Open Ice Hit (The Sin Bin Book 2)

Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that hungover. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever been that hungover before. Two days later, and he was still sweating out the stink of alcohol and feeling seconds away from losing what little food he’d managed to choke down.

He had vague memories of the ache in his chest caused by Tommy’s words that drove him to the unmanned bar. That allowed him to grab a bottle of whatever he could reach and spend the next half hour sitting on the floor in an empty hallway, trying to make the pain stop.

He felt pathetic, and he felt sad. He felt exactly like the loser his father warned him he’d grow up to be. He remembered wanting to quit before things started getting really fuzzy.

And then there was…someone. Tommy, he thought, though for a few days after, he wondered if that hadn’t just been wishful thinking. But over the next few weeks, it came back in fits and bursts. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he did remember Tommy being a lot kinder than he deserved.

After all, he knew why Tommy was hurt. He’d regretted his words at the presser the moment they’d slipped past his lips. He knew Tommy would be watching. He was well aware he’d gone too far, and there wouldn’t be any coming back from it.

Part of him started to wonder if maybe he was just engaging in self-sabotage. After all, he reminded himself constantly, he had no room in his life for anything beyond hockey. Nothing that wasn’t physical release. And Tommy was dangerous because he was a threat to everything Noah held dear.

He was the one thread that, if pulled, could unravel everything Noah had created.

But maybe he deserved it.

He knew he wasn’t a good person. He was pretty sure Tommy had offered him kind words during his breakdown, but it just made him want to laugh because he didn’t deserve them.

Still, he wanted. He wanted as the impossibly lonely holidays crept by. As he opened gifts from his teammates, as he sent his own. As December bled into January and he spent New Year’s staring at the faint steam rising off Zed’s heated pool with music thumping in the background.

He wanted as he took to the ice and won—and lost—and watched as they came closer and closer to once again securing their spot in the playoffs. But it didn’t feel as triumphant as it had before. It didn’t feel much like a win, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

He would have taken his confusion and frustration out on Tommy—or at least out on his ass. He would have been over there a dozen times now, laying him out, making him come on his cock and lie in his own mess. He would have basked in his broken, stuttered pleas, the warmth of his body, and the way he arched into Noah’s hands, because in spite of his words, he didn’t want anyone else to do this to him but Noah.

Only there wasn’t time. The Sea Dogs were on a long roadie, the Phantoms were racking up points on the East Coast, and the season was moving on.

Like he was supposed to be doing.

In Montreal, they eked out a win by the skin of their teeth and Kevin’s clever glove, keeping out the last two goals that would have tied them up or allowed the Foreurs to win. He was too exhausted and frustrated with his shit playing to care that it was a victory. He hadn’t scored a goal in the last three games, and he was too afraid to examine why.

He avoided the presser, but he hadn’t done anything spectacular, so no one wanted to talk to him anyway. That afforded him a longer than normal shower, and he felt a little refreshed and painfully exhausted as they headed back to the plane. He hated late-night flights back home. Most of the time he’d rather crash in the hotel and deal with shit in the morning, but they were playing the Gators the next night in Brooklyn, and they didn’t have time to waste.

He trudged through his front door just past one in the morning and dropped his bag next to his table, collapsing on his sofa instead of bothering with his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and somehow managed to strip down to boxers, then he pulled the afghan Zed’s bubbe had made for him a couple years back over himself.

It still smelled a little like Zed’s childhood home—spicy, and floral, and a little old. It reminded him of his own grandmother. He’d been eleven when she died, but he remembered being loved by her in ways he wasn’t used to in his family. He tugged the blanket tighter around him, but in spite of his extreme fatigue, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

His fingers fumbled on the remote, and he considered watching tape, but his brain wouldn’t have been able to focus anyway, so he flipped on ESPN. He wasn’t expecting much, but the highlights from the West Coast were just coming in. His eyes burned as he forced them to stay open because he knew Tommy was in Seattle, and he was desperate to know how they’d done.

“…shut out tonight by the Queens Sea Dogs. It was more than just down to their goalie, though, it has to be said that Morozov was in top form tonight, but you can’t deny the chemistry between Banks and Tremblay.”

“Too right, Marcus. There are no other words to describe Tremblay other than on fire. Those two goals in the first period secured them the win tonight. The Vipers just couldn’t seem to match their determination, even on home ice. I spoke with Tremblay earlier in the locker room, and this is what he had to say…”

Noah’s breath caught in his chest as the video cut to Tommy perched on the end of his bench. He was in his under shirt, sweat soaking his hair, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. Noah had seen that look on him before too—when he was well fucked and boneless in his bed. But unlike those nights where Noah took him to the edge, this Tommy was smiling.

“You’re facing the Phantoms in your first game after your return back East. How are you feeling about that? It’s no secret there’s been some animosity between you and Noah Viklund.”

Noah held his breath so long, his lungs began to burn. Tommy would surely rip him to shreds. It was no less than he probably would have done.

It was no less than he deserved.

“I feel like we have a really good chance to win it,” Tommy said, his eyes sparkling as he looked right at the camera. The lights were obviously blinding him, but he looked like he was made to be worshipped under that glow. “But there’s no denying the Phantoms have been working hard this season. It’s been a real challenge, and I love it.”

“Even facing off against Viklund?” the reporter pressed.

Noah ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but Tommy didn’t miss a beat.

“Whatever else you want to think, Viklund is an amazing player. He’s someone I’ve looked up to for most of my career. He’s got amazing skill on the ice, soft hands, and a calculating mind that wins them games. Everyone knows he’s an asset to the Phantoms, and I consider myself lucky to be playing in the NHL alongside him. Not many players get to say they shared ice with one of the greats, but that’s something I’ll be telling my sister’s grandkids one day.”

Noah didn’t hear the rest—the reporter likely chirping Tommy about kids of his own, and he could see Tommy was laughing, but it didn’t matter. Fuck, it didn’t matter because everything Tommy had said hit him right at his core. He ached to hear more. He ached to feel worthy of that praise.

His knuckles were aching from how hard he was clenching his fists, and he shook them out before fumbling with the trousers he’d discarded and eventually pulling out his phone. He only hesitated for a moment, but he knew what he wanted, and he was tired of fighting himself on it.

Noah: When are you back?

Tommy: y? miss me already?

Noah didn’t expect an immediate response, and he knew the easier thing would have been to look up the schedule to find out. He knew when they faced the Sea Dogs next, but not when Tommy would be back in New York, and he wanted to lay claim to his time before the game took them over again.

Noah: Is that your answer?

Tommy: ur such a shit I’ll text u.

Noah slid his phone onto the table and decided it was the best he was going to get without humbling and humiliating himself, and his self-esteem was already tragically low at the moment. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, then picked up his phone again and counted forward the hours until he reached Stockholm’s current time. It was just after seven, which meant his sister would be up.

He debated texting, then called instead and was a little surprised when she picked up after the second ring. “Please tell me this isn’t some emergency call,” Klara said by way of greeting.

Hearing Swedish on the other end of the line was a balm against his frayed nerves. He was surrounded by a melting pot of cultures, and he wasn’t the only Swede on his team, but everyone defaulted to English, and sometimes he just needed that little breath of home.

“No,” he replied quietly, snuggling back into his afghan. “Just got back from Montreal.”

“Bad loss?”

“It was a win,” he said. He closed his eyes and took in a slow breath. “How are things?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really asking,” she pressed.

Noah felt his entire body tense, and he hated himself for being weak enough to call. Klara was kind, but she would always take their parents’ side when push came to shove. “Has he asked about me?”

Mostly because his birthday was coming up. His father attempted to get him to come home for it every year, but Noah knew there would come a time when his father would stop. When that well would dry up and there would be nothing left but dusty, cracked memories of what was, and the shattered promises of what he could never live up to.

“He hasn’t said anything to me, but he’s been in Paris for the month,” she told him quietly.

He relaxed just a fraction. “My answer will still be no.”

“Is that some kind of message you want me to give him?”

Noah’s fingers flexed, and he fought the urge to drop the phone and end the call. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, hi,” she said. “I can’t stay on long.”

He knew that. Klara had a family—a husband and children and a life. She’d be making coffee and getting her daughters ready for school, and Noah would most likely be an afterthought for the rest of the day.

“Speak to you later,” he said, then hung up before she could ask him anything else. He was feeling a little too vulnerable, and the last person he wanted to be weak in front of was someone in his family.

Letting the phone drop back to the table again, he wrapped his arms around himself and allowed the single, quiet memory of what it felt like to lie in Tommy’s arms filter through his mind. He’d lingered last time, not long but enough that he could still feel the echo of Tommy’s warm body.

He was getting braver, or maybe more foolish, and he knew if he didn’t cut this off soon, he’d start something that would soon take over his life.

But his life wasn’t feeling that great anyway, so maybe crashing and burning would be worth it.

Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a burn on his chin from the ice, but he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d blown a fucking tire during a game either. He’d looked up just in time to see Kevin wincing on the bench as he pushed himself back up to stand, and it took every single ounce of his concentration to finish the damn game after that.

They won. He’d even scored with four minutes left in the third period, so that was something. But the last thing he wanted was to head into the locker room and face down the press about how he’d shit the bed tonight and how it was because Yash was killing it in the net and Henny was at the top of his game that they managed to get another win.

He met Zed’s eyes as they headed off the ice, and his friend gave him a knowing nod. Noah had seen him do the same thing with others—mainly Davesh and lately Kevin—and it was usually proceeded by him doing something obnoxious or outrageous to take the attention off whatever player the press was zeroing in on that night.

Kevin and Davesh did it for him too, but in a more stoic, don’t look at my boyfriend or I’m going to take that camera and shove it up your ass sort of way. Noah felt a pang in his gut, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of support. To be able to marry a life of hockey and love into one massive, impossible thing that eclipsed all the badness outside their little team bubble.

Not that something like that could be his, but it was nice to dream a little.

He ached all over as he began to unlace his skates and peel away his kit and pads. He glanced to his right to see Zed giving an almost flailing ASL account of the game while Henny tried to interpret. His captain caught his eye after a second and winked, and Noah felt something unknot in his chest as he undressed the rest of the way, then shuffled into the shower.

He spent no longer than usual under the spray, but as he was soaping up, he got a sudden whiff of a too-familiar soap—that expensive shit with cologne in it that Tommy always wore. His fingers were shaking as he ripped the curtain back, but a second later, Yash appeared with a grin on his face and elbowed Noah as he shuffled toward his clothes.

“Your chin hurt?”

Noah blinked, then rubbed at it, forgetting his embarrassing fall. “Not really. I, uh…my ankle twisted a little.” That was maybe the most pathetic lie he’d ever told, but what the fuck was he supposed to say? I can’t even stay upright on the ice anymore? I’m reverting back to a goddamn toddler—though he’d been able to skate before he could walk so even that made no sense.

“Happen to me, you know,” Yash went on as he toweled off his hair, oblivious to Noah’s stress. “Henny and Zhenya take me out to food truck. Next day, don’t even have knees. So embarrassing,” Yash said with a wink as he pulled his shirt over his massive shoulders.

Noah wished he could blame this on food poisoning. Hell, he wished he could blame it on Tommy because the fucker had been so distracting in the agonizingly long days since that fucking postgame interview. But his mind had been clear.

That was how he’d gotten his first goal in six games.

Then he’d fallen on his face for no apparent reason, proving to himself once again that maybe he needed to take a good, long look at his life and decide if there was any point in going forward. Hell, he could retire and send his jersey to the rafters.

Quit while he was ahead.

Shit.

He swallowed thickly, his eyes dry but burning, and made it back to his stall. The press had cleared out and the mood was sober, and he was half-glad Zed and his little entourage had disappeared to God only knew where. He shoved his feet into his shoes, then opened his bag and pulled out his phone, half-afraid he’d find a text from his father.

Instead, Tommy’s name sat there like a goddamn beacon in his storm.

Tommy: want 2 fuck it out? saw u blow that tire, bud

Noah squeezed the phone so tight in his hand, his knuckles hurt, then he glanced over his shoulder. There were only a couple guys left, and they weren’t paying him attention. He took a fortifying breath, then imagined walking through Tommy’s front door, pinning him to his living room chair and fucking him until he cried.

Before he could make his hands move to reply, though, the image changed. Tommy was beneath him on the bed, pliant. His eyes were wide, his mouth soft. Noah felt himself sink into his tight hole as his hand reached up to take him by the front of his throat. It was a gentle touch, just like the words that slipped out, “So fucking good for me,” and Tommy just…

Lost it.

Noah blinked, then sucked in a breath. He could let himself take Tommy, but he couldn’t let himself do that.

Fuck.

Noah: Leave your front door open. Get yourself ready. I don’t have time to pamper you tonight.

Tommy: lmao when do u ever?

Noah did his best not to read into that as he shoved his phone back into his bag, hauled it onto his shoulder, then called out a goodbye to whoever was around to hear it. He didn’t bother waiting as he marched toward the parking garage and got into his car.

The drive to Tommy’s was slow, even after the heavy traffic from the game had dispersed, but he made it there before he lost his nerve. He clutched his keys in his hand, letting the metal bite into his palm, and stared at Tommy’s front door.

Part of him wanted to imagine what it would be like to linger. To not slip out still smelling like the other man’s come, a faint, empty ache in his chest. He didn’t want to admit how badly he needed to stay, what he’d give for Tommy to just ask him outright because he now knew for sure he wouldn’t be able to tell him no.

But Tommy wasn’t brave enough, and Noah was just awful enough to take advantage of that.

Squaring his shoulders and calling up all the sexual tension and all the frustration he’d been feeling for weeks, he put one foot in front of the other and walked up to the door. For a brief second, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation if Tommy had locked him out.

If he tried to get in and was unable to, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to humble himself enough to ring the bell.

The knob turned, the door pushed in, and he was able to breathe again.

Noah tossed his keys onto the little curio table, then made his way through the place. It was unusually still and quiet, most of the lights off save for one over the kitchen sink and a lamp in the living room. He suddenly felt like he was hunting, and his cock went hard behind his zipper as he made his way first to the guest room, then the bathroom, then finally came to a stop in front of Tommy’s master bedroom.

The door was cracked, and when Noah tuned in his hearing, he caught the sound of something slick and wet and then a soft gasp and a quiet groan, which he would recognize anywhere.

His hand pressed to the wood, and he pushed, stepping inside. The lights were dim there too, but he could see the shape of Tommy lying on the covers with his legs up and spread and his hand between them.

He couldn’t see what toy Tommy was using to fuck himself, but he didn’t need to. He could hear the vulgar squelch of lube, and the punched-out gasps Tommy let out when he nailed his own prostate.

“Is this what you thought I had in mind?” Noah asked as he approached. His fingers were on his button, pushing it through the little hole, his cock almost desperate to be touched. He reached out his other hand and laid it on Tommy’s knee, spreading him just a little bit wider.

From this close, he could see the blush running up Tommy’s chest, and he stared at his dusky pink nipples, thinking they’d look good pierced.

“Do you think I give a fuck what you had in mind?” Tommy volleyed back.

Noah chuckled, the sound so light it surprised him, but he didn’t care. He gave Tommy’s knee a vicious squeeze, then opened his trousers and began to peel away his shirt. Shrugging the material off his shoulders, he froze when he heard Tommy make a noise of protest.

He stared down at the man whose hand had frozen with the dildo halfway out of his hole, and he swallowed against his thick, dry throat.

“Don’t get undressed,” Tommy said, sounding almost unsure. He pushed up on his elbow and met Noah’s gaze, but there was a vulnerability there that was almost startling. Noah knew if this had been even a handful of weeks ago, he might make Tommy pay for something like that.

But not now.

Not like this.

“Tell me what you want,” Noah murmured, leaning in close.

Tommy abandoned the toy and reached for Noah, a careful drag of fingers across his exposed chest. “I…Don’t make fun of me, okay? But I, uh…I like it. When you leave your clothes on.”

Noah let out a small growl of need and grabbed Tommy by the wrists, shoving him back onto the bed. “Roll over,” he commanded.

Tommy groaned, but he did as he was asked, and the dildo fell to the mattress with a quiet thud. Pulling his cock from the slit in his boxers, Noah gave himself two firm strokes, then crawled up on the bed and laid a hand at the small of Tommy’s back.

His breathing was hitched with want, maybe with fear of what Noah might do or say. That used to make him feel good, but now, it left something ugly and confused in his gut. He wanted this, he wanted Tommy at his mercy, but not…

“I’m not getting any younger here,” Tommy growled, interrupting his thought spiral.

Noah bared his teeth and reached down, grabbing the dildo and pushing the head back inside Tommy. The other man let out an almost wounded noise, his head falling down between his shoulders, his back arching. He tried to thrust against it, but Noah held him still.

“I don’t fucking think so,” Noah said. He twisted the toy a little, making Tommy’s breath catch, and his own cock dribbled a line of precome all the way down to the blankets. “Hold fucking still if you want to come tonight.”

Tommy whimpered, but a stillness crept over his body like the gentle crash of a wave—a tremble, then nothing. All that remained was the rise and fall of his chest, and Noah dragged his fingers up and down the man’s spine.

Good boy, he wanted to say. So good, so beautiful, so perfect for me. He knew what those words would do to Tommy. He’d seen how much he craved the praise, how desperate he was for those words of affirmation, but he couldn’t force them out.

Instead, he let his hands speak. He pushed the dildo in as far as it would go, then he took Tommy by the hips and positioned his cock behind Tommy’s balls, giving a gentle thrust. Tommy’s groan was muffled by his clenched teeth, and it was clear from the tension in his muscles he was doing everything in his power to follow Noah’s orders.

Like a good fucking boy.

Jesus.

Noah reached an arm around his chest, pulling Tommy upright. His back was sweaty and warm, and Noah felt the beat of his heart through his skin. Dragging one hand from Tommy’s hairy stomach to his throat, he let his fingers curl around the front of it, then used his nose to tilt Tommy’s head to the side.

“You look really fucking good like this,” he murmured.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered before his eyes closed. The exposed column of his neck was tempting, and though it felt a little too close to kissing, Noah couldn’t help himself. He closed his teeth on his flesh first, then softened the contact into a drag of lips, a touch of tongue. Tommy was all but shaking, clenching around the dildo, squeezing his thighs around Noah’s cock.

“Hand me the lube,” Noah murmured, then licked around the shell of his ear.

Tommy’s fingers were shaking, but he pulled the bottle from under the pillow, slapping it into Noah’s hand. He was uncharacteristically quiet, but Noah could work with that. Strangely—in spite of how badly the game had gone—he needed this.

He didn’t want the mouthy antagonistic little shit. He wanted this Tommy—pliant, loose, hungry.

Pouring lube on his hand, he warmed it for a second, then reached between Tommy’s legs and slicked up his thighs. When Tommy made a curious noise, Noah closed his hand around his throat again and held fast, not tight but firm.

“Squeeze your thighs,” he ordered.

Tommy shuddered, then he did, and Noah gave a thrust forward. The motion shoved the dildo deeper into Tommy as his cock grazed the other man’s balls, and they both gave in to a chest-deep groan.

Fuck, he felt so good.

“Think you can come like this? I can tell you want it. I can tell how fucking starving you are for me.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy whispered with no venom.

Noah chuckled and reached down to pinch his nipple as he gave another thrust between his legs. “Did you watch my game?”

“Did I watch you eat shit on the ice, you mean?” Tommy shot back, then froze almost like he regretted it.

Noah waited for the sting, for the pressing weight of failure to dig its claws into him like it wanted to rip his guts out. But it never came. Instead, he laughed and gave another thrust, hard enough that it jostled the dildo, and he knew it had hit Tommy’s prostate.

“Next time, I’m bringing my own toy. Something that vibrates,” he said like a vicious promise.

“Jesus. Fuck,” Tommy gasped. He tried to hump backward, but Noah stopped him.

“I’ll let you come, but on my terms,” he said. He laid his mouth to Tommy’s neck again, intending to bite, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Instead, his lips moved in an almost mockery of a kiss—the one he so desperately wanted to give to Tommy.

The man in his arms whimpered, limbs loose, dropping back against Noah like he’d let him do anything. Noah dragged his blunt nails along Tommy’s thighs as he gave another thrust, then another and another. He picked up speed, his hips forcing the dildo to fuck Tommy’s hole, his own cock tormenting Tommy’s balls, then his fingers closed around where Tommy was thick, and swollen, and leaking.

“I want to watch you come,” Noah said. He squeezed tight, then he dragged his fist up to the head of Tommy’s dick and back down again. And then again. And again.

Tommy let out an almost animal noise as his head dropped backward. His body shook just once before he tumbled over the edge and spilled hot ropes of come over Noah’s knuckles.

The way he squeezed his thighs and bounced on Noah’s lap like he was trying to steal little bits from the toy was all Noah needed to follow him, his orgasm hitting him hard enough that his vision went white.

He turned his head to the side where Tommy’s cheek was resting, and they didn’t kiss, but it was a damn near thing. Their lips brushed, and Tommy’s parted before he blinked and came back to himself, pulling away.

He let out a small groan as he flopped to the side, and Noah tried not to stare when his long, perfect, clever fingers pulled the dildo from his ass and let it roll onto the floor.

“I hope you have a good cleaner for that,” Noah muttered, falling backward. He was still in his suit, his shirt open, his trousers stained with lube and dots of stray come.

And he was satisfied.

No. No, God, it was something more than that, but he was afraid to examine it further.

He heard Tommy laugh, then he felt the man flick him on his socked ankle. “Yeah, I’m rich enough I have my own personal guy who sanitizes all my dildos.”

Noah couldn’t help his own chuckle as he rolled onto his side to face the other man. Unthinking, he reached out and brushed a collection of waves from Tommy’s forehead, letting his thumb caress the skin there. He was soft and sweaty, and when Noah realized what he was doing, he stilled, but he didn’t pull away.

“Good goal tonight,” Tommy said, his voice a little thick.

Noah’s fingers curled into a fist, and he drew his touch away. He pretended like he didn’t notice the disappointment in Tommy’s eyes, but it softened when he realized Noah wasn’t going far. “It was lucky.”

“It wasn’t,” Tommy argued. He propped up on his elbow and leaned his temple into the palm of his hand. “Henny and Zed weren’t in sync tonight, but it was hard to tell. You saw it, though. You saw where they were vulnerable, which is what you’re good at.”

Noah flinched because he heard something else in those words, and he swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me this season. After the playoffs last year…”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Please don’t. Please don’t come in here and blame me for your…”

“No,” Noah said firmly, and he waited until Tommy opened his eyes. “I’m not blaming you. This has nothing to do with that. It’s…” He swallowed the words back. He wasn’t ready to tell Tommy all of it. How he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that his father was right. That this was all just some sort of temporary way to pass time.

That he’d be remembered as a joke, not as a hockey great.

“I feel like I lost something last year, and I can’t get it back.”

Tommy watched him for a long second, then he reached his hand out slowly. Noah froze, but he didn’t stop him. He wanted the touch more than his body wanted oxygen when he couldn’t breathe.

Tommy’s fingers were gently calloused and impossibly warm as they brushed lines along the edges of Noah’s knuckles. “I know I’m basically a rookie, even if I am a Stanley Cup champion,” he added, and Noah laughed quietly, rolling his eyes. Tommy grinned like he’d won something and shrugged. “Sometimes we just have a bad season. It’s not more complicated than that. And it doesn’t mean you’ve lost yourself, Noah.”

He froze, his entire body jolting at the sound of his name—his given name—on Tommy’s lips. His breath came out stuttered and shaking. “I don’t…”

“You’re overthinking it, which seems to be what you do with everything,” he said with a small, playful grin. His touch on Noah’s hand became more firm, the strokes longer, reaching toward the ditch in his arm. Noah felt the patterns, and he realized Tommy was tracing his ink. “You’re going to be fine, you know. You’ll win games. You’ll lose them. None of those things will define who you are as a person or as a player.”

Noah closed his eyes against the feeling settling in his gut, then he looked at the other man. “I thought you were studying marine biology, not pop philosophy.”

Tommy howled with a laugh, rolling onto his back, his hands covering his face. “It’s pop psychology, you fucking nerd. Pop philosophy isn’t a thing. Fuck, I don’t know why I keep asking you to come over. Secondhand embarrassment kills, you know.”

Noah wanted to chirp back, but he was helpless against the laugh lodged in his chest and the shit-eating grin across Tommy’s face.