“My cocktails are not poison,” I say primly. “And wheatgrass shots are an important part of any athlete’s diet.”
“I, um, don’t need cocktails,” Noah says in a soft, strained voice. “Beer is fine.”
“The important thing,” I declare. “Is to party. And to all become friends.”
“And live happily ever after?” Troy’s eyes glint.
“I am pro living happily ever after.” I don’t meet Noah’s eyes when I say it, and he seems occupied with studying the shape of the cubbies.
Noah seemed cool this weekend with the whole living together and acting married thing, but forever is an awfully long time for two people who met a week ago.
I’m relieved when Troy excuses himself to get a massage, and the other guys dissipate, choosing lifting and the machines over teasing me about my bartending skills.
“You should have a real wedding,”Luke muses.
“We had a real wedding.”
“With tuxes and things.”
“We were in suits.” I glance at Noah because the whole night was fuzzy.
“You should have tuxes,” Luke says. “And boutonnieres.”
“That’s a big word for a hockey player.”
“You should watchFinding Mr. Right,”Luke says happily. “They’re doing a Christmas special in Boston. I want to see if I can watch a filming.”
“Isn’t the whole point ofFinding Mr. Rightthat people are all stuck together?”
“Nah. They’ll film it around Boston. We can casually—”
“Film bomb them?” I raise an eyebrow.
Luke’s expression takes on a dreamy tone. “That would be so cool.”
I shrug. “See Noah? The Blizzards are a great team. Super romantic.”
“Cool,” Noah says, and he seems a bit less nervous than before, and I’m sure everything is totally going to be okay.
But when Vinnie and Evan arrive and they cast long, assessing glances at us, I’m rather less confident that we’re getting away with this.
Because they’re onto us.
Maybe they remembered we weren’t acting like secret boyfriends in Vegas. Because wouldn’t I have mentioned them to Noah if we were? Discretion isn’t one of my top twenty qualities.
A shiver slinks down my spine, and I usher Noah to the machines far away from where Evan and Vinnie work out.
I’m not sure it’s enough distance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Finn
I burst onto the ice and line up for the faceoff with New York. The New York players are mean. Their coach seems to find joy in picking the people with the most aggressive instincts, then honing that aggression so everyone will cede their puck to them.
I’m not scared. Anxiety isn’t a Carrington thing. Well, my cousin Cameron was anxious, but since he’s approaching billionaire-level wealth and is no longer a child, I doubt that’s still the case.
But this time the New Yorkers encircle me, and even behind their masks, it’s easy to see their smirks. A dull feeling drops through me.
