Rule #1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate (Hockey Rules #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

N oah

I sprint toward the puck. I’m practically flying over the ice. The arena’s lights seem to brighten, and I’m only vaguely aware of the crowd of blue-and-white jerseys on the other side of the glass.

I move my stick, intercepting the Chicago player’s pass, and whack it toward one of my teammates. I hurry forward, ready for any passes.

Then the puck glides toward me. Luke is open, and I can send it to him. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Except something else catches my eye.

The goal.

I don’t have the best position. They also don’t expect me to aim for it.

And so I do.

I adjust my grip on my stick, then strike the puck.

The light flashes.

God.

I did it.

I scored.

Happiness thrums through me, then Luke tackles me into a bear hug. We spin on the ice, then separate to play more.

I wrestle the puck away from a Chicago player.

“Hello, Fitzpatrick.” The Chicago player narrows his gaze. “You enjoying being in a game and not just on a magazine cover?”

“Jealous?” I wink as I flick the puck away from him, then head back to the benches with the rest of my line.

I float around the arena. My training is stronger than ever.

FINN

EACH MORNING NOAH MAKES breakfast for us, as interested in keeping us healthy as I am. Our refrigerator is filled with cucumbers and kale, lemons and lettuce, mangoes, and melons, and I awake to the sound of him fiddling with the juicer and blender. Sometimes he broils eggs in bell peppers or sweet potatoes.

Though he’s shy about being on the camera, he loves learning about filming, and he makes B roll for me.

“You can wake me up,” I tell him.

His cheeks redden. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You want to surprise me every day.”

“Because I want to start off every day good.”

“The day would be better if you were sitting on my lap,” I say.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Maybe straddling my lap.” My throat dries because that totally sounds hot.

“I would hate for the day not to start amazing for you,” he says.

Then he straddles my lap, and we grin at each other.

God, the man is so handsome. How did I ever not know that the most amazing sight in the world was not a man with sparkling green eyes and short dark hair and a sturdy jaw? I trail my fingers along his cheekbones, then capture his lips with mine.

Today, we float into the locker room, and a few of the other guys smirk when they see us.

“Enjoying the honeymoon?” Luke asks.

“Uh-huh.” Noah plops onto the bench. He has a blissful expression on his face, and I smile.

“Someone’s well-fucked,” Axel says.

Noah stiffens, and I avert my gaze.

We haven’t fucked yet. I’ve dreamed about it, fascinated about it, but I’m not sure if he wants to go that far. Though I mentioned it earlier, we haven’t talked about it since. To be honest, I’m not sure how into it I am. How can I suggest doing something with him that I’m not sure I want done to me?

We’re both in our early twenties. We’re at our sexual peak. But when all this ends, does Noah want to tell someone that he used to get fucked?

Uncertainty moves through me, and when I look at Noah, he is on the other side of the locker room, talking to Evan.

“Finn! Noah!” Coach Holberg interrupts me from my reverie. “Come.”

I dart a glance at Noah. His eyebrows are up, his demeanor as worried as mine.

“Did we do something wrong?” I ask carefully.

Coach sighs. “Come with me. Now.”

A few of the other guys give us tight smiles. Having to speak to Coach alone is not a good sign. Noah and I have been in the news too much. We were once worried about feigning being together, but now that we’ve realized that part comes easy to us, we’re everywhere. Wasn’t Tanaka worried about us? Didn’t he complain that he bought a sports team?

We’re not going to be traded. We’re not going to be traded. We’re not going to be traded.

Coach Holberg flings open a door, and it’s not to his office.

Tanaka greets us with a cursory nod. He sits at a desk.

God, we’re in Tanaka’s office. Why?