Page 102 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

Okay. I admit it. I didn’t think I wanted Noah to fuck me. I didn’t press the intercourse part of our relationship, because I didn’t want to ask for something I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have myself.

But when Noah says he wants to be inside me, it’s a no brainer. Because that sounds incredible. Of course, I want to be as close to Noah as I possibly can be.

We run back to the arena and grab my car, then I’m flooring it to Seaport.

Once we’re in the elevator, we’re kissing.

“You’re giving the guard a show,” Noah warns me.

“I aim to entertain.” I press the button for our floor, then kiss Noah some more. “That suit makes you look hot.”

“I’m always hot.”

I laugh. Noah’s newfound confidence is so fucking sexy.

“That’s right, my sturdy stick,” I whisper to him, and I don’t even regret it when he punches my stomach.

We kiss our way through the hallway.

A door opens, then rapidly slams.

“I think that was Mr. Greenberg,” Noah murmurs.

“You getting to know the neighbors?” I ask.

“It’s good to be polite.”

“You are so from a small town,” I say, scrambling for my key. I struggle to turn it. They need to give us pods. How are people supposed to be slipping keys into locks and doing the whole turning thing when they want to be kissing their super sexy spouses at the same time? This is a tragedy people don’t give enough consideration to. “I love—”

Noah stiffens in my arms. I wasn’t going to saythat.Not in the hallway where who else might come out. Not when Noah is forced to be with me for most of this year, unless my dad’s lawyer comes through, and I can get an annulment.

Part of me wants to cancel that process. But it seems unfair when the lawyer said there might be a way to do it quietly to halt it. I shouldn’t force Noah to be married to me. Noah who is so wonderful. No, once I learn from the lawyer, we can talk about it together.

Until then, there’s no reason to get his hopes upeither way.

Noah’s green eyes are on me, and I want to look into them forever and name every shade of green that flickers in his irises.

But then I remember I started a sentence with “I love.”

“That about you,” I finish lamely.

He nods and doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Get inside me, sharp shooter,” I say, and his shoulders relax.

He unlocks the door and pushes me inside. In the next moment, he hauls me over his shoulder like he’s Thor and I’m, well, not Thor, and hurries us to our bedroom.

“This is undignified,” I call out, as my face bobs up and down against his back.

“I can’t help that you’re a slowpoke, Carrington.”

“Using my words against me,” I grumble.

He sets me down in front of our bedroom. “I’m getting deja vue.”

“You using fancy French words on me, Carrington?”

I snort. God, Noah’s probably never been to France. Maybe he’s never been to Europe. I want to take him there. I want to take him everywhere.