Finn’s gaze flickers to my hand. “Let me see.”
His tenor voice cuts through me, and I hold out my hand meekly. Even though he plays hockey, his skin is soft. Probably something to do with moisturizer or something.
“That’s my ring,” he says flatly. “My class ring.”
“It’s on my finger.”
“Yeah.”
We stare at the document again.
Shit.
Did I accidentally marry Finn Carrington? Hockey star Finn Carrington? The star of my favorite YouTube channel? The nicest, kindest, most fun man I ever met?
Guilt swirls through me.
“Thisis my fault.” I tumble onto the fancy floor.
Finn’s eyes widen, and he dives beside me. The room spins, my hangover, only the second one I’ve had in the world, strong.
“I’m so s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”
My heart speeds, my nerve endings jump back and forth, my world skitters.
“Dude, I proposed.” Finn lays a hand over mine.
I gaze at him, wide-eyed.
Finn removes his hand, then stares ahead. “I’m sorry. Obviously, I’ll fix this. We’ll get a divorce.”
“An annulment,” I say eagerly, “since we didn’t, you know...”
He glances down at me. Maybe he’s thinking about how I’m not wearing boxers.
I’m thinking about how he’s not wearing boxers. I think about his bare cock, covered by a layer of diamond-patterned blanket. Did I touch it? Did I hold it in my hand? Did I stroke it? Lick it? My cock twitches, and I squeeze my legs together.
Finn does not need to see me get hard. Absolutely not.
“I mean, we wouldn’t have, you know, since we’re straight,” Finn reassures me.
“Totally,” I affirm, nodding multiple times, even though I’ve been feeling less straight lately. I’ve felt untethered, finding things appealing I’m not supposed to. Like broad shoulders and flat chests and muscles that ripple over sturdy bodies. I’ve been feeling...off.
Maybe I’ve always felt that way, and never examined it. Plastering one’s childhood bedroom with posters of hockey stars isn’t unusual behavior. Any questionabout liking men...that way, would have been absurd when I had Abby at my side, on the rare occasions we made our schedules work and saw each other.
But now, I’m unsure.
My heart pounds, shoveling blood away and rearranging my organs. My insides feel slippery, like when one tries to stop suddenly on the ice and can’t. I am out of control.
“Noah?” Finn asks, his eyes round.
I want to tuck myself under the outrageous heart-shaped bed and wait until these feelings subside.
“I don’t remember much of last night,” I confess.
“I don’t either.” He frowns. “I think we went into a fountain.”
I blink. “Maybe that’s why we took off our clothes.”
