“So,” Kaitlin said brightly as we started passing dishes. “How do you all know each other? Obviously the team, but are you guys friends outside of hockey too?”
“Some of us,” Harris said. “Depends on who you can tolerate for extended periods.”
Everyone laughed.
“What about you two?” Kaitlin looked between me and Marco. “Mikael mentioned you’re roommates?”
“Yeah,” I said easily. “My apartment had smoke damage. Marco had space. Made sense.”
“That’s really nice of you, Marco. Some guys wouldn’t want to live with a teammate for long.”
“Étienne’s easy to live with,” Marco said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice. “Cleaner than me, better cook. I got the better end of the deal.”
I nudged his shoulder with mine—playful, casual, typical of us. “He’s lying. I’m a slob and a disaster in the kitchen.”
“You make good French toast,” Marco countered.
“That’s literally the only thing I can make.”
Everyone laughed, and my tension eased slightly. This was okay. This was how we always were—joking,comfortable, best friends who lived together and knew each other well.
Throughout dinner, I watched Mikael and Alyssa interact. His hand on her shoulder when he stood to refill her wine, her gaze catching his across the table. The secret smiles, the comfortable intimacy of people who’d built a life together.
Tyler and Kaitlin were the same. Holding hands under the table when they thought no one was looking. Sharing food off each other’s plates. Unfiltered affection.
And I had Marco beside me—close enough to feel the warmth of him—but I had to make sure every touch looked casual. Friendly. Nothing more.
When I reached across him for the rolls, my arm brushed his chest. Normal. When he passed me the butter, our fingers touched briefly. Casual. When he made a joke and I laughed, leaning into his space, our shoulders pressed together for a moment. Just friends.
Except none of it felt like “just friends” to me.
The exhaustion of constant vigilance was overwhelming.
“So, neither of you are seeing anyone?” Kaitlin asked during a lull in the conversation. “Two good-looking single guys? Surprising.”
My heart stopped. Marco had gone still beside me.
“Nope,” I said lightly. “Just us bachelors.”
“Marco?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Same. No girlfriend.”
“Well, you’re both catches. I’m sure that’ll change soon.” She turned her attention to Reid and asked about his dating life, mentioning she had a friend who’d like to meet him.
I kept my expression neutral, took a sip of my water. Under the table, Marco’s knee pressed slightly harder against mine—a brief moment of solidarity. Anyone watching would see nothing. But I felt it.
After dinner, we migrated to the family room for football. The turkey coma was setting in, and everyone eased into comfy positions.
Mikael and Alyssa took the couch, Lilja between them, playing with a stuffed toy. Tyler and Kaitlin claimed the loveseat, with Kaitlin curled into Tyler’s side. The other guys spread out in chairs.
I ended up on the floor with my back against the couch, and Marco naturally dropped down beside me. This was normal for us—we’d sat like this plenty of times during team gatherings.
But I was hyperaware of his shoulder against mine, his leg stretched out parallel to mine. Of the fact that if I turned my head, I could count his eyelashes.
“That was a terrible call,” Marco muttered during a play.
“Completely,” I agreed, and we launched into an analysis of the referee’s incompetence that had Reid joining in from his chair.
