CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

N oah

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.

NOA H

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.