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CHAPTER 14

BELL

I thought I could keep things casual. Scratch the itch. Burn off the tension. Keep my heart zipped up where he couldn’t reach it.

But I’d done the unthinkable, and I’d fallen for him. Hard. Not just a little crush or some inconvenient feelings. Nope, that would have been easy.

What wasn’t easy?

Being in love with Ethan Fucking Harrison.

Every day, I woke up pretending his kisses didn’t wreck me. That it didn’t matter when he begged for me in the dark, but acted like nothing had happened the next morning. Pretended I didn’t want to say those three stupid words—out loud—every time he touched me.

Hi, welcome to my TED Talk. I am a dumbass.

Despite knowing better, I kept letting him use me, and I used him right back. Touched him like it didn’t kill me when he rolled away afterward, muttering, “Fuck, I needed that.” Like it meant nothing that behind closed doors, he fell apart for me, but the second we stepped outside, he went back to acting like I didn’t exist.

I was a walking, talking cliché who didn’t have the first clue why we were sitting shoulder to shoulder, waiting to be called into a meeting with the General Manager and head of PR.

Ethan looked stoic and miserable, like he always did around anyone who wasn’t me. Like he hadn’t spent last night tied to my headboard, stuffed full and drooling around my cock.

Now, that same mouth was set in a grim line, his arms crossed tight like he was bracing for a fight.

Probably with me.

And still, my stupid heart tripped over itself.

I tore my gaze away, bouncing my knee and trying not to fidget like a guilty kid waiting to go into the principal’s office. Maybe they knew. Maybe the team found out. Maybe?—

“Sit still,” Ethan chastised, the expression on his face the human equivalent of a thundercloud.

“Okay, Dad.”

He gave me a look. The one that made most rookies cower. The one that just made me want to climb him like a tree.

I sprawled deeper into the hard plastic chair, my arm draped lazily over the back. I looked calm, like I didn’t have a care in the world, when really, I was two seconds away from dropping to my knees beside this sad, dying ficus tree and asking Ethan Harrison to love me back.

“Seriously, though,” he muttered, glancing around the empty hallway. “What the hell do you think this meeting is about?”

I shrugged, pretending my heart wasn’t hammering itself to death. “Probably offering me a raise for carrying your grumpy ass through October.”

His mouth twitched, the tiniest flicker of a smile.

Score one for Bell.

“You’re delusional,” he said flatly.

“And you’re in denial,” I chirped back sweetly.

He gave a low, warning growl under his breath—the same sound he made when he was seconds away from shoving me down onto the nearest mattress—or wall, or counter, or just about anywhere—and fucking me.

I had to bite back a groan as my cock twitched.

Before I could say something dumb, Chris Ramos waved us into his office. “Harrison. Bell. Come on in.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and popped up out of my seat like my ass was on fire. I sauntered inside, Ethan following behind and letting out a heavy sigh. Without even looking, I knew his scowl was firmly back in place.

The GM’s office was both too bright and too dark. Harsh, hospital white fluorescent lights flickered overhead, their hum a static in my brain, while the deep wood tones of the desk and bookcases reminded me too much of my dad’s study back in Cleveland. The air smelled faintly of a cinnamon-scented candle and stale tobacco.

I hated it immediately.

Ethan and I dropped into the leather chairs facing the big desk while Ramos settled behind it. Beside him stood Dante Crane, our head of Public Relations, along with Blair Kennedy, the team’s social media manager, and two younger guys in navy blue polos who I assumed were part of the marketing team, though I wasn’t sure in what capacity.

“Thanks for coming in,” Ramos said. “We’ll keep this quick. First off, good job, both of you. Excellent work the last few weeks.”

Ethan gave a stiff nod while I grinned like an idiot. He might be the one with a literal praise kink, but I was never one to turn down a compliment.

“Carrying the team on my back,” I chirped, stretching lazily and winking at the marketing interns. “It’s heavy work, but someone’s gotta do it.” It was bullshit and I knew it, but I liked to keep people on their toes.

Ethan huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh or a sigh of pure despair. Hard to tell with him sometimes.

Dante smiled politely, used to my shit by now. “Actually, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.” She tapped the folder sitting on the corner of the desk. “You two have become a bit of a phenomenon.”

I raised a brow. Ethan’s scowl only deepened.

“So, umm …” Blair started, casting a nervous glance at her boss, who gave her a tiny, encouraging nod. Blair cleared her throat and started again. “Every time we post anything on social media channels featuring you two together—umm, whether it’s practice clips, Bell’s goal celebrations, or candid shots—our engagement triples. Fans really love your dynamic,” she rushed out, her hands knotting nervously in front of her.

I snuck a look at Ethan. His jaw was rigid, a tiny muscle ticking in his cheek. Unfortunately, I knew that look. He was locking down his emotions, activating retreat mode.

Not good. But maybe not a total disaster yet.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase. We’re planning to launch a new behind-the-scenes series featuring the two of you,” Dante continued smoothly.

I didn’t know if she hadn’t noticed Ethan’s discomfort or if she was used to him shutting down like this and was choosing to ignore it. “Things like a day-in-the-life video, mic’d up practice footage, maybe even a TikTok challenge or two.”

I gave her a thumbs-up. She was speaking my language. “Sounds fun.”

Ethan continued to sit there like a slab of granite, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’d rather eat glass than film a TikTok with me.

“Obviously, we’ll clear everything with you first,” Dante continued, finally casting a nervous glance in Ethan’s direction.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Nothing invasive, of course. We want it to feel natural.”

Ethan finally spoke. “I’m not doing anything stupid.”

“Define stupid,” I teased.

Because lately? Everything we did together off the ice was stupid. And reckless. And oh so fucking amazing that I feared I’d never experience anything like it again for as long as I lived.

Ethan shot me another look. One that said shut the fuck up before I make you pay for it later .

And honestly? It made my skin prickle in the best way.

Ramos chuckled, oblivious to the tension thrumming between us. “You’ll have final approval over what gets posted. But the point is, our fans love the two of you together. The banter. The chemistry.”

Chemistry .

The word hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. They thought we were funny. Cute and marketable.

They had no idea what we really were.

And no one ever would.

I swallowed hard and pasted on a smile. “Sounds great,” I said brightly, ignoring the way that thought terrified me.

“We’ll get everything set up after practice tomorrow,” Blair said. “If you have any concerns, let me know.”

Ramos stood, signaling the meeting was over.

Ethan was on his feet immediately, practically lunging for the door. I followed, my heart a heavy, stupid thing dragging behind me.

The second we were in the hall, I bumped his shoulder. “Relax. It’s not like they asked us to start an OnlyFans. Though, can you imagine?” I waggled my brows.

He snorted, shaking his head in a way that let me know he thought I was hopeless. “See you later,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and turning in the opposite direction.

I let him go, watching the broad set of his shoulders, feeling helpless and heartsick. And I didn’t have the first clue how the hell to stop wanting him.

* * *

Blair was buzzing around the space, fiddling with a ring light and a tripod. Not my favorite brand, but probably better for the harsh overhead lights of the arena. Behind her, the two interns from that meeting in Ramos’s office—guys I’d taken to calling Skinny Jeans and Gun Show because no one had ever actually introduced them by name—were hauling two heavy chairs out onto a blue carpet set up on center ice.

“Thanks again for agreeing to do this.” Blair flashed a timid smile at Ethan and me. Between that meeting and her nerves now, I got the impression this was the first big project Dante had put her in charge of, and she was desperate for it to be a success.

I could have told her that she’d picked the grumpiest guy on the team and there was little chance the footage would wind up being what she had in mind, but I felt bad raining on her parade.

I was fucking the guy, and even I couldn’t make him do what I wanted.

Well, most of the time, at least.

Alone at night in his bed, our bodies slick and sticky with sweat and cum, he was all soft sighs and sweet grins. And every now and then, when he was extra blissed out, he’d curl up beside me and talk. Tell me about what it was like growing up in the town where we’d gone to college, about his siblings and their kids. Confess how much he missed them, but didn’t know if he’d ever go back.

As much as I loved the sex—because really, it was the best I’d ever had—those conversations were my favorite part about … whatever it was that we were doing.

“And thanks for posting that teaser yesterday, Bell,” Blair continued, pulling my attention back to the reason we were here on our day off. “We got a couple thousand new followers almost immediately, and they’ve been steadily trickling in ever since.”

“Anything for you,” I said, putting a little extra sweetness into my tone.

From behind me, I heard the sounds of a poorly disguised snort.

I flashed Ethan a grin and a wink over my shoulder.

He rolled those pretty hazel eyes of his in response.

I turned to face him. Walking backward, I lifted my hands, palms facing upward, as if to ask What are you gonna do? Just because we were dicking each other down almost every night and blowing each other most mornings didn’t mean I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get my flirt on with a pretty girl … even if I was beginning to think something was going on between her and our center forward.

Ethan rolled his eyes even harder.

“Careful, or they might get stuck like that,” I teased, sticking my tongue out.

When he kept scowling, I flicked it side to side—a crude facsimile of how I’d moved it against the underside of his crown that morning.

His nostrils flared.

I chuckled and, glancing around to make sure Blair and the interns were still at my back, repeated the gesture slower this time, my movements more deliberate.

“Stop it,” he mouthed silently, his eyes scanning the area to make sure no one was watching.

“So paranoid,” I mouthed back, shaking my head.

I turned back around in time to see Gun Show gesture to the chair on the left. “Let’s have you here, Mr. Bell, and you in the other one, Mr. Harrison.”

I barked out a surprised laugh as I sprawled into the high-backed chair. “Dude. Mr. Bell is my dad, and that guy’s a dick. It’s just Bell.”

His cheeks turned pink, and he rocked back on his heels. “Uh, yeah. Okay, Mister … Bell,” he finished lamely, his face beginning to resemble the tomatoes still growing in Marjorie’s planter boxes.

Ethan sat down beside me with a grunt and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up around his head. His knee bounced restlessly, a nervous tick that was more typical for me than it was for him.

The Ethan Harrison I’d met all those weeks ago had been almost preternaturally still. His gaze fixed, eyes always watching and assessing. He still frequently wore that stony mask—the one that said approach at your own risk—but since we’d started hooking up, he’d lost a bit of that stillness. He was more fidgety these days, almost like his skin could no longer contain his anxiety.

I’d managed to work up the nerve to ask him about it a couple of nights ago after we beat Pittsburgh, but he shut that line of questioning down the best way he knew how—by hoovering my cock into his wet, warm mouth.

I hadn’t gotten the answers I wanted that night, but I’d learned a few other things about Ethan Harrison. Like the fact that he’d somehow mastered his gag reflex.

A scrape of movement to my left caught my attention.

Skinny Jeans handed me a small whiteboard, lingering half a second too long when our fingers brushed. “This is going to be so great.” He flashed me a flirtatious little smirk that did absolutely nothing to heat my blood. There was a time, not too long ago, that it would have.

But because he seemed somehow integral to this project being a success, I played along. With a wink and a grin, I gave him just enough to go home today feeling good about himself. “Go easy on me. I’m delicate.”

Skinny Jeans chuckled, his chest puffing up a little.

Next to me, Ethan’s knee stopped bouncing. He sat up straighter, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowing as he watched the guy walk away. “Cut it out,” he muttered, low and sharp.

“Cut what out?”

“Don’t flirt with him.”

“I wasn’t,” I whispered back, trying to keep my voice low enough that no one would hear. A quick glance told me Blair, Guns, and Jeans—god, I really needed to learn their names—were several feet away, heads bent low over a piece of paper.

Ethan’s fingers curled into fists on his thighs. “Sure looked like it.”

That edge in his voice—that flick of irritation—made me pause.

Wait.

Was he jealous?

Before I could ask, Skinny Jeans returned, holding out erasable markers for Ethan and me to take.

Looking to test my theory, I let my fingers graze the kid’s when I grabbed the pen he offered, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary.

A low rumble echoed next to me.

Oh my god. Ethan was jealous.

I should not be as turned on by this discovery as I was, but this was pure fucking gold. How far could I get him to go before he snapped? Before he dragged me to a closet to show me exactly who I belonged to?

I knew I was poking the bear. I also knew I wasn’t about to stop.

I leaned in slightly toward the intern and dropped my voice to a purr. “You gonna make me look good?”

He flushed a deep scarlet and ducked his head.

Ethan made a sound so dark and dangerous it barely qualified as human, and the kid tripped over his own feet as he quickly backed away.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Before I could enjoy the moment for too long, Blair clapped her hands to get our attention. “This is going to be super easy. We’re going to start with Ethan. I’ll ask you, Bell, a question about your roommate-slash-linemate-slash-victim—” she grinned at her joke “—and you’ll both write your answers on your whiteboard. Make sure you keep it secret—no peeking. Then, I’ll repeat the question, and you’ll hold up your boards at the same time. Remember, you only get points if you match.”

The little red light on her camera blinked on. “Okay, first question,” she called out. “Bell, what’s your roommate’s go-to pre-game meal?”

I snorted at how easy this was and started scribbling. When I was done, I flipped my board over onto my lap. Even though I wasn’t supposed to peek, I couldn’t help darting my eyes in his direction.

He was still writing. After a few seconds, he used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the board clean and started over. Finally, he finished answering, muttering something under his breath about “stupid fucking game.”

“All right, boys. On the count of three—one, two, three.”

I flipped my board to the camera and leaned forward to see how Ethan had answered. I couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of my mouth.

On his board, he’d written, “Half a box of pasta with one chicken breast, a head of steamed broccoli, no butter, and three glasses of water .”

“That is … extremely detailed,” Blair said, her voice shaking—whether from suppressed laughter or nerves, I wasn’t sure.

She turned her attention to my board, where I’d written, “Pasta with chicken and a weird amount of broccoli.”

She chuckled. “I’ll allow it.”

Ethan gave a noncommittal grunt, wiping his board clean with more force than necessary. His knee was bouncing again, and I caught the quick flick of his eyes toward Skinny Jeans, who was hovering off to the side, pretending not to stare at me.

I grinned into my marker cap. Possessive Ethan was my new favorite Ethan.

“All right, next question,” Blair called, flipping to a new index card. “What’s your roommate’s worst habit?”

I barked out a laugh and began scribbling furiously.

Ethan shot me a sharp look like he knew I was about to ruin him.

“On three,” Gun Show said. “One, two, three!”

We flipped our boards simultaneously to reveal that I’d written, “ Mutters to himself like a crazy person when he thinks no one’s listening ,” while Ethan had answered, “ He sheds everywhere. Also won’t shut up .”

I threw my head back and cackled. This was so much fun.

“I do not shed!” I argued.

Ethan shrugged and looked pointedly at my thigh, where a long blond hair stood out against the black fabric. “You were saying.”

Blair was nearly bent double laughing. “All right, last one for this round,” she said, catching her breath. “Bell, what’s Ethan’s guilty pleasure TV show?”

I bit my lip to keep from immediately blurting it out loud.

When we revealed our answers, the marketing team burst into laughter.

Ethan caught my eye, and his mouth twitched like he couldn’t quite hold back a smile.

“You guys are scary good together,” Blair commented a few seconds later.

If only she knew just how good.

If only he did, too.