CHAPTER TEN

F inn

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.