Chapter 17
NOAH
I wake up to early morning sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and Danny Masterson’s arm draped across my chest.
For a moment, I just lie there, remembering every salacious minute we spent together.
We had sex. In my bed.
And I don’t regret it. At all.
That’s the part that should terrify me. The part that should send me into full panic mode, rebuilding walls, pushing him away, morphing back into the cold professional who keeps everyone at arm’s length.
Instead, I’m lying here watching him sleep, his face relaxed in a way I’ve never seen it, and all I can think is that I want to do this again. All of it. Over and over and over.
Which is a problem for a hundred different reasons.
Danny stirs, his eyes opening slowly. When he sees me watching him, a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Morning,” he says, his voice husky.
“Morning.”
“You’re still here.”
“It’s my house.”
“You know what I mean.” He props himself up on one elbow. “I half expected to wake up alone with a note saying, ‘this was a mistake, please leave.’”
I grin. “I considered it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t.”
He studies my face, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m about to bolt out the door. “So what happens now?”
That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?
What happens when the PR director sleeps with a player he’s supposed to be managing?
When the coach’s son gets involved with one of his father’s athletes?
When everything I’ve built my career on…
professional boundaries, appropriate distance, sound judgment…
gets thrown out the window because I can’t keep my hands off Danny Masterson?
“Now we figure out how to keep this quiet,” I say.
“So you want to keep it secret.”
“Do you want it public? Because I can draft the press release right now. ‘Raptors Communications Director in inappropriate relationship with player under disciplinary supervision. Coach’s son compromises professional integrity.’ How’s that sound?”
“When you put it like that...”
“Exactly.” I sit up and pull the sheet around my waist. “This stays between us. No one can know. Not your teammates, not my colleagues, definitely not my father.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Until we figure out what this is. Until Alex gets the hell out of Oakland. Until—“ I stop, run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Danny. I just know that if anyone finds out right now, it’ll destroy both our careers.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay? You’re good with that?”
“Yeah. We’ll keep it secret and be careful. We’ll figure it out as we go.” He reaches for my hand. “But we definitely don’t pretend it didn’t happen. We don’t go back to you being cold and professional and me wondering if I imagined everything.”
“I can’t promise I won’t be cold and professional at work. That’s literally my job.”
“I know. But when it’s just us...” He squeezes my hand and brings it to his lips, making sparks dance over my skin. “When it’s just us, you don’t have to be that person.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t know how to be any other person.”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
He leans in to kiss me, and it’s softer than last night. Less desperate. Like we have time now. Like this isn’t going to disappear the second we leave this room.
When we break apart, reality starts to creep back in.
“You need to leave,” I say. “Before my neighbors see that your truck was parked in the driveway all night.”
“Worried about your reputation?”
“Worried about someone recognizing you and putting two and two together.”
He glances at the clock. “It’s six-thirty on a Sunday morning. I think it’s safe to say your neighbors are still asleep.”
“Still. We need to be careful.”
“Right. Careful.” He gets out of bed, starts grabbing his clothes from the various spots we threw them last night. I watch him dress, trying not to think about how much I want to pull him back into bed.
“When will I see you again?” he asks.
“At the facility. Tomorrow.”
“I mean like this. Just us.”
“I don’t know.” I bring a hand to the back of my neck and squeeze the stress knot lodged there. “We have to be smart about it.”
He pulls on his shirt and looks at me. “You’re already planning how to keep your distance, aren’t you?”
“I’m planning how to keep us both employed.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when your career depends on maintaining professional boundaries.”
He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bed. “Noah. Last night wasn’t a mistake. Don’t turn it into one by overthinking everything.”
“I’m not overthinking. I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being scared.”
“I’m being smart. There’s a difference.”
He kisses me again, and I hate how easily I melt into it. How quickly my carefully constructed arguments evaporate once his mouth is on mine.
“Text me later,” he says when we break apart. “Let me know you’re not spiraling.”
“I don’t spiral.”
“You absolutely spiral. But I like you anyway.”
He leaves, and I’m alone in my bedroom with rumpled sheets and the lingering scent of his cologne and the uncomfortable awareness that everything just changed.
And at this point, I can’t say for sure if it’s for the better.
I shower, make coffee, and try to focus on work emails. But my mind keeps drifting back to last night. To the way he looked at me when I finally let him see me. To the way it felt to stop fighting what I’ve been feeling for weeks.
To the way I feel right now…terrified and exhilarated. Equally.
My phone buzzes a little while later with a text from Danny.
Made it home without being photographed by your neighbors. You’re welcome.
I smile despite myself.
Thank you for your discretion.
Is that what we’re calling it?
That’s what I’m calling it.
What are you doing today?
Laundry. Emails. Trying not to think about you.
How’s that working out?
Terribly.
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Good. I’d hate to be the only one struggling here.
I put the phone down, lean back against the couch, and cover my face with my hands.
But Danny’s right about one thing.
Last night wasn’t a mistake.
The mistake would be pretending it didn’t mean something.
The next morning, I show up at the arena at seven-thirty. It’s early enough that most people aren’t here yet and since I didn’t get much sleep, it wasn’t hard to beat the crowds. I need to be settled and composed before I have to see Danny.
Before I have to pretend nothing’s changed.
I’m in my office reviewing the week’s media schedule when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Dad walks in, still in his team jacket, looking tired.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning. Everything okay?” I lean forward in my chair, my pulse thrumming.
“Should be asking you that.” He sits down across from my desk. “You left right after the Edmonton game Friday. Didn’t stick around for the post-game briefing.”
With a shrug, I open a file folder on my desk and absently sift through papers. “I had some personal things to handle.”
“Personal things.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You’ve been different lately. Distracted.”
My stomach drops. “I’m fine. Just busy.”
“Is this about the Masterson situation? Because he’s doing better. The community service is going well, he’s stayed out of trouble since Vancouver—“
“It’s not about Masterson.”
The lie comes too quickly, and I sound way too defensive.
But it’s too late to backpedal now.
Dad raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”
“I’m just managing a lot right now. Alex Naylor is still here in the city working on a human interest piece on Masterson, and knowing him, it makes me nervous. Besides that, I have the usual media coordination, making sure everything runs smoothly…” My voice drifts off, jaw tightening.
“Alex Naylor. The journalist you used to date?”
“He covered Friday’s game but he’s still here. I’m keeping an eye on it.”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
More than you know. “He’s fishing for stories. I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t find any.”
“Good.” Dad stands. “Just don’t let it consume you. You’re doing a great job here, Noah. Better than I expected, honestly. Don’t burn yourself out trying to prove something that’s already proven.”
He leaves, and I sit there feeling like the world’s biggest fraud.
Because I am trying to prove something. That I deserve this job. That I earned it. That I can maintain professional standards and make good decisions.
And yet, I just slept with a player I’m supposed to be supervising.
At nine o’clock, there’s a mandatory team meeting. My heart kicks up, my body still feeling the aftershocks of my night with Danny.
I show up early, take my usual seat near the back, and keep my head down.
The players walk in. I see Danny immediately. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair still damp from his morning shower. I bite down on the inside of my mouth.
Hot. As. Hell.
Fuck my life.
He sees me. Our eyes meet for half a second.
I tear my gaze away first.
He takes a seat near the front with Carter and Jack. Doesn’t look back.
Good. I let out an unsteady breath. Professional. Exactly what we need to do.
The meeting’s standard stuff. Dad goes over the week’s schedule, upcoming road trip, and reviewing systems. I take notes and contribute when asked about media obligations.
Like nothing’s changed.
Like I didn’t spend Saturday night wrapped in Danny Masterson’s arms while he fucked me six ways from Sunday.
After the meeting, I stand up, feeling eyes on me.
“Noah.”
A shiver ripples through me and I turn to see Danny standing behind me, close enough that I can smell his deodorant.
“Masterson. Something I can help you with?”
His jaw twitches at my formal tone. “Just wanted to confirm the next community service event. Saturday?”
“Yes. Ten AM. Same location.”
“Got it.” He looks at me like he’s trying to read something in my expression but I keep my face stoic. “You good?”
“Fine. Just busy.”
“Right. Busy.” He sweeps a hand through his hair. “See you Saturday then.”
“Yep. Saturday,” I say with a curt nod.
He walks away, and I’m left standing there hating how much of an asshole I just sounded like.
But that’s what we agreed to. Secret means acting normal. Acting normal means cold and professional.
Even if it feels wrong now.
As I walk back to my office, my blood ices at the sight of Alex Naylor loitering in the hallway outside. He’s talking to a few people, laughing and smiling. Fakest motherfucker I’ve ever met.
He’s still here. Three days after covering the game he was supposed to cover because he wants more of a headline.
He sees me and waves like we’re old friends.
My stomach dips. I duck into my office, close the door, and lean against it.
He’s still digging. I know him. He’s relentless and he’ll stay close to find whatever story he thinks is here.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out and see the text from Danny.
That was fun. Acting like strangers.
We’re not strangers. We’re colleagues maintaining professional boundaries.
Is that what we’re calling it?
That’s what it is.
Felt like bullshit to me.
Welcome to having a secret relationship.
The dots appear and disappear a few times and my throat tightens more and more with each passing second.
When can I see you? Actually see you. Not this cold professional dickhead version.
I scrape a hand down the front of my face. The optics aren’t ideal. People might notice if we’re both missing at the same time. And if Alex is still lurking…if he ever saw us…
I shake my head as I answer.
I don’t know. We have to be careful.
You keep saying that.
Because it’s true.
I know. Doesn’t make it easier.
Nothing about this is easy.
Worth it though?
I stare at the question before my fingers type my response.
Yes. Worth it.
Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.
I put the phone down and try to focus on work.
But all I can think about is how I’m supposed to maintain this almost impossible balance.
Be cold and professional at work. Be real and vulnerable in private. Keep everyone from noticing. Keep Alex from finding out. Keep my father from suspecting anything.
An hour later, my door opens without a knock. I look up.
Alex Naylor walks in, press credential still around his neck, that easy smile on his face.
“Hey, Noah. I’m heading out soon and just wanted to say hi.”
My stomach tightens. “Heading out as in heading back to Chicago?”
“No, actually. I’m still working on some follow-up for the Masterson piece.” He leans against the doorframe. “Interesting team meeting this morning. Masterson seemed...focused.”
“He’s a professional athlete. That’s his job.”
“Right. Professional.” Alex smiles. “Anyway, I’m at the Marriott if you want to grab a drink while I’m in town.”
“I’m busy,” I say.
He just smiles like I didn’t just shut him down. “Of course you are. See you around, Noah.”
He leaves, and I sit there with a knot in my stomach.
He’s staying. He’s watching. And that’s enough to make everything feel dangerous.