CHAPTER THIRTY

N oah

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.