2. Chapter 2 #2
Cole snorts softly, the sound warm and amused. His eyes stay closed, but his tone turns playful, wicked even in a whisper. “Yes, daddy.”
The word hits like a spark against dry tinder. My jaw tightens hard enough to ache and my pulse kicks once, heavy, in my throat. Without thinking, I press my thumb harder into the sensitive spot under the ball of his foot—a deliberate, sharp pressure meant as punishment.
Cole winces, a small hiss escaping between his teeth, but then he just snorts again—louder this time, clearly fighting a laugh even while half-asleep. His body trembles slightly with it, but he does not pull his feet away. If anything, he settles them more comfortably in my lap.
“Asshole,” he whispers fondly, voice thick with tiredness.
I do not respond. I simply ease the pressure and go back to the slow, soothing massage, my hands steady even as my pulse beats heavier in my throat. Cole seems to settle into actual sleep, that soft smile still lingering on his face.
I stay awake long after, staring into the darkness outside the window with Cole’s feet warm in my lap and the echo of that single teasing word burning in my ears.
Yes, daddy.
The plane touches down in Vancouver with a heavy thud that jolts most of the sleeping team awake.
Groans and muttered curses fill the cabin as everyone starts moving stiffly, gathering their things.
The boys are restless, cranky, exhausted from the long flight and the brutal practices leading up to this road trip.
Shane is muttering about cursed jet lag, Jace looks like a sad golden retriever who just wants his bed, and Tyler keeps yawning so wide I think his jaw might crack.
Even Mats is grumbling under his breath as we file off the plane and onto the waiting team bus.
The bus ride to the hotel is worse. Half the team turns into brats the second the doors close.
Elias is poking at Damian’s bad leg with fake concern until Damian swats his hand away with a low growl.
Cole is somehow still wired, chirping at anyone who will listen, while Roman makes dry Russian comments that only make things louder.
The energy is chaotic, exhausted, and ready to snap.
By the time we reach the hotel lobby, I am already counting down the minutes until I can lock myself in a room and pretend none of this exists.
Damian stands at the front desk like the commander he is, handing out keycards with his usual no-nonsense efficiency.
Zara gets her own room—smart man—and she thanks him with a crisp nod before disappearing toward the elevators. One by one, the pairs are called.
Mats and Shane. Tyler and Jace. Roman with one of the equipment guys.
Until only two keycards remain in Damian’s hand.
He looks down at them, then up at the remaining two of us. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small, smug smirk that immediately sets my teeth on edge. I know that look. It is the same one Elias wears right before he causes problems.
Cole and I are the only ones left without rooms.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Damian holds out the last keycard, still wearing that infuriating little smirk. “You two are adults. Figure it out.”
I glare at him hard enough that most people would take a step back. “You spend too much time with Elias.”
The words come out as a low groan. Clearly, the captain’s mischief has rubbed off on the coach. He paired us on purpose. I can see it in his eyes—the quiet satisfaction. He knows exactly what he is doing.
I snatch the keycard from his fingers before he can say anything else. “Unbelievable.”
Behind me, Cole starts laughing. He lights up like Christmas came early, all sharp teeth and sparkling eyes. “Hell yes. This is the best news I’ve had all week.”
I do not look at him. I cannot. Not when my chest feels too tight and my hands still remember the warmth of his feet in my lap on the plane. Instead, I turn sharply toward the elevators.
The rest of the team shuffles off to their rooms, still chirping and complaining, but I can feel eyes on us. Elias is definitely smirking. Damian looks far too pleased with himself. Even Zara looks back once with mild curiosity before disappearing down the hall.
Cole falls into step beside me as we head up, still grinning like an idiot. “C’mon, big guy. It’s just two nights. Try not to kill me in my sleep.”
I do not answer. I just grip the keycard tighter and stare straight ahead.
The elevator ride up is silent except for the low hum of the machinery and Cole’s occasional restless shifting beside me. When we reach our floor, I swipe the keycard and push open the door, stepping inside first. My eyes land immediately on the room’s layout and my stomach drops.
One bed. A decent-sized king in the center of the room, neatly made with crisp hotel sheets. And off to the side, a small couch that looks barely long enough for a normal person, let alone someone my size. The realization hits like a clean check into the boards.
“I hate him,” I mutter under my breath.
Cole peeks around my shoulder from behind, taking in the scene. He snorts, that bright, familiar sound cutting through the quiet tension. “He’s your best friend.”
“Hate him,” I repeat, stepping fully inside and slamming the door shut behind us with more force than necessary. The sound echoes in the small space like a final judgment.
Cole stands there for a second, then he lets out a dramatic little whine, the kind he uses when he wants attention. “Oh come on… is sharing a bed with me that bad?”
I turn and stare at him. Really stare. The easy grin on his face, the way he tries to play it off like a joke. Slowly, I raise one eyebrow in silent challenge.
Cole’s expression falters. He sighs, long and defeated, the performative energy draining out of him as he flops himself down onto the small couch. “Don’t worry, big guy… I’ll let you take the bed.”