Page 47 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

“I’m not sure it is,” Noah says.

“Tell them they can stay with us,” I repeat.

He stares up at me, and for a moment, his gaze dips to my lips. The moment is so short, that I think I might have imagined it. Noah is now hurrying toward the locker room. Whatever private conversation we were having in the hallway is not to be continued. Not anytime soon at least.

But this morning I thought I saw him look...there.

And I thought I saw embarrassment on his face after.

Did his pupils dilate? Were his cheeks a ruddier tone than when he entered?

It’s suddenly essential that I remember everything that happened in that moment of horrifying embarrassment.

Is it possible Noahlikesme? Those kisses we had were good. Am I the only one who feels that way? Is it possible hefeels the same?

I want to ask him everything. But the words feel ridiculous on my tongue. Noah has never given any indication he likes men. The man had a girlfriend. A serious, years-long affair.

I can’t approach him and ask if he’s feeling squishy romantic feelings. I can’t ask him that and see shock and unease on his face. We need to pretend we’re together for the next year and I won’t have him worried I’ll put another move on him. I won’t have him think this is one long crazy seduction attempt. He’s in my home. I got him into this. I can’t ask for the crazy, the impossible, and I’m relieved when we reach the locker room.

The streamers and balloons have disappeared. We walk over the glitter, and this time, no music plays as we enter, and no cheers sound.

NOAH

Finn is quiet the rest of the day. He’s by my side on the treadmills, then we spot each other when we lift.

But his gaze is troubled, his jaw stiff.

No one else notices.

We play Carolina in the evening and lose, 1-0. I avoid looking at the owner’s box. I don’t need to wonder much to know what Tanaka is thinking.

Normally, Finn might be called on to answer some of the reporters’ questions, but Daniela has us slip away. We’re not going to accidentally hold a press conference about our relationship on the same night of a loss.

Finn is quiet as he drives us back to his apartment. Boston sparkles by us, all tall imposing building that glitter through the panoramic sunroof. Every facade downtown is beautiful, each exceeding the town hall of my home in New Hampshire. We pull into the fancy parking lot beneath Finn’s gleaming Seaport apartment complex and are silent as the elevator zooms up to Finn’s apartment.

The conversation we make in the kitchen is stilted. Apparently, neither of us is hungry, and we’re both eager to go to bed.

Once in my room, I text my mother and pass on Finn’s invitation to stay with us.

She responds at once.

Mom: We’ll think about it.

I sigh and shove my phone away. I fight the urge to go into Finn’s room and tell him, and instead focus on going asleep.

Then the doorbell rings.

I tense, wondering if I should answer it or if Finn has heard it. Finn’s footsteps pad toward the door. After a moment’s hesitation, I slip from the room and follow him down the corridor. Foreboding grips my stomach, and I linger in the hallway.

Finn opens the door, then Madison glides into the apartment, carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Madison?” Finn asks. “What are you doing here?” He frowns. “Did something happen in your apartment? Do you need my help?”

“You want to lend me some sugar?” Madison giggles. “Or open apickle jar?”

I step against the wall, hoping the shadow will obscure me.

“How come my phone is exploding with news about your nuptials?” Madison asks.