Page 62 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

I reach out to touch it, then stop myself, because I so don’t want to wake up Finn.

Horror moves through me. There are some unwritten rules in hockey, and surely a top one is, don’t accidentally marry your straight teammate, then hump him while he’s sleeping and explode all over him.

Finn has been an amazing husband to me, sacrificing hooking up with women and moving me into his apartment.

This is not how I should repay him.

My cheeks flame, my neck prickles, and my heart is just about to shatter.

I need to fix this.

I slither out of the bed as best as I can, relieved when Finn doesn’t stir. I tiptoe to the bathroom, grab some tissues and wet them. I hold them against the faucet so the sound of water splashing against the basin won’t wake Finn.

Then I scamper back to the bed, still on my tiptoes. My heart threatens to escape my ribs, and every portion of my body is tense, as if I’ve been turned into a statue sometime in the night and am still trying to move.

I approach Finn carefully. I need to clean his belly. My gaze drops to the bed. And there’s something on the sheet too. God, how much did I come last night?

But if I was dreaming about Finn... Well, it might have been a lot.

Tears scrape against my eyes. At any moment Finn can wake. At any moment he’ll know. He’ll think me creepy and childish. No straight man wants to wake up with another man’s cum on him.

I gently tap his belly. Finn stirs.

Shit.

I wonder if I should crawl into the bed, so that if he wakes up, he won’t find me hovering over him. But then maybe the mattress will sink when I get on, and that’s not good either.

My breath comes quicker, and I hesitate. I don’t know what to do. God, what should I do?

I think Finn’s breath is different since I returned from the bathroom, and his lips seem to swerve up more than they did before, but his eyes are still closed, and maybe I’m imagining everything.

I’m probably imagining everything.

Except that wet spot. Unfortunately, that is not part of my imagination.

No way could my subconscious have come up with the possibility that I might humiliate myself in quite so horrible a way.

I gently tap his belly again with the wet tissue,then draw away.

Okay. There’s nothing white on his belly anymore. But he might wonder why it’s a bit wet. That won’t do. I should have taken some non-wet tissues from the bathroom.

Maybe Finn has some in the drawer of his bedside cabinet, but I’m not going to have him wake up to find me poking in there. I don’t think he’ll think I’m any less weird if I tell him that I wanted to see what condom brand he uses or something.

I tiptoe back into the bathroom, then grab some tissues and scurry back.

For a moment, I think Finn’s eyes are open, but that’s probably my fear, because when, heart pounding, I look at him, his eyes are firmly shut.

Okay.I can do this. I lean over him and pat his belly dry, then pat the sheet dry.

I think I’m getting away with this.

I tiptoe from the bed, then Finn’s eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, my sweet puck,” he drawls, his lips drawn into a smirk.

My heart hammers. Does he know? I nod hastily, bobbing like a marionette, then tuck the tissues into the waistband of my boxers.

His smirk widens.