CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

F inn

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.