I can call him ex-husband, voice. Even if the voice is spectacular.

I shake my head.

Coach Holberg’s eyes narrow. He’s on to me.

I feel Noah’s gaze on me briefly and stiffen.

“We are both committed to the team,” Noah says.

“The fans will be disappointed.”

“Do you want us to pretend to be back together?” Noah asks.

“That’s an option? We should totally do that!” For the first time, hope moves through me. I lean forward. “You can move back into the apartment, and everything will be like before.”

Noah’s eyes widen, and he assesses me. “That’s...” He licks his lips. His Adam’s apple moves. Then he jerks his gaze away and looks at Coach. “Obviously, that would not be appropriate.”

“Why? We’ve pretended to be together before! And everyone believed it!”

Hurt moves over Noah’s face. “You’re right. Everyone did believe it.”

I blink, unsure why his voice wobbles. Did he want people not to believe we were together? I lean toward him, and I soften my voice. “What’s wrong?”

Noah rises abruptly. “Coach, I assure you that Finn and I will both be professional. We are on different lines on the ice. This will not affect our games.”

Then he leaves abruptly.

My insides slither together, and I draw my arms against my chest. I don’t understand why Noah wasn’t willing to do this. I mean, we got along. And it will help our careers.

“I would have done that,” I say softly.

Coach Holberg sighs. “I’m sorry, Finn.”

I’m silent.

“I can send him away.”

I jerk my gaze to him, my mouth dropping open. “He’s on the second line now.”

“And you’re still our priority, Finn. You’ve been here longer. You have a history of scoring goals. Look, I might not understand everything you’re going through, but I have had breakups before.”

I must look startled because he smiles.

“I know, it’s shocking that I wasn’t always middle-aged with a wife and two children.”

“I knew you were once young.”

“My son is your age.” Coach Holberg flashes his proud dad smile, and I hope he will start talking about his son Oskar and his no doubt various spectacular traits before he remembers to ask me any more difficult questions. “You two married really young. I can’t imagine my son marrying anyone yet. I’m not sure he’s even dated.” He shakes his head, smiling. “I admit, I didn’t understand why you married, but it was clear that you and Noah have remarkable chemistry.”

I jerk my gaze to him. I didn’t think Coach was going to go there.

“It makes the rest of us feel we’re all in a factory. Burning steel. Chemicals everywhere. Uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t realize.”

“You fell in love, and clearly Noah loved you back.”

I blink.

No, that’s not true. Coach Holberg has it wrong. Noah went along with my plan after I explained it was the best way. But I was the one who proposed, I was the one who insisted we get married. Noah spoke about how our marriage was just for one year.

That’s why I pushed for an annulment. I didn’t want him to have to pretend to be with me. Wouldn’t he want to have a life of freedom to experiment with other people? Why would he want to be with me? When he is a popular NHL star? On magazine covers and on TV?

But, of course, I can’t tell Coach all those things. I can’t let him know the extent to which Noah and I both lied.

“I invited Noah back to our apartment,” I say finally. “And he said no.”

My voice shakes when I say that statement, and Coach’s brow furrows. Oh God, he probably never expected to have to dole out relationship advice.

Not that there is a relationship to which to dole out advice.

Noah even left the fucking meeting.

Obviously, he couldn’t bear to be beside me. The two and a half inches between us were too small for him. Clearly, he would have preferred a bigger distance. Like 2.5 miles. Or 25 miles. Or...more.

God, does he want me to be on the other side of the country?

Two days ago, we were fine. How could so much have changed?

“But there was a reason you wanted an annulment, Finn.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you worry that that process might have been leaked?”

I bite my lip. I guess I should have worried about it. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

Coach frowns. “Finn, did you tell Noah you were looking for an annulment?”

“Um...”

Coach Holberg shakes his head. “And I thought your generation was cruel with text breakups. This is—”

He looks at me in deep frustration, but the only feeling I have is hope.

Is it possible Noah is upset with me about that? Not that I got the process leaked and risked our reputations? But that I wanted it at all?

I rise. “Thank you, Coach. This was a great meeting.”

Coach Holberg blinks, and I hurry out.

NOAH

I am ready for this.

This will be like normal. Normal when Finn and I were together, I mean. Not normal like falling onto the ice.

I swallow my nerves and take the ice.

Something is different, and when I scan the crowd, I realize the crowd is silent. They’re not cheering. I’m not Noah Fitzpatrick, husband of their beloved star player. Instead, I’m Noah Fitzpatrick, separated husband of their beloved star player, and they haven’t decided yet whether to hate me. I feel their curiosity, their disappointment.

Most people loved our romance. I can feel them whispering and wondering whether we were a publicity stunt, or whether I’ve done something so horrible, so shocking that there was nothing Finn Fitzpatrick could do besides try to look for an annulment.

I fill my mind with good thoughts, and some of the lines from the affirmation soundtrack Finn played when we were in Vegas right before our marriage appear in my thoughts.

I’ve got this. I’ve totally got this.

I see a flick of black, and hurry toward the puck. I don’t need the cheers and applause of the audience. I’m not here because I am Finn’s husband. I’m here because I am good.

I steal the puck from our competition and pass it to Jorge. It slides across the ice, and I move after it, so he can pass it back to me. We continue passing the puck between us, avoiding Colorado players, until something on the ice changes.

I have a shot.

And so, I take it.

The puck whams into the goal, between the goalie’s legs, and the light flashes.

Cheers erupt. The Blizzards’ fans go crazy. It’s our first goal of the night.

I did it.

I fucking did it.

We are now ahead, 1-0.

Joy bubbles through me, and when our line returns, I catch Finn’s gaze. He beams at me with pride and shoots me two thumbs up.

Something settles inside me. Maybe he didn’t want to remain married to me, but he was the best guy I ever met. I’m lucky to have known him as well as I did.

Then I think back to my goal.

I got it.

I did it.

I scored those goals when I played for Providence in the AHL. That’s why Coach Holberg sent for me. Perhaps I can belong here on my own.

My heart beats happily in my chest. I want to recount the goal to Finn. I want to tell him everything.

But Finn isn’t my person anymore. He’s a teammate. Spending time with him in Coach’s office was terrible. His hand was beside me, but not touching me. His scent and that Tom Ford cologne wafted around me.

Every cell in my body was confused, wondering why the subject of all my dreams could be so close, but not behave like a dream guy.

Because in my dreams, we’re married. In my dreams, we’re happy. My dreams, it seems, are the fantastical sort.

I let Luke and Troy lead me to a sports bar to celebrate. Pictures of Troy and Evan and Finn hang in the bar, and I try not to gaze too openly at Finn’s smiling, 2-D face.

Glasses clink, people chatter, loud happy music blares.

“They’re here!” Someone shouts, and suddenly drinks are being forced into our hands, women are fluttering their lashes and adjusting their halter tops to reveal more cleavage, and the room thunders with applause.

A twenty-something man in a tight Blizzards shirt slinks over to me. “I’m sorry to hear about your marriage.”

“Uh, thank you.”

He darts large doe eyes up to me. “I can help make you feel better.”

I blink, and he stiffens.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” I say hastily. “I wasn’t expecting...”

“To be hit on?” His lips spread into a wide grin, and in another life he would be appealing.

But this is this life, and my heart is with Finn.

“Honey, every gay and bisexual guy in Massachusetts is a hockey fan now, and you’re the star. You’ll have no problem moving on when you’re ready.”

I jerk my head into a nod.

“I’ll see you later.” His voice rumbles in my ear, then he sashays away.

Luke chuckles beside me. “He’s right.”

“I don’t want to date anyone,” I say.

“I get it. I don’t either,” he says, and I frown. Luke hasn’t gotten his heart broken. Maybe he wants his dates vetted like in Seeking Mr. Right.

I wait for Finn to join, but after an hour, I realize he won’t be coming.

He’s letting me have this celebration without him. I sit with his friends, in his favorite sports bar, and everything feels wrong.

God, I miss him.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Finn

I thunder up the steps of my parents’ towering, intimidating townhouse. The delicate tulips and roses in my mother’s glossy black flowerboxes have been switched out for sturdy kale and purple cabbage.

It occurs to me that my mother might be lunching at one of the many perfect hotel restaurants found in this half mile with her equally immaculately put together friends.

Please be home.

I ring the doorbell.

The housekeeper ushers me into the living room. Golden light splatters through the lace curtains, and everything is immaculate. More importantly, my mother is home. More worryingly, she’s currently glaring.

My mother raises a perfectly plucked brow and sets aside her New Yorker. “You’ve graced me with your company.”

“You sound displeased.”

Her eyebrows narrow. Oh, yeah. That’s her displeased face. “Why did I read online that you split from that perfectly sweet husband of yours?”

My face must crumple because her eyes soften, and she rises at once and sweeps me into a hug. “Oh, Finn.”

I wrap myself around her. She’s shorter than me, much more slender, but right now all the strength in the world comes from her. It certainly doesn’t come from me. And Noah, Noah is gone.

“What happened, sweetheart?” she asks.

The last time she called me sweetheart I was a teenager, and I rolled my eyes and said that was absolutely not me, not anymore. But now I don’t say anything.

I don’t know what to say.

Noah and I were together, and now we’re not. My heart aches, as if some player shot a puck straight there. But my pain won’t go away with rest and ibuprofen and the careful evaluation of my athletic trainer.

No way.

“You better sit down,” my mother says, walking me to the sofa. She glances around, then takes her tea from the table beside her armchair and thrusts it into my hands. “Sip it. You’ll feel better.”

“Tea won’t replace Noah, Mother.”

She smiles. “No, I don’t suppose it will. Now, are you going to tell me everything?”

“Um...” There are so many secrets between Noah and me, and I don’t want to reveal everything. “Noah and I got married quickly.”

“I’ve forgiven you for not inviting me to your wedding, dear.”

“No, I mean, we got married three days after we met.”

My mother’s eyebrows leap upward, then her shoulders ease. “But you’d known each other for years beforehand? Online? That’s how your generation does it, right?”

I’m silent, and she squeezes my knee.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says, which is how she begins most things that I should be ashamed of, but I don’t call her on that. “Think of all those mail-order brides in the old days. They didn’t even have proper pictures in those days. And you have video.”

“Noah followed me online for years,” I say. “But I didn’t know him. We said that to seem less scandalous.”

“Oh.” My mother draws back, her mouth rounded. “Oh.”

I slide my gaze to her. “Are you appalled?”

Her lips twitch, then she says airily, “I’m merely taken aback that you care about not seeming scandalous.”  

I try to laugh. The sound isn’t pleasant, to be honest, and my mother wrinkles her tiny, upturned nose.

“Why did you marry him if you just met him?”

“There was some alcohol involved, but...” I press my lips together. “I don’t think I would have married anyone, no matter how much alcohol was involved. It made me lose my inhibitions.”

“You don’t have many inhibitions to begin with.”

I scowl. “I really liked him.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I mean, I really liked him.”

“That’s because you loved him.”

I bury my head in my hands and wonder whether I can scurry out of the room, and we can both pretend I wasn’t ever here.

My insides feel squishy and unpleasant, as if someone’s taken a compact roller to them when I wasn’t paying attention.

I haven’t talked to Noah about my feelings, not really. I thought I had more time. I thought I had a year. I thought I had a year to convince him how wonderful we were together.

“I suppose you’re correct,” I say finally.

“Of course, I’m correct. I’m your mother. So, you liked him so much you decided to marry him after three days?” Her eyes glint.

“Basically.”

“Have you been with men before?”

I shake my head. “I never thought about it before I met Noah. And I only thought about it after we got married.”

“Because it was convenient?”

“Because it was Noah,” the words come out more angrily than I intend, and I close my eyes and do one of those breathing movements that I always recommend in my videos. “I wanted to spend all my time with him from the moment I met him. I showed him around and threw him a party.” I scratch the back of my neck. “That, um, didn’t go well.”

“I’ve heard about it. Top of the Boston hockey gossip.”

“I know the marriage doesn’t make sense.”

“It must have been confusing.”

“It didn’t feel confusing at the time. My main worry after we got married was that he might not like me.”

My mother snorts. I turn my head, and she attempts a daintier sniff. “That boy loved you.”

“No.”

She stares at me. “Yes. Yes, he did. Definitely.”

I shake my head again. “No, he left.” I narrow my gaze. “You shouldn’t say confusing things to me. I’m sure after a breakup, protocol says you’re supposed to tell me how terrible the other person is.”

“In that case, you can call me rebellious.”

We both laugh, because my mother, Susannah Carrington, is many things, but no one would ever call her rebellious.

“Did he tell you why he was going to leave?”

“He wanted me to be free.” I frown. “Which is silly. He said he didn’t want us to have to pretend to be married and that we were in love.”

“Well, you married someone at your intelligence level,” my mother mutters.

“What did you say?”

“I think I need some of that tea. I seem to have a horse in my throat.”

I give her a hard stare, but she is busy sipping the tea she gave me.

“I bet Noah still loves you. Why don’t you ask him? You still work together.”

“No.”

My mother’s eyes widen. “Why not, Finn?”

Patience is not one of my mother’s top traits. There’s a reason I’m impulsive, after all. I squirm at the note of exasperation in her voice.

“Noah thinks I don’t want to be married to him. Because it was an accident. He thinks I’m being honorable by saying I want to be with him. And he seems to be against that for some reason.” I inhale. “I have an idea.”

“Heaven help me.”

I give her a stern look. “No, you need to help me. Please?”

My mother’s eyes soften. “Of course, dear. Now tell me your plan.”

And so, I do.

Then her eyebrows do a lot of raising, and I do a lot of assuring her that this is what I want.

Then I remember that I still don’t have Noah, and my whole discussion might have been as fanciful as some of the children’s books Vinnie is always giving Stella.

But I’m going to try.

“Mother,” I say. “Can we do some shopping together?”

Her eyes widen. “I like shopping. You’ve always seemed quite accomplished at shopping.”

“I’m a multi-talented man.”

“How did I raise such a sweet, dumb child?” She shakes her head. “So where are we going? Bergdoff’s?”

“I thought you might be able to recommend a place.”

“Oh? I’m not great with men’s things, honey.”

“I want to go to a jeweler.” Her eyes round, then she makes a pleased noise, and hugs me.

“He might not say yes,” I warn.

“But then, he might,” she whispers, and I nod, but I remember that I also didn’t expect him to leave. I need to fight for us and win.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Noah

Seeking Mr. Right blares on the TV, the upbeat theme song bouncing across the room for the umpteenth time.

Luke and I sit side by side on the couch, munching on popcorn as the handsome veterinarian compliments his way through a romantic dinner, his dining partner switching with each course.

Troy clears his throat from the doorway. “That’s enough. I can’t listen to that song again.”

Luke and I glide our gazes to him. Troy crosses his arms, and his face is twisted into an expression not dissimilar to a team which just suffered a massive loss.

“Dude, you missing your AirPods?” Genuine worry crisscrosses Luke’s face.

“Did it occur to you, Luke, that Noah might not want to spend his time watching a show called Seeking Mr. Right?”

“Um...” Luke furrows his brow. “Really? I mean, it’s light and funny and they go on cool dates... Why wouldn’t Noah want to watch it?”

“Maybe because Noah thought he had found his Mr. Right, and um...” Troy does a hand gesture that probably signifies something horrible.

“Are you doing a magic show for us?” Luke asks.

Troy frowns and releases his fingers. “No. I just don’t think this show is appropriate.”

“It shows a perfect guy. It’s optimistic! And the dates are super cool.”

“It shows a handsome man with twenty women flinging themselves at him.”

Luke’s skin takes on a green hue, and I’m sure my pallor is worse. Finn can date all the people now.

Does Troy know something I don’t? Is Finn already dating again? Is that why he didn’t show up at the bar? I thought he wanted to give me privacy, but I’ve been wrong about Finn before.

My stomach churns, and suddenly there’s nothing funny about the beautiful blonde batting her lashes at Mr. Right.

Luke grabs the remote control and turns off the TV. We will never know if they included a cheese course to bring back the crying blonde. “You want to go to the arena?”

“Nah. We don’t get off days often. We’re living in one of the best cities in the world. Let’s sightsee. Take a walk.”

“I guess we could do that.” Luke scrunches his lips, then his eyes gleam, and his voice tempo quickens, “We can try to guess what dates they’ll have in the Christmas version of Seeking Mr. Right when it comes to Boston next month!”

“Uh, yes. I guess we can do that.” Troy’s look turns pained, the way we hope other teams look when they realize they have to play us. “Who is Mr. Right going to be?”

“It was supposed to be some hotshot doctor, but he dropped out. Apparently, he found love on his own.”

“A sign that he was truly a hotshot,” I muse.

“Yep.” Luke and I nod thoughtfully into the middle distance. 

“So they don’t have a Mr. Right yet?” Troy’s eyes gleam, and it’s suddenly easy to know what he’s thinking.  

Luke is oblivious. “I thought you weren’t interested in the show.”

“Just wondering how people get onto the show.”

I grin. “We can check the website, Troy. Maybe there’s an application form.”

Troy nods, and his eyes dance.  “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“You guys are strange,” Luke says. “I don’t know why you’re giggling.”

“Let’s go out,” I say.  “See if we can figure out where they’ll go on the show.”

Troy winks at me as he fiddles with his phone.

“How tall are you, Luke?” Troy asks.

“Six foot three. Why?”

“Just wondering for hockey purposes.”

We laugh as we stroll toward Newbury Street. The path takes us through the Public Gardens, and swan boats glide regally over the lake. Students and workers on their break stroll the gardens, and even though it’s no longer spring or summer and the best flowers are no longer there, autumn-colored chrysanthemums squat in long rows.

Finally, we enter Newbury Street. An equal number of people stream the sidewalks, gawking at the window displays of designer stores. A few people wave at us, shouting “Go Blizzards!”

I love Boston.

But then my smile vanishes.

A man with curly golden-brown hair and a familiar gait laughs as he enters a store. 

With a woman.

I can’t see her face, but my heart already spins.  

He’s going shopping now? He doesn’t seem distraught. And why should he be? He’s free.

My fists tighten. It’s none of my business what Finn does. I should be happy that he’s happy. I am, in fact. Truly.

I swallow hard and turn to Luke. “You know, I’m almost positive they’ll film something in Boston Common. Want to go there?”

“Totally!” Luke says happily.

I paste my brightest smile on my face, even though my heart pangs. “Let’s go.”

Then I set a fast pace, because I don’t want Finn to see me.

FINN

Rain batters Coach Holberg’s large floor-to-ceiling windows, and the sky is a dismal gray. A few people scurry outside, heads directed downward, flashes of primary-colored parkas. Coach taps his fingers against his desk. I know from the rhythm that he is unhappy, and when I turn back to him, his frown continues to sink downward. He is Swedish melancholy and despair. Finally, he sighs. “This is a terrible idea.” 

“I choose Noah every day. I want him to know.”

“You know, most proposals are done in private. I once saw a proposal in a restaurant go wrong, and I bet the proposer never went to that restaurant again.”

I wince.

“There were one hundred patrons around. Do you know how many people will witness this?”

“I know,” I say.

“The other restaurant patrons didn’t have a clue who this guy was. But these are people who do know who you are. Who do follow you. Hell, they’ve paid good money to do so.”

“I know.”

“And if it doesn’t go well...”

I swallow hard. Coach Holberg seems to think it won’t go well. I can’t blame him.

“Look. I love Noah,” I say.

Coach Holberg’s stern blue eyes soften, and he looks less like a misplaced Prussian soldier missing his spiked helmet and saber than normal. “You’re killing me.”  

“And he needs to know that.”

“I’m sure you’ve told Noah that before,” Coach says with a laugh. “I mean, I haven’t seen any couple be quite as affectionate.”

I don’t join his laughter.

If only I’d told him.

“Finn? You did tell him?” Coach’s eyes narrow. The man is onto me. But then there’s a reason he’s the coach for the Blizzards. There’s a reason they dragged him all the way from the pastel buildings and cobbled streets of Stockholm, promising him all manner of money. There’s a reason he’s helped lead this team to so much greatness.

“We got married,” I say.

It’s a weak non-answer, and I still feel Coach’s eyes over me. I don’t want to confess everything. Not to him. He’s Noah’s boss, and I don’t think he would want anyone to know the truth about our Vegas elopement.

Coach sighs. “I can’t approve this.”

I lean forward, swallowing back my desperation, trying to seem rational. “Noah loves me. Our whole relationship was in the public, and when we, um, first decided to marry, we weren’t thinking about all of that.”

“You were thinking about how much you loved each other.”

“Yeah.” I avert my gaze. “Noah needs to know that even when we have the choice of ending our marriage and having more quiet lives and going back to normal, I will still choose him. I will always choose him.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?”

His lips curl, and a thoughtful expression forms on his features.

“Besides. Think how excited the fans would be.”

Coach presses down his lips as if to stop himself from blurting out his agreement.

“And I’m one of your top players,” I say, in case I need to remind him of that. I don’t like pulling this card, but this is important.

“And this would make you happy?”

“It would make me ecstatic.”

Coach Holberg sighs. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise now.”

“Okay.” I rise. “Happy thinking.”

I leave Coach’s office, unsure of the meeting’s success. Nervousness moves through me.

I enter the massage room and try to not remember the time when Noah and I snuck in here. Memories of Noah are in every part of this building.

I lie down for a massage and ache for Noah’s touch.

This will work. It has to work.

I miss him so much.

I leave the massage room, and almost run into Noah. My eyes imbibe him. His skin pinkens.

“How are you?” I ask.

He grits his teeth, and his gaze bounces everywhere that wasn’t me. “Fine.”

I blink.

This isn’t exactly amazing conversation.

At the game the other night it felt like we’d shared a moment after his winning goal. But now he doesn’t meet my eyes, and his jaw is set, as if to restrain his anger.

Not good.

I’d imagined the first time we spoke would be different. Conversations, not clipped words. I’d imagined there would be shy smiles and rosy blushes and green eyes peering at me through long upturned eyelashes.

But Noah isn’t smiling, isn’t blushing, and he seems to do everything he can not to look at me.

Maybe Coach was right.

Maybe proceeding with tonight’s plan would be a horrible mistake.

But when Noah enters the massage room, and I am alone in the hallway, I press my hand against the tiny velvet box tucked in my pocket.

Trying is the right thing to do. I am utterly, desperately in love with Noah.

I only hope that tonight my heart is not broken forever.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Noah

My heart beats uncomfortably in Finn’s presence. It’s all I can do to not pull him into the massage room, pull him into the supply closet, kiss him in the fucking open.

There was a time I didn’t know how to skate. My body will learn how to ignore Finn. The words feel like a lie even though I’ve only uttered them in my own head. A day in which I forget about Finn, when his presence no longer ignites my cells and mitochondria and soul, seems like the most terrible of days.

The day inches forward, but finally, we’re on the ice.

Luke and Finn both score goals. Even though Luke has become a friend, I vow to not show up at the bar tonight. I want Finn to celebrate the win.

The intercom crackles, then the announcer says, “Please stay seated for a final event after this song.”

Murmurings sound. This event was not planned. I frown. Is there some celebrity here? A politician?

“What’s happening?” I ask Luke.

“I’m not sure.”

I wriggle my legs impatiently. I want to leave. Just as I contemplate whether I can do this, Finn gets up. Is he leaving?

I wish I had his confidence and could walk out of things. I wish I didn’t feel like I had to stay here.

Finn smiles, unconcerned. The man looks happy and excited.

And that’s wonderful. Really wonderful.

I don’t want anything bad to ever happen. My heart is raw, as if someone’s scraped it over the ice, like it’s one of the pucks being struck by two hundred plus muscular men over and over again.

I suddenly don’t want to sit and wait for whatever team management has decided should happen now, so I get up and follow Finn, ignoring the startled glances of the other players on the bench.

“Where are you going?” Luke asks.

“I’ll be back.”

Luke blinks, but I’m already moving past him. I totter on my skates. Walking is ridiculous with them on, like I’m two years old again.

But I want to find Finn, so I continue. I want to see what he’s doing.

I enter the tunnel, then I see him.

His eyes widen, and he puts his hands in his pockets hastily. His happy face turns worried, and I hate that I’m the cause of it.

I quicken my steps. I want to get out of here.

“Noah? Where are you going?”

“Why does everyone ask me that?”

He frowns. “Noah...Let’s go back to the rink.”  

I pout. “I don’t want to.”

His eyes soften. “Come, baby.”

The endearment jolts through me. For a wild moment, my body believes that he means it. But of course, he doesn’t.

“You were trying to get an annulment.”

His skin turns a ruddy color, and he glances toward the tunnel. “We should get back out there.”

“No.” Frustration skates through my veins, and I fucking glare. “We need to talk about this. It’s important.”

“I know...but...”

“No one is here.”

“But we’re not out there.”

Music wafts in from the arena. It’s something romantic, and God, I don’t feel like anything romantic. “I don’t want to listen to that song.”

Finn’s skin whitens, and he runs a finger along his neck, as if his jersey is strangling him. “I thought you loved this song.”

“I did, but now...”

“Now?” Finn scans my face desperately, but I’m not sure what he expects to find.

“It reminds me of...”

“What?” Finn narrows the distance between us like a defenseman closing off an open pass, and I step back and slam against the wall. “What does it remind you of?”

“Us.” My voice trembles, and his lips are right opposite me. They’re succulent and belong to him, and I don’t want to stare at them. I want...

I kiss him.

I don’t mean to. Not really, and he makes a gasp of surprise.

Evidently, kissing me now was the last thing he anticipated.

But then he tightens his grip around me and kisses me back. He cups my face in his hands, slick from sweat, and he sucks on each lip, sucks on my tongue. Our tongues move together desperately. I slide my hands over his body, because I don’t know if this is the last time I’ll feel him pressed against me. I tighten my grip on him, even though I shouldn’t kiss him.

This is all wrong.

I pull away, but my heart protests, the ache already unbearable, and I kiss him more, more, more. I turn him around, so I’m pressing him against the tunnel wall.

I need to feel him. Desperation gnaws through me. I want him. I crave him. I yearn for him. My cock swells against him, and I feel him harden.

God.

I want him to fuck me right now. Or I want to sink onto the ground and put him on my mouth. I want to feel him. I want us to be one again.

“We can go to the massage room.” The words slip from my mouth, and he stiffens.

I immediately wish I could claw the words back.

Finn pushes me away so suddenly that I stumble back.

And because I’m wearing fucking skates, I nearly fall at his feet.

He doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he faces the wall, as if he’s horrified our lips touched.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I-I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Finn says finally between tightly clenched teeth.

“I’m really sorry,” I say again.

He grimaces and takes a deep breath. “We need to get out there.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I know you don’t care. I’m being...childish.”

“I care,” Finn says firmly. “Absolutely.”

I shake my head. “That’s what I thought. But I was wrong. I was silly... It felt like we were actually married.”

“And did you like it?” he asks carefully.

“No!”

Hurt floods Finn’s face, and he inhales sharply. “I thought you liked us together. I thought you liked coming home with me each night. I thought you liked our mornings together and our explorations of the city.”

“Not if it meant I woke up and discovered...” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Baby...”

“Don’t baby me,” I say. “You have no idea how it feels.”

“It feels painful, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Good guess. You must have been paying attention when you watched movies or something.”

He blinks. “This isn’t like you.”

“I guess I’m under stress,” I mutter. “I should ask to be transferred.”

His face pales more. “That’s what you want?”

“If it means I don’t have to see you!” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, and Finn jumps.

“You don’t want to see me?” his voice shakes.

“It wouldn’t work,” I say miserably.

“You mean the two or three games we might play against each other would still be too much for you?” He draws back, and his eyes are wider than normal. I want to stare at them forever. Instead, I examine the gray-painted ground. So not the same thing.

“Because I see you everywhere,” I say mournfully. “When I close my eyes, you’re there. And God, even when I don’t close my eyes you’re here.”

“Is that so?” His lips curl into a smile, and irritation washes over me.

“You don’t need to seem so smug about it.”

Then, irritating man that he is, he starts to laugh.

“It’s not a laughing matter!” I pout.

“I’m just happy,” he says between laughs.

“I’m telling you that you broke my heart!” I exclaim. “And you’re happy!”

“Uh-huh.”

I stare at him. My jaw drops, and his cheeks grow a ruddier color than they were previously.

“That probably sounds bad.”

“Yeah.” Something hot prickles my eyes.

Oh, no.

I’m not going to cry in front of him. Absolutely not. I’ve already thrown up in front of him. I don’t need to add that to my list of humiliations. It’s not like there’s some list somewhere, all the ways for me to embarrass myself in front of Finn, that I need to hit.

“Let’s go back to the ice,” Finn says softly. “I promise everything will be okay.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to pretend nothing happened between us.”

“Then we won’t pretend that.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tries to lead us forward, but I halt.

“We don’t need to attend, do we?”

“Well...” Finn swallows hard, and I try not to think about how Adam’s apples are way more attractive than they’re given credit for. “We do.”

“It’s not a hockey game. It’s just some stupid event.”

Finn winces.

Footsteps sound in the tunnel.

“Finn, Noah!” Coach’s voice booms, and we jump apart. “We are all waiting for you!”

“Sorry, Coach,” Finn says. “We’re on our way.”

“Now!”

Finn grabs my hand, and we jog toward Coach.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Noah

Coach shakes his head when Finn and I appear at the end of the tunnel. “Idiots.”

I stiffen. Coach is acting like Finn and I delayed this whole event. I slide my gaze to Finn, but he’s trembling.

Finn never trembles. He’s Mr. Cocky himself.

Whatever. I turn to join the other players on the bench.

Coach clears his throat. “Go to the center of the ice.”

“What?” I blink at him.

“You heard me.” His pale blue eyes are narrow, and he points, as if the reason for the confusion was that I might not know what center of the ice means. “Skate out there. This was delayed enough. You, Finn, go now.”

I look at Finn, but his face is grim and worried.

Are we going to be yelled at in front of the entire arena? No, no way. There’s no reason for Finn to be anxious.

“Is everyone coming?” I look at the bench. Our teammates still sit there.

“Let’s go, Noah,” Finn says, even though the strained look on his face remains.

He starts skating, as if he’s going to his execution.

“It will be fine!” I call after him.

He tenses, then turns around. I skate and join him.

“Whatever happens,” I say under my breath. “It’s just a bit of media.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t look reassured.

I skate beside him, glimpsing his handsome, somber face. His jaw trembles.

We reach the center of the ice, and someone hands Finn a microphone. Maybe there was a reason why Finn needed to come to the ice. Guilt flares through me. But why did he bother to make sure I was alright and bring me with him?

Or maybe he doesn’t want me on the ice with him. Is that the issue? But Coach knows we split...

Confusion crashes through me, and I stare at Finn. I hate the way my gaze still, after all this time, goes immediately to the way the bright lights ahead meet his chiseled cheekbones. His golden-brown curls are now slick with sweat, and some strands stick to his forehead. I want to smooth them away, but cameras are on us, and it’s not my place to smooth away his hair anymore.

I wonder if the hits he got in the game were stronger than I thought, because he seems wobbly, and his breath comes out in more frequently spaced puffs. The cold air clings to my skin, more uncomfortable after the sweaty game.

“Hello everyone,” Finn says into the microphone, but his gaze remains on me. “You’re probably wondering what this event is. I promise it will be short.”

Then he gives an awkward laugh, and I swear I can feel the audience cringe. Some of them shift, and the arena rumbles, like everyone is complaining to their spouse at once, and people start moving. They walk up the steps to exit the arena, and I see Finn shoot a terrified glance.

Are the owners watching? God, what is this? Why did Coach Holberg condone this? Maybe he wants to announce a lifetime achievement award? Or a new charity initiative? I could see why Finn would have been invited to present this. He’s good at talking.

Or at least, he’s usually good at talking.

Now he’s a mess. He’s more newborn colt than graceful NHL player.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It will be fine.”

Finn’s eyes soften. “Right. Some of you know that I married Noah Fitzpatrick after we won a game in Vegas.”

I suck in a sudden jolt of air. I didn’t expect him to mention our wedding. Why is he saying that?

Is he trying to explain to the public that we’re getting divorced? Is this a PR finessing thing? Because why wasn’t I contacted about this? There are a million things that could go wrong with trying to explain that to the public in person. I mean, it’s not their business. And Finn could turn into an oddly nervous wreck, which seems to be what’s happening now.

Did someone make him do this? I can’t ask him what he’s doing when he has a microphone in his hand, though the thought definitely occurs to me.

I look at the owner’s box. Tanaka has an appalled look on his face, and I snap my gaze away to Coach Holberg. He looks appalled and anxious. Yeah, not an improvement. I then move my gaze to the players who look...confused.

Some of them are whispering. For some reason, Troy leans forward and rubs his hands together.

Huh. Is he not as close to Finn as I thought? Maybe it’s a strange goalie thing.

“But some of you also know,” Finn said, “that I tried to get an annulment for that marriage.”

Everyone leans forward, and my legs wobble. It’s all my body can do to keep my heart from sinking to the ground.

“I owe everyone an apology for that. But the main person I owe an apology to is my husband.”

This is going to be all over the news.

The thought springs into my mind, and my heart gallops. No, this is not good.

I want to sink into the ice. I want to fling myself into the boards and tuck myself in the corner and not come out until the cleaning staff drags me. I absolutely do not want to stand on the ice, as I’m being filmed, as Finn explains to everyone that his marriage to me was bad.

Unless...

A thought occurs to me, but it’s too absurd. No, I’m not going to hope for...that.

My heart thrums all the same.

I stare at Finn uncertainly and try to tell myself not to hope for the impossible.

God, I am so never getting over him. Maybe my activity in life is to love him, no matter if we’re together or not. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe that is why I am here on earth.

“I did want an annulment,” Finn says into the microphone, and I flinch.

I have to say, this is not Finn’s most lovable moment.

Clearly, I was absolutely foolish to hope for...that.

His eyes widen, as if he’s said something he didn’t want to, as if he’s reading something on my face he doesn’t like.

Was I supposed to look enthusiastic when he announces to the world his desire for an annulment?

“But that’s because I didn’t want to start our relationship tied to each other. I mean...” Finn rakes a hand through his golden-brown curls. “I’m saying this wrong. I’m sorry. What I mean to say is... Noah, will you marry me? For real?”

My eyes snap open.

I stare at him.

But maybe I misheard. I shift my feet, and my skates scrape over the ice.

I don’t think I have any hearing difficulties, and I certainly don’t think I’m prone to schizophrenic auditory illusions... But did Finn say what I thought he said? Or is my mind concocting what it wants to hear because it is simply too painful for me to hear anything else?

I stare at him, trying to understand. He is algebra and geometry, trigonometry and calculus.

“Noah?” Panic fills his eyes.

I stare at him. Am I supposed to speak?

“I love you, Noah,” he says, his voice trembling. “Maybe from the moment I first saw you. I was drawn to you at once. I didn’t think I would ever be making a speech like this in front of so many people, but I mean every word. You are my everything, and I don’t want to have a life where you’re not by your side.”

I continue to stare.

He clears his throat, and does an awkward little chuckle, “of course if you say no, I will honor that. And not be creepy. And not insist you’re at my side or anything.” He squeezes his eyes shut as if bracing for a meteor to smash onto him.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Finn

This is not going well. If this were going well, Noah would have said yes, and we would be kissing and planning our happily ever after.

But instead, Noah is staring at me as if he’s not sure if I’m insane or he’s insane.

“I love everything about you,” I say desperately, because I’m not going to give up without giving this my best effort. “I love your laugh.” I bite my lip. “You’re not laughing now of course, but um, I like it when it happens. Which is normally often.”

I glance at the arena, conscious of everyone listening to me. People point phones at us, and thousands of rectangles are directed at me. God, how many of them have given better proposals? A lot of them, I bet. Lots of married men here. Lots of married women too.

I suck in a deep breath of air, but the air is cold in my chest. The microphone is cold too, but when I shift position, it screeches. I quickly right it. “I, um, love that we have things in common and enjoy the same things.”

This is not Shakespeare, and my mind searches for all the words I want to say, everything that Noah means to me.

“I don’t want to spend another day without you,” I say finally.

He stares at me, I hope with bewilderment. Or is he trying to figure out how to say no? Should I leave? Give up?

I think about Coach’s recollection about that guy in the restaurant who proposed to his girlfriend, and she said no.

Sometimes people say no.

Was this all in my head? Is Noah puzzled because this was never ever supposed to be forever? My mouth dries further, and I resist the urge to throw the mic on the ice and sprint to the exit and use all my savings to retire to somewhere that doesn’t show hockey on TV.

I square my shoulders and jut out my chin. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Noah blinks, and pink floods his cheeks.

“You do?” Noah breathes, and his eyes are so hopeful they make my chest ache with pain.

Relief surges against me, washing away all my doubt, all my fears, and I’m no longer on the verge of tottering. He wants this. I’m certain.

“Yes, baby. I do.” My voice no longer trembles, and I smile when I say my next words. “I love you. I want us to remain married. I want us to live happily ever after.”

He narrows the distance between us, and the sound of his skates brushing closer and closer to me is the sweetest sound in the world.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” Noah says. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“No way. Never.”

“But you wanted—” His lower lip trembles.

“I love you so much, baby. I couldn’t bear the thought that you were forced to be with me. I wanted a clean slate with you.”

“Oh,” he exhales, and I wonder if we can kiss now. He’s so adorable. And I want him to be mine for the rest of our lives.

“That’s sweet,” he says finally. “If I’d known...”

“I know.” Guilt still rages through me. “I thought you were upset I risked our reputations. I get it now. I’m sorry.”

He keeps his large, trusting, green eyes on me.

“Propose!” Someone yells, and the crowd laughs.

I scramble for my ring. I should have given him that to begin with.

Then I fall to my knees, and tears glaze Noah’s eyes. He blinks his beautiful long lashes rapidly, and I kiss his fingers.

“Will you stay married to me, Noah Fitzpatrick, and make me the happiest man in the world?”

A slow smile spreads over his face, even more brilliant than I remembered.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, Finn. I will stay married to you.”

I beam at him, then shout to the audience, “He said yes!”

My voice booms, no longer trembling, carried by all the force of the mic.

Cheers and clapping erupt on every side of me. The arena vibrates with happiness.

Then music plays, and balloons float from the ceiling like planned.

Noah pulls me up from the ice and back into his arms. We spin in a circle, and the world whooshes around us, a flurry of blue and pale blue and white.

I am in my favorite location with my favorite person.

Then something emerges from the crowd. They’re chanting something. No, they’re bellowing it.

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

Noah grins, his eyes dancing. “What do you say?”

“Guess we better do it.”

I dip Noah down, and my lips find his again, but my heart was always his. His tongue grazes against mine, and I suddenly understand why most people propose in private and not in front of tens of thousands of people, with hundreds of thousands of people able to watch it later.

And God, this video might hit a million views. We are, after all, the only married teammates in professional sports.

I never considered falling for a man, but back then, I’d never met Noah. He is the love of my life. He is my everything.

My teammates swarm the ice, and suddenly we are being encircled by twenty brawny men in skates.

I catch my parents’ gazes in the audience. Their eyes dance.

Perhaps Noah and I have been married since Vegas, but we were always aware that our marriage was an accident. We were never certain how much we were pretending to be in love. And now we know.

I’ll choose him over and over again.

I wrap my arms around Noah and lean in for another kiss as joy surges through me, moving faster than any puck over the ice.

NOAH

Finn’s gaze glitters, and he smiles at me with such fondness, I think my heart might break all over again.

Finn loves me. Finn wants me in his life. Finn wants me forever.

“I’m sorry about the letter,” he says.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“I missed you so much.”

“Same.”

We stare at each other, vaguely aware of our teammates slapping our backs and uttering congratulatory words. Luke and Troy, Axel and Dmitri, Evan and Vinnie grin at us.

Music blares through the stadium.

Finn extends a hand to me.  “Will you dance with me?”

“Here?”

“I think everyone knows about us.”  

I laugh, all the tension, the worry, the fear dissipating, and Finn’s eyes soften. I take his hand and we skate away from the crowd of hockey players thronging about us.

“Dance!” Troy shouts.

Finn’s look goes nervous.

“They didn’t teach dancing in etiquette classes for how to be a Boston gentleman?” I ask.

“Um, this isn’t the old days.”

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” I slide my right hand on his waist. “Then put your right hand in my left hand.”

He smiles.

“New Hampshire boys know how to dance.”

“That’s hot.”

“Course it is. I’m super hot.”

He laughs, delighted, and we sway on skates, scraping the ice in slow, curved movements. The audience whirls around us as we spin.

It’s—well—it’s not the most elegant thing in the world. I wish I’d taken ice dancing and not simply figure skating as a child. No one is getting thrown into the air tonight.

But we hold each other as we skate, and I think my mouth might fall off from smiling.

Then Evan and Vinnie murmur to each other, and next thing I know, Evan is wrapping his arms around Vinnie’s neck. And they’re swaying.

“Evan and Vinnie are dancing,” I say.

“Wow.”

They stare adoringly into each other’s eyes. They are officially out.

“I guess this isn’t just a big day for us,” I say.

But then all our teammates start to dance together. They move awkwardly, wrestling with how to hold each other. They shuffle back and forth, frowning in a concentration they probably haven’t shown the ice since they were two.

Nothing has ever made me smile so much.

Luke and Troy shuffle together, and Axel and Dmitri. Soon everyone is paired off, and they bumble in their pads and skates over the ice.

Cameras click, and yellow explodes through the arena. Couples gaze fondly at each other, and a few guests start dancing in the aisles.

Tanaka has a bemused, befuddled expression on his face, then he grins and gives me a thumbs up. Coach snorts and shakes his head.

The ice is filled with dancing men. Some people stare, others smile, and soon the whole crowd claps along to the beat of the love song.

EPILOGUE

Finn

One year later

Noah and I stroll over the super fancy carpet of the equally super fancy Vegas hotel. Vegas sparkles on the other side of the large glass windows.

“We might have been drunk, but we chose a nice hotel,” Noah says cheerfully.

“I chose a perfect husband,” I declare. If I sound smug, it’s because I’m fucking telling the truth.

“Right. I throw up when I get drunk, and you make brilliant life decisions.”

“Uh-huh,” I say happily.

“I accepted.”

“I mean. Your faculties were impaired. How could you ever say no this?” I gesture to my body, and Noah’s eyes flare.

Okay. We might be making out in the hallway soon. Which is hot, but not super appropriate.

“Where’s the keycard, my sweet puck?” I whisper.

“Pocket,” he murmurs.

I grin and dig for it, then frown. “It’s not there.”

“I didn’t tell you which one.”

My eyebrows sail upward, and I give a strangled laugh. “You weren’t this naughty last year.”

“I hadn’t been under your influence for a year.”  

Then my heart swells, because how can it not when I contemplate all the joy, all the laughter we’ve shared.

“Happy one year anniversary, husband,” I murmur.

I duck one hand into his breast pocket, one hand into his right front pocket, because I already searched for his keycard in his left front pocket.

I think I feel something in his right front pocket, but I pull out my hand.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I just remembered. That suit comes with pockets in the back.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen, and he rubs his succulent lips together. “You have to be diligent.”

“Uh-huh. Turn around, baby.”

Noah swings around and I perform a diligent search of his back pockets. Noah’s ass is high and round and firm, and I need to make sure I can’t feel a keycard.

And that’s how Evan and Vinnie find us.

“I heard this was a good hotel.” Vinnie shakes his head, clutching Evan’s hand.

They’re even more ridiculously affectionate than Noah and I are, and that’s super difficult. But then Evan is the captain, so it makes sense he would be an absolute overachiever. Ever since that first dance together when Noah said yes to a life of forever with me, Evan and Vinnie have been open to the public about their relationship.

People paid more attention to their dancing than to my stuttering proposal, which is for the best.

“Don’t bring the paparazzi here,” Vinnie says.

I roll my eyes. “Ha. They’re busy following Luke around.”

He and Evan shake their head and laugh, then enter their room.

Noah and I are alone in the hallway.

The distance between us narrows. I’m suddenly only conscious of the shape of Noah’s lips.

The elevator pings again, and Noah steps away and faces the wall. “We, um, should go.”

I know that move.

“Having trouble, Fitzpatrick?”

Noah glares at me, then he sweeps me into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a threshold, and you’re my spouse.” Noah fumbles in his right pocket for the keycard, presses it against the pod, then we enter.

I wrap my arms around Noah’s neck, as he fumbles with the lights. Rose petals are strewn over the floor, and a tray of Dom Perignon and two crystal glasses sit on the table.

“It’s like last time,” Noah says happily.

“We should enter every room like this.”

Noah chokes back a laugh. “Anniversaries only.”

I lift my head up and stare at the ceiling. “We should have a good sixty years of doing this.”

“You want me to call room service for some milk, old man?”

“No. I want you to fuck me.”

Noah’s eyes flare. “That’s an excellent idea.”

“Super excellent,” I say.

Noah flings me onto the bed. I stare down at the black diamond sheets. “They have the same ones.”

“Feeling sentimental, babe?”

“Always with you.”

Noah keeps his green eyes fixed on me, then he strips off his suit jacket.

“Sexy, my sweet puck.”

Then Noah rips off his tie.

“Hot.”

Noah glares at me, then tosses the tie onto the floor. I totally understand why I woke up last time to a clothes-strewn floor.

Noah’s long fingers stretches across his broad chest, and he unbuttons his shirt. He moves way too slowly, and I hop off the bed.

“I’ll help you!”

Noah glowers, lifts me in his arms which are somehow even more bulky than when we met, but I guess that’s the NHL for you, and throws me back onto the bed.

“Rude.”

“You have a job,” Noah says.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I want to see you naked in five seconds.”

That’s all it takes. I tear off my clothes, and Noah tears off his clothes, and I wonder if Noah and I did more than snuggle in our sleep on our wedding night.

Well, we can recreate a racy version.

“On your knees,” Noah says.

I scramble for the perfect pose, then sense Noah stalk behind me.

He’s so sexy. I married the sexiest husband possible.

“Like this?” I ask.

“Nah.” Noah flips me onto my back, then climbs up between my legs. “I want to see you.”

“Aw.” I grin into his dancing eyes, then his lips are upon me, and I wrap my arms around him.

There’s probably no chance Noah will flee, but I hold him against me, just in case. His heart beats against mine, and our bodies are soon slick with sweat.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you.”

“I mean, I really love you.”

He grins.

“Oh, no. I take that back.”

“What?”

“I mean, if you’re going to stop and stare at me. I mean, we could be kissing.”

He dives back into my arms. “Good call.”

Then there is much laughter, much love, and finally, much lovemaking.

And it’s awesome.

“Forever and ever?” I ask.

“And ever and ever,” he rumbles back, and if I didn’t decide to kiss him, I totally would still be staring at the ceiling with a blissful expression on my face.

A year ago, I assured myself everything would be fine, but I was wrong. It is fantastic, and I vow to spend the rest of my life showing Noah how happy I am that we ended up married. 

I hope you enjoyed spending time with Finn and Noah as much as I did. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review. The next book, Rule #2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show releases in December. It’s about Luke and Sebastian, the TV host who totally hates jocks, and who would be way too responsible to ever fall in love with the new Mr. Right of his dating show

RULE #2: NEVER JOIN A CHRISTMAS DATING SHOW

People are always surprised I’m single, but it’s never bothered me. As a pro hockey player, I’d rather spend nights off watching Sebastian Archer host dating shows rather than hanging out at grimy sports bars to flirt with puck bunnies.

But when my teammate signs me up as the leading man on Seeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition, my quiet life disappears. Instead of cozy nights in, I’m parading around Boston on festive dates with gorgeous women I’m supposed to be falling for.

The only problem? The person I can’t stop thinking about is the show's charming, jock-despising, way too attractive host.

It’s impossible. I’m supposed to find a wife. We’re being watched by millions of people, including my team’s management.

And I’m straight. Obviously.

Probably.

Maybe not.

Pre-order Rule #2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show.

Rule #.5: Never Crush on the Captain: A Single Dad MM Hockey Romance

Vinnie

The unwritten rule in hockey? Never crush on the captain.

Too bad I’m failing at that.

Single dad Evan McAllister is our adored team captain, attractive, and my all-around amazing former best friend. Oh, he’s straight too. That’s less of a positive for me. I’ve been distancing myself to smother my feelings, but that’s only confused him and totally hasn’t worked.

When a concussion leaves Evan needing care, I step in to help him and his daughter Stella. Evan’s not thrilled with me barging back into his life after I ghosted him, and the more we’re thrust into intimate circumstances, the harder it is for me to keep from blurting my secret.

Rule #.5: Never Crush on the Captain is a 25,000-word prequel novella to the Hockey Rules series. Read it now.

ABOUT PORTIA

When Portia is not writing, she is probably curling up with a good MM romance. She lives in a big city, within walking distance of a hockey arena. Sometimes she debates the merits of venturing out of her apartment to get coffee. On occasion she gallivants off for a beach getaway with her spouse, clutching her kindle.

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