I inhale his scent, and my heartbeat quickens. I feel his gaze on me, but when I look at him, his gaze is focused straight ahead, at the brown double doors, and a ruddy color ascends his cheeks.
Others exit their rooms.
Doors slam, people chatter.
By the time we reach the breakfast room, he’s trembling.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “They’re good guys. Everyone is cool withEvan and Vinnie.”
He nods, and his cheeks flame, and I remember that Vinnie said that Noahwasn’tcool with Evan and Vinnie.
How painful is this charade for Noah? What have I dragged him into?
Guilt gnaws me as we reach the breakfast room. Forks and knives scrape against plates, people gulp coffee in desperate swallows, and our teammates are scattered throughout the large room. I want to take his hand as we enter, ruse intact, but something away the way he steels himself and the terrified expression of his eyes makes me not do so.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Noah
My hands sweat as I pretend to watch an action movie even though I long ago last track of how the characters go from explosion to explosion. I shift my position on the swanky white leather seat of the team’s private jet, and it squeaks beneath me.
We’re going to Boston.
And I’m going to move in with Finn.
My husband sleeps beside me as we fly back from San Jose, but he rests his head against the window, as if to get as far away as possible while still feigning happy wedded bliss. Around us teammates play cards and chatter after yet another victory.
The plane lands, and Finn blinks sleepy eyes at me. I have to pull my gaze away, lest he wonder why I’m staring into them, as if I want to estimate the precise length of each thick black eyelash.
“I need to pack up my hotel room,” I tell him, my voice low, as we exit the plane. “I could stay there tonight.”
He frowns. “I have clothes and a spare toothbrush. We can go there tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Finn orders an Uber, and it drops us at his Seaport apartment. We’re quiet as he swipes his keypod to enter the gleaming lobby, we’re quiet as we stand in the elevator and it whooshes to the top floor, and we’re quiet as we enter the apartment.
We had no problem talking in Vegas, but now my mind is dull and thick as I try not to stare at my husband. My gaze bounces around the gleaming counters, no longer covered with bottles of alcohol and squished limes and sugar grains. Nobody is here except us, and no hip-hop beat booms.
“Home, sweet home,” Finn says after an awkward pause, and I give an awkward laugh.
“So you’ve seen the living room and kitchen already,” Finn continues, and we both look at the bathroom door. Finn is thankfully silent. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
I follow Finn down a corridor that manages to look equally expensive. The floor is dark and glossy, and modern art hangs on the walls, splotches of bright color.
Finn opens the first door. “I use this as an office and exercise room.”
“Cool.” I nod at the high-end equipment.
Finn closes the door. “And this is my guest room. I thought you might want to use it.” He blinks, and his forehead crinkles. “I mean, this is your room. It has an ensuite.”
It’s far fancier than anything I’m accustomed to. I drop my bag on the corner.
“I’m on the other side,” Finn says. “If you need me, I’m there.”
“Okay.” I give him a reassuring smile, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly.
He hurries away, and I’m alone.
