Chapter 47: Road Trip

The Briar Athletics luxury charter bus smelled like leather, stale coffee, and energetic hockey players at seven in the morning.

I settled into a window seat four rows from the front, my duffel bag stowed on the floor beneath my knees.

As captain, Knox was seated up front near Coach Brennan and the assistant coaches, his long legs stretched out into the aisle. Two seats behind him, a couple of senior athletic delegates, including two glamorous student boosters wearing matching Briar varsity coats were gossiping loudly.

As the bus pulled onto the highway heading toward Western State, I pulled out my phone to pass the time.

My screen lit up with a text from Drew.

Drew: Just checking in. Did you survive the storm with Knox on Wednesday night? You owe me the full story.

I let out a soft laugh, my thumb flying across the keyboard.

Nora: Barely. He didn’t eat me alive, if that’s what you’re asking. He actually bought me Italian takeout while I tutored him.

Drew: Wait, he brought you dinner? Honestly, from the way he introduced himself the other day after the game and how he ended the call abruptly on Wednesday, I was thinking the guy was just an overbearing douchebag. No offense.

Drew: Glad to know he’s capable of basic decency.

I snorted out loud, pressing a hand over my mouth to quiet my giggle as I texted back: None taken. Trust me, I was just as shocked.

A second later, my phone buzzed with a new notification.

I blinked, because this time, it wasn’t from Drew.

It was from Knox.

Knox: What are you smiling at?

I raised my head slightly. Through the gap between the leather seats upfront, I saw Knox looking back at me through the driver’s overhead mirror.

I looked down and typed back: Face your front, Sheridan.

His reply came two seconds later.

Knox: We’re on a team bus in a public space, Bennett. I’m supposed to be the one making you smile.

I rolled my eyes, a smirk touching my lips as I replied: Well, maybe you’re not up to the task.

I saw his shoulders shift upfront. Without a word, Knox unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. His massive frame dominated the narrow aisle as he walked toward the back of the bus.

He stopped right beside my row, looking down at Bear, who was sitting in the aisle seat next to me holding a giant bag of beef jerky.

"Move, Bear," Knox said flatly. "Go sit with Jake."

Bear looked up, blinked his wide eyes, and glanced between Knox and me. "I was just eating my snacks, man..."

"Move," Knox repeated softly, though his tone left no room for debate.

Bear grumbled, grabbed his jerky, and scrambled into an open row behind us. Knox unceremoniously slid into the empty leather seat right beside me, his broad shoulder brushing against mine in the narrow space.

He turned his head, leaning in slightly until his eyes held mine with a dangerous, lazy intensity.

"You were saying?" Knox murmured, his voice low and raspy.

My breath hitched in my throat as I locked my phone screen. "You’re absurd."

"I’m keeping up appearances, Bennett," Knox gritted out softly, though the corner of his lips twitched with a subtle smirk. "Now give me an earbud."

—

By six o’clock that evening, the charter bus pulled into the circular driveway of the Grand Summit Hotel in Western State.

The lobby was bustling with athletic personnel, sports reporters, and fans in rival jerseys. Assistant Coach Tate gathered the team near the front desk, handing out white room key envelopes.

"Bennett, Sheridan," Tate said, tossing two white key envelopes into Knox’s hands. "Rooms 402 and 404 on the top floor. Settle in, eat dinner, and be in the film room by eight."

I took my key envelope from Knox, stepped into the elevator with him, and rode up to the fourth floor.

I walked down the quiet carpeted hallway until I reached door 402. I tapped my keycard against the electronic lock, heard the green beep, and pushed the heavy wooden door open.

I stepped inside, pulling my duffel bag behind me.

Before I could even find the light switch, I heard footsteps behind me. Knox walked straight past the threshold, dragging his massive hockey gear bag into the room.

I stopped, frowning at him. "What are you doing in here? Room 404 is down the hall."

Knox pulled his key envelope out of his pocket and held it up. "My key opened 402."

I looked down at my key envelope, then back at his. Both white paper sleeves were stamped in bold ink: ROOM 402 - EXECUTIVE SUITE.

My jaw dropped. "They gave us the exact same room?"

"Come on," Knox grunted, turning back toward the hallway. "Let’s go fix it."

We walked straight back down to the main lobby. The front desk was swamped with guests, but Knox used his height to cut straight to the counter manager.

"Excuse me," he said, laying both key envelopes flat on the granite counter. "There’s a mix-up. My girlfriend and I were given keys to the exact same suite."

The desk manager typed rapidly into his computer, his forehead creasing as he scanned the reservation screen.

"Ah, Mr. Sheridan. I see what happened. The Briar travel coordinator booked your suite pairing under the athletic department’s VIP package for student-athletes and partners. Unfortunately, due to the rivalry game tonight, every single room in this hotel, and every hotel within a five-mile radius is 100% fully booked."

My heart did a sudden drop into my stomach. "Fully booked?"

"I’m afraid so, ma’am," the manager said apologetically. "Not a single cot available."

Knox leaned his forearms flat on the high counter. "It’s fine," he told the manager calmly. "We’re dating after all."

My eyes snapped wide. I leaned into Knox’s side and aggressively mouthed the word "FAKE-DATING!" at him with narrowed eyes.

Knox ignored me completely, taking both keycards back from the manager. "Thanks."

We rode the elevator back up to the fourth floor in dead silence. When we got back inside Room 402, I flipped on the overhead lights and froze.

Past the small entryway and living room was the main bedroom.

There were no double queens. There was no pull-out sofa. Standing in the center of the room was a single, massive, king-sized bed topped with plush white pillows.

I stood in the doorway, my hands resting flat on my hips as I stared at the giant bed in utter disbelief.

"How are we even supposed to sleep tonight?" I demanded, turning around to face him. "There’s only one bed, Knox!"

Knox dropped his heavy canvas duffel onto the carpet with a dull thud. He unzipped his dark sweater, tossed it onto the armchair, and stepped into my personal space until he was looking straight down into my eyes.

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips. "Then I guess you’re sleeping on my chest tonight, Bennett."