Chapter 16
TALIA
Hungry
Up until a few days ago, I didn’t know Jake could be sweet.
The first glimpse came the night I found the art supplies he bought for me. The supplies were amazing, but what really got me was his reaction. That gruff, almost embarrassed shrug when I thanked him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more endearing.
The second glimpse came after practice, when he walked in exhausted and told me about the charity event the team has to attend. The way he explained that I’d kind of have to come along. His sheepish expression. The way he could barely meet my eyes.
God. It did something to me.
So of course I said yes.
Not just because I helped create this mess. But because I wanted to.
Still, stepping onto the team bus is intimidating.
I stand at the bottom step for half a second too long, clutching my tote bag like it’s a shield, staring down a narrow aisle full of huge bodies and louder voices.
Everywhere I look is broad shoulders, expensive athleisure, and that confident athlete energy that makes me feel like I accidentally wandered into someone else’s world.
Which… I have.
At the very front of the bus, I spot my dad already seated, rigid posture, eyes forward. He gives us a stiff nod.
Jake is behind me, one hand on the rail, the other already reaching for my bag like it’s automatic. Like he’s done this a thousand times.
“I’ve got it,” he says low, and before I can protest he lifts it from my shoulder with casual ease.
It’s not even heavy.
But the gesture makes my stomach flip anyway.
Because it’s… boyfriend behavior.
Or whatever we’re calling this now, since my dad has apparently decided we’re a serious couple who moved in together.
My face warms just thinking about it.
I climb up the steps, trying not to trip.
Immediately, multiple heads turn.
Someone whistles.
Someone else goes, “Ooooh.”
“WELL, WELL, WELL.”
Jake steps up behind me, and the second they see him, the energy on the bus shifts into a pack mentality.
“Captain!” a blond rookie calls out. “You finally managed to get a woman?”
“Didn’t think it was possible,” someone else shouts from the back.
“I told you,” a handsome guy says loudly. I recognize him instantly. Declan Hawthorne. Even if you don’t follow hockey, you know who he is. “He’s too grumpy to date. It defies science.”
The bus erupts in laughter.
My cheeks go up in flames.
I take a cautious step into the aisle, trying to keep my smile polite, normal, not panicked.
Jake’s presence at my back is instant gravity. He’s quiet, but everything about him signals control. He moves like he owns the space, like he could silence a room just by looking at it.
He doesn’t.
He just keeps walking, bag in hand, as if he’s not surrounded by men who would happily die for him on the ice and roast him in public off it.
“Don’t,” Jake warns, his voice low.
Declan only laughs harder. “Oh my God. He’s completely gone.”
I glance up at Jake.
His jaw is tight.
He doesn’t look at me. He looks straight ahead and says, “Move.”
I try not to laugh at the sheer grumpiness of him.
It slips out anyway. Just a small sound.
Half the bus catches it instantly.
“Ooooh,” the rookie crows. “She laughs at him.”
“I like her already,” someone else calls out.
Jake turns his head slightly, giving me a look.
It’s not a glare.
It’s more like… don’t encourage them.
I press my lips together and nod solemnly like I’m being briefed for a mission.
Jake’s mouth twitches.
That’s it.
That’s all I get.
But it feels like a secret.
Jake stops near a row about halfway back.
“This one,” he says.
I glance at the seats.
They’re two together, which makes sense, but it also makes my heart do that stupid leap, because it means we’ll be sitting side by side for the entire ride. Like a real couple.
I slide into the window seat and tuck my legs in, trying to make myself smaller.
Jake stows my bag overhead without asking.
Another flip in my stomach.
I watch him settle into the seat next to me, long legs stretching out like the bus was built for giants and I somehow got permission to board.
The guys around us keep talking, loud and overlapping, throwing jokes like hockey pucks.
“Okay,” Declan says from across the aisle, leaning forward with a grin. “So what do we call you? Mrs. Captain?”
I blink.
Every single head on the bus turns toward me again.
Oh God.
I clear my throat and force a smile. “Hi. I’m Talia.”
There’s a chorus of greetings.
A few exaggerated waves.
A couple of players twist around in their seats to get a better look at me.
“I’m Connor,” says the rookie guy, pointing to himself like I might confuse him with someone else. “Resident troublemaker.”
“That’s accurate,” someone mutters behind him.
A tall, broad-shouldered player across the aisle gives me a polite nod. “Rhys,” he says simply. Then he gestures to the brunette sitting beside him. “And this is Elara.”
Elara smiles warmly. “Hi. I promise we’re not always this loud.”
Before I can respond, Declan leans forward dramatically. “Declan.” He hooks a thumb toward the woman next to him. “And this is Ivy.”
Ivy gives me a friendly wave. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Next to them, a dark-haired man sitting sideways in his seat closes the book he’s been reading and glances over the top of it with quiet curiosity.
“Marcus,” he says, giving me a small nod before resting the book on his knee again.
I relax a fraction. At least there are other women here.
Connor points at Jake. “You’re brave. That means you can handle his grumpy ass.”
Rhys nods solemnly. “Yeah. Any woman who willingly sits next to him on a team bus is either fearless or insane.”
“I’m both,” I say before I can stop myself.
The bus erupts.
Jake exhales beside me like he’s long-suffering, but I catch the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. He’s letting this happen. Letting them fold me into their world.
The bus jerks as it pulls away from the curb.
My stomach tilts with it.
I grip the armrest instinctively.
Jake’s hand comes down over mine without warning.
Warm. Steady. Anchoring.
My heart stumbles.
He doesn’t look at me. He keeps his gaze forward like this is nothing. Like he does this all the time.
“You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I nod quickly. “Yeah. Just… a lot of testosterone in one vehicle.”
His thumb presses once against my knuckles.
Then he lets go, resting his arm casually along the back of the seat.
As if he didn’t just short-circuit my entire nervous system.
Across the aisle, Declan is absolutely watching.
“Look at him,” he announces loudly. “Holding hands.”
He leans into the aisle and stage-whispers, “He’s so gone.”
“Captain’s in love,” Rhys adds dryly.
Jake doesn’t even glance at them. “Enough.”
“Okay, okay,” Declan says, lifting both hands. “I’m done. I support romance.”
Connor leans over the seat in front of him. “Maybe I’m not done.”
Jake finally turns his head, slow and lethal.
“Keep talking,” he says calmly, “and I’ll make you run suicides at the next stop.”
Connor throws his hands up. “All right, Cap. Message received.”
Someone further back starts playing music. Something loud and bass-heavy. A couple guys start debating where they’re stopping for food on the way. There are jokes about hotel rooms and who snores and who will get kicked out for trying to flirt with the charity committee.
I sit there and absorb it, overwhelmed and weirdly… entertained.
Jake doesn’t look at me, but his hand lifts and rests briefly on my knee.
The touch is casual, but my body treats it like a spark.
I stare at his hand, then up at his face.
He’s still looking forward, jaw set, like he’s unaware of what he’s doing.
I shift slightly, heart pounding, and his hand moves away after a second, like he remembers himself.
I stare out the window and try to calm down.
Outside, the city slides past in a blur. Inside, the bus is loud and warm and full of male energy and teasing.
And beside me, Jake sits like a wall.
***
A few hours later, we pull up in front of the hotel.
It’s intimidatingly elegant.
Glass doors. Polished marble floors visible through the entrance. Staff in crisp uniforms waiting inside like they’ve been briefed on our arrival. The air even smells expensive. Clean. Controlled.
The team pours out of the bus in a loud, laughing wave of athletic confidence, completely at ease in a space that makes me suddenly aware of everything about myself. Do I even fit in?
Jake steps down behind me, his hand brushing lightly against the small of my back as he guides me toward the entrance.
It’s subtle, but it sends a shiver up my spine anyway.
Inside, the lobby is even more intimidating. High ceilings. Soft lighting. Plush seating areas. A massive chandelier overhead that looks like frozen rain.
The team crowds around the check-in desk, all noise and movement and easy familiarity. Staff members greet Jake by name. By name.
He belongs in places like this.
I hover beside him, clutching my tote bag, trying to look like I’m not out of place.
Jake takes my suitcase from my hand without asking.
The team manager starts handing out keycards, calling names. “Morrison.”
Jake steps forward.
The manager glances at his clipboard. “Double occupancy.”
He hands Jake a keycard.
Jake takes it without reacting.
I don’t think anything of it at first. Double occupancy probably just means two people in the room.
Two beds.
Right?
Jake steps aside, and we wait while the rest of the team collects their keys. Declan winks at me. Connor gives Jake a knowing look.
Jake starts walking toward the elevators, suitcase in one hand, keycard in the other.
I follow automatically.
The elevator ride is crowded and loud. Too many bodies. Too much heat. Jake stands beside me, silent, solid, a quiet wall in the chaos.
When the doors open on our floor, the group spills out into the hallway.
Room numbers are called out. Doors open. Guys disappear inside, still talking and laughing.
Jake stops in front of a door near the end.
He swipes the keycard.
The lock clicks.
He opens the door and steps inside.
I follow.
And stop.
Because there’s one bed.
One. Large. Very unmistakable bed.
My brain freezes.
Jake sets the suitcase down slowly, like he’s buying himself time.
The room is beautiful. Neutral tones. Soft lighting. A bathroom visible through a partially open door.
I close the door behind me automatically, sealing us inside.
Neither of us speaks for a second.
I whistle softly through my teeth. “Well,” I say. “I bet you didn’t think of that.”
Jake exhales slowly but doesn’t look at me.
He stares at the floor like it personally offended him.
“We can share the bed,” he says finally. “And sleep.”
Sleep. Like it’s that simple. Like I won’t be hyper-aware of every inch between us. Like my body won’t remember the pool. His hands. His mouth.
I tilt my head. “Just sleep,” I repeat, as if testing the words.
“Yes.”
I study him.
He’s rigid. Controlled. Holding himself together through sheer force of will.
“Okay,” I say slowly, even though I don’t agree at all.
He nods once, relief flickering across his face. He thinks the decision is made.
So I add, very calmly, “And if we don’t just sleep?”
His head snaps up. Our eyes lock.
The air thickens instantly.
His pupils dilate just a fraction. His breathing shifts, barely perceptible but unmistakable. His voice turns hoarse. “Sunshine, we shouldn’t.”
I take a step closer.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
“Shouldn’t,” I repeat softly. “That’s not the same as don’t want to.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s not,” he agrees.
“So,” I say, reaching out and trailing my fingers lightly along the edge of the bed beside him, “to sum up: we’ll be sleeping in the same bed. But we won’t have sex because we shouldn’t. Not because we won’t want to.”
He sits there like a statue. “Yes.” The word sounds like it costs him something. Like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
I walk past him toward the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” I add.
He nods, still not quite looking at me.
“Okay.”
I close the bathroom door behind me and lean against it, my heart hammering.
This is insane.
There’s a beautiful, stubborn man I’m married to on the other side of this door. A man who won’t have sex with me.
I know I want to.
And I’m almost certain he wants to, too.
But somehow, that only makes it worse.
I turn on the shower and step under the hot water, letting it wash over me, trying to quiet my mind.
I can hear him out there. The low sound of him moving around the room.
Every noise feels amplified.
Intimate.
My brain betrays me instantly.
I picture him taking off his shirt. His hands moving over his body. The lines of muscle I’ve already memorized without meaning to.
Heat pools low in my stomach.
I close my eyes.
I stay in the shower longer than necessary, letting the steam wrap around me like armor.
Eventually, I turn off the water.
I dry off slowly, buying time.
My heart is still racing.
I wrap the towel around myself, securing it tightly across my chest.
Then I open the door.
Jake is sitting on the bed.
He looks up.
And everything stops.
His gaze locks onto me instantly.
Not casual.
Not polite.
Hungry.