CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

F inn

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.