Chapter 19
NOAH
The team flight to Detroit leaves at noon on Thursday.
I sit three rows behind the players with my laptop open, working on media schedules for the upcoming games. Danny’s two rows up, laughing at something Carter said.
He hasn’t looked back at me once. Good. That’s what we agreed to.
I grit my teeth. It still feels wrong.
My phone buzzes with a text from Marshall.
Make sure you coordinate with Detroit’s media team for pre-game interviews. They want Masterson.
Of course they do. The redemption story sells.
I text him back and put my phone away, ready to focus on work for the rest of the flight.
The team arrives in Detroit in the late afternoon. Everyone’s ready to check into the hotel and decompress before tomorrow’s game.
I stand in the lobby waiting for my room key when my father walks over to me.
“Everything set for tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yeah. Media’s coordinated, pre-game schedule’s locked in.”
“Good.” He furrows his brows and claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve seemed stressed lately.”
“I’m fine. Just busy with the media schedule and managing the Alex situation. He’s still in Oakland writing a profile piece on Masterson. I’m keeping an eye on it.”
“Should I be worried?”
Yes. But I don’t say that. “No. I’m managing it.”
“Okay. Good. See you at dinner.” He grabs his room key from the front desk and heads for the elevators.
I check in right afterward, get a key to room 512 and head upstairs. I drop my bag and check my phone when it pings.
My heart jumps into my throat when I see the text from Danny.
What’s your room number?
I hesitate, my finger hovering over the screen. This is risky. We’re traveling with the entire team and coaching staff. And everyone is scattered all around the hotel. We can be spotted. So fucking easily.
But I text him back anyway.
512. Yours?
438.
I shake my head. We can’t. Too risky.
I know. Just wanted to know where you are.
I put the phone down and try not to think about the fact that he’s one floor below me and I can’t see him.
At seven o’clock, the team gathers in the hotel restaurant. I sit at a table with my father and the assistant coaches. The players are scattered across several tables…Jack and Carter at one, Tate with defensemen at another, Danny with Cam and a few others near the window.
Dinner’s the usual pre-game meal of pasta, chicken, and salads. I listen to the conversation with half an ear, fighting the temptation to glance over at Danny. I eat, contribute when asked, and maintain my role.
It’s professional. Appropriate.
Across the room, Danny laughs at something Cam said. My eyes betray me and tangle with his for half a second too long.
Barely noticeable. I hope.
After dinner, I escape to my room. It’s barely eight-thirty, and I’m exhausted from maintaining this facade.
My phone buzzes.
Can I see you tonight?
I stare at the question. Every rational part of my brain screams fuck, no.
But I miss him.
Midnight. Give everyone time to settle in. Be careful.
I will.
At midnight, there’s a soft knock on my door.
I check the peephole, my pulse hammering hard at Danny standing in the hallway in a hoodie and sweatpants.
I open the door, pull him inside, and close the door.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” I fist his shirt and crush my lips to his.
We stumble toward the bed. He yanks my shirt over my head, his mouth on my neck, my collarbone, working down my chest.
“We have to be quiet,” I say, blood pounding between my ears.
“I know.” He drops to his knees and tugs open my pants. “I’ll be quiet. Can you say the same?”
He teases the tip of my cock with his tongue, then swallows me down, deep enough to hit the back of his throat.
I thrust against his lips, my fingers lost in his hair.
“Fuck,” I mutter as he drags his tongue along the underside of my cock. He cups my balls with one hand, kneading them. I jerk my hips against his mouth, thrusting faster until a blast of white light explodes behind my eyes.
I slap my hands against the wall, shuddering as the orgasm explodes out of me. And when I see Danny pull away, trickles of cum streaming from the sides of his mouth, fuck, it’s the hottest thing ever.
“Your turn,” I say.
“We don’t have time—“
“We’re making time.”
I push him onto the bed, strip off his pants, and take him into my mouth. He pulls a pillow and presses it over his head to keep quiet, his hips bucking against my mouth, and when he comes, I hear my name, muffled by the pillow.
I climb onto the bed and drop onto the mattress next to him.
He props himself up on one elbow. “It was probably stupid to sneak up here. But I couldn’t go three days without touching you.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m gonna go. Don’t want to press my luck.”
I watch him get dressed. He kisses me one more time, checks the hallway, and slips out the door.
I cover my face with the pillow, breathing in his scent.
That was reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.
And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The next day is game day. It’s the typical schedule…morning skate, team meeting, pre-game meal. I keep my distance, trying not to let anyone see how badly I want to pull Danny aside and devour him.
During the pre-game coordination, I’m working with Detroit’s media team when I see Alex.
My blood runs cold.
He’s here. In Detroit.
Of course he is. He covers hockey. This is his job.
He sees me and waves.
I don’t wave back.
We beat Detroit four to two. Zero penalties for Danny. Another big win.
After the game, Alex shows up while I’m coordinating post-game conferences.
“Noah. Good game tonight.”
I don’t bother to look up from my laptop. “I’m working.”
“Just wanted to say hi. I saw you at dinner last night. Good pasta.” He pauses. “Masterson played well tonight. But last night, he looked distracted. Kept looking around the room instead of at his teammates. I wonder what he was looking for.”
I shrug. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Maybe I will.” Alex smiles. “I’m staying through Sunday. Covering tomorrow’s game. Plenty of time to gather material for the article.”
Before I can respond, he walks away.
He noticed. He’s watching specifically for something between us. And he just let me know it.
I pull out my phone.
Alex saw us at dinner last night. He thinks we’re hiding something.
Danny’s response comes fast.
Fuck. What do we do?
Stay away from each other until we’re back in Oakland. No more risks.
Long pause.
Okay.
That night, Danny doesn’t come to my room. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, missing him like I haven’t seen him in a week.
We win the next game against Detroit. And I’m hyper-aware of Alex in the press box, waiting for us to fuck up.
After the game, I avoid the media room entirely. Knowing Alex, it’s the first place he’ll look for me. So I head back to the hotel and pack for tomorrow’s flight, distracting myself with the television.
A soft knock jolts me. I run over to the door and check the peephole.
Danny.
I open the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.” He steps inside anyway. “But I couldn’t leave Detroit without seeing you. Just give me five minutes.”
“If Alex sees you—”
“He’s at the bar with other journalists. I checked.” Danny closes the distance between us. “I needed to see you.”
He kisses me, and I melt into it despite every reason not to.
“After tomorrow, we’re back in Oakland,” I say when we break apart. “We can figure things out there.”
“Okay.” He kisses me again, softer this time. “I should go.”
“Yeah.”
He leaves, and I lock the door behind him, collapsing against it.
This is getting harder. The hiding, the constant fear of being caught.
But the alternative, not being with him at all, is so much worse.
I just hope we can figure out how to keep this secret long enough to survive whatever’s coming next.