Chapter 96: Priority Courier — 8:15 AM

KNOX’S POV

The faint silvery glow of the moon drifted through the blinds of my bedroom, casting pale stripes across the dark gray sheets.

I was wide awake.

I lay on my back, my left arm tucked under Nora’s shoulders, my right hand resting gently against the soft fleece of her hip.

Nora was curled completely into my side, her face pressed against the curve of my neck, breathing in deep, peaceful breaths. She was drowning in my oversized grey number nineteen hoodie, the thick hood bunched loosely around her chestnut curls.

She looked small. Fragile. Completely safe.

Her words from earlier echoed through the silence of the room, playing on a continuous loop in the back of my mind:

I’ve actually never had an orgasm before, Knox. Not with an ex. Not with anyone. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like.

My chest tightened with a protective ache that nearly knocked the wind out of me.

Nora Bennett had spent her entire life carrying the weight of the world on her slender shoulders.

She worked brutal shifts at Rusty’s Diner. She studied until her eyes bled to maintain a perfect four-point-zero GPA. She spent her weekends worrying about her mother’s bakery foreclosure, and her weekdays tutoring arrogant varsity athletes who didn’t deserve her patience.

She was always the protector. The responsible one. The giver.

Nobody had ever stopped to just take care of her. Nobody had ever given her pure, uncomplicated pleasure without asking for something in return.

I carefully slid my free right hand over to the nightstand, picking up my phone and shielding the screen with my palm so the light wouldn’t wake her.

My thumbs hovered over the glass for a few seconds as a sudden, unfamiliar heat crept up the back of my neck.

Knox Sheridan, varsity captain and projected first-round NHL draft pick, was discreetly shopping for a woman’s wellness toy at midnight.

I didn’t care.

I searched through the top-rated reviews, looking for something high-end, body-safe, and completely whisper-quiet.

My eyes landed on a luxury brand featured on the front page: The Rose Deluxe.

It was a compact, soft matte silicone clitoral stimulator shaped like a rosebud, equipped with ten ultra-silent pulsing frequencies, ergonomic curves, and glowing reviews praising its gentle, breathtaking precision.

I tapped the screen, selecting Same-Day Rush Courier Delivery to guarantee delivery between seven and nine on Monday morning.

I entered the shipping details:

Recipient: Knox Sheridan

Address: 424 Oakwood, Room 2B (The SinBin)

I hit confirm.

The screen flashed with a green checkmark: Order Confirmed. Your courier will deliver your discreet package by 8:30 AM.

I locked the phone, set it back onto the nightstand, and let out a long, quiet breath.

I pulled Nora just an inch closer against my ribs, kissing the top of her soft, sleep-warmed curls, and finally closed my eyes.

—

At eight o’clock on Monday morning, the sunlight was already filtering through the blinds, painting warm golden streaks across the bedroom.

I blinked awake, feeling the warmth of Nora’s body pressed against my ribs.

She was still sound asleep, completely engulfed in my oversized number nineteen grey hoodie, her soft chestnut curls spilling across the pillows, her lips parted slightly in peaceful, deep slumber.

I smiled softly, my chest swelling with a warmth that had nothing to do with hockey or athletics.

I carefully slipped out from beneath the duvet, pulling the comforter securely up over Nora’s shoulders. She let out a tiny, contented sigh in her sleep, burying her nose deeper into my pillows.

I pulled on a fresh pair of grey sweatpants and a long-sleeve thermal shirt, quietly padding barefoot down the wooden stairs to the first floor.

The SinBin was completely quiet. The other guys were still out. I walked into the kitchen, filled the reservoir of the coffee maker, and set a fresh pot to brew.

As I poured a tall glass of cold water at the sink, two muffled knocks echoed against the front door.

My pulse gave a hard, sudden kick against my ribs.

I set the glass down and walked quickly into the foyer to open the door.

Standing on the porch was a courier in a navy windbreaker holding a handheld digital scanner and a small, plain brown cardboard box with a white shipping label across the top.

"Knox Sheridan?" the courier asked, glancing down at the screen.

"Yeah," I said quietly, keeping my voice down.

"Priority delivery. Need a quick signature, sir."

He held out the scanner, and I quickly scrawled my signature across the digital pad with my index finger.

"Have a good one," the courier said, handing me the lightweight box.

"Thanks," I muttered, shutting the door and sliding the deadbolt locked.

I looked down at the plain cardboard box in my hands. The white label read:

Recipient: Knox Sheridan

Priority Courier — 8:15 AM

The rush service had actually delivered it right on time.

I took the stairs two at a time, quietly pushing open my bedroom door.

The room was still dim and peaceful, filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and clean cedar. Nora was still asleep on her side, clutching my pillow like a lifeline.

I walked over to the desk by the window, pulled my pocketknife from my jeans, and sliced cleanly through the packing tape.

I opened the cardboard flaps.

Inside sat an exquisite, blush-pink velvet box with shimmering gold foil lettering: The Rose Deluxe.

I pulled the velvet box out of the shipping carton, holding it in my hands.

It was elegant, soft, and completely discreet.

A sudden, dizzy wave of nervousness slammed into my chest.

How the hell am I supposed to give this to her? Do I just leave it on her desk? Do I hand it to her at breakfast? What if she thinks I’m out of my mind?

Behind me, the bedsheets rustled softly.

"Mmm..."

A sleepy yawn echoed through the quiet room.

My heart leaped into my throat, and I immediately panicked.

Without thinking, I shoved the velvet box back into the brown cardboard delivery carton, dropped to one knee, and shoved the entire box beneath the low wooden nightstand beside the bed.

I stood up fast, clearing my throat as I turned around, trying to look like the most casual, innocent human being on planet earth.

Nora was slowly rolling over beneath the comforter.

She rubbed her eyes with the oversized cuff of my grey hoodie, blinking sleepily. Her chestnut curls were a wild, adorable halo around her flushed face.

She looked up at me standing by the edge of the bed, a soft, sleepy smile curving her lips.

"Morning, Captain," Nora whispered in a raspy, morning-warm voice that did dangerous things to my lower abdomen.

"Morning, Bookworm," I rasped back, clearing my throat again.

Nora narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head as she studied my rigid posture. "Why are you standing there looking like you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?"

"I don’t look like anything," I lied smoothly, walking over to the side of the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "Just went downstairs to start coffee."

Nora smiled, reaching out from beneath the duvet and sliding her small, warm fingers around my wrist. "Is it ready yet?"

"Brewing right now," I murmured, leaning down until my mouth was inches from hers. "You look incredible in my hoodie, Bennett."

"It’s very warm," she whispered.

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in, capturing her soft, sleep-warmed lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted faintly of mint and pure sweetness.

When I pulled back, my breathing was noticeably heavier.

"I have to get to the arena in twenty minutes," I said reluctantly, resting my forehead against hers. "Morning skate and an emergency special teams film review at nine for the Boston game."

"Go," Nora whispered, smiling softly as her fingers lightly stroked my jaw. "Win on Friday."

"There’s fresh orange juice in the fridge, clean towels in my bathroom, and hot coffee in the pot," I told her, standing up to grab my gear bag and tablet from the dresser. "Make yourself at home. I’ll be back around eleven, and then I’ll drive you to campus."

"I’ll be here," Nora smiled.

I gave her one last look before slipping out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind me.

I jogged down the wooden stairs, grabbed my leather jacket from the foyer rack, and pushed through the front door. I reached the gravel driveway, pulled my truck keys from my pocket, and reached for the driver’s side door handle.

And then, I froze dead in my tracks.

What the hell did I just do?

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes snapped back toward the second-story window of the SinBin. I had just left a brand-new, luxury vibrator sitting in a half-open cardboard box right under my nightstand.

In a bedroom where Nora Bennett was currently waking up alone.

Jesus Christ, Sheridan.

My mind began racing in frantic circles.

What if somehow, she sees it?

A bead of cold sweat rolled down the back of my neck.

I took a step backward toward the house, my fingers tightening around my truck keys until the metal cut into my palm.

Should I go back?

I can sprint back up the stairs, tell her I forgot my notebook, snatch the box from under the nightstand, and shove it into my bag.

No. If I run back up looking like a maniac, she’ll know something is wrong. She’ll ask questions. She’ll see right through me.

Or... maybe she won’t even look under the nightstand?

Maybe she’ll just stay in bed, drink coffee while pressing her phone and never glance at the floor?

Who am I kidding? It’s Nora Bennett. She analyzes supply curves for fun.

I looked at my watch on my wrist.

8:48 AM.

Coach Brennan was starting the Boston film review in twelve minutes sharp. If the team captain walked in late on Monday morning before the biggest rivalry game of the season, Brennan would make me skate until my lungs collapsed.

I let out a breath and wrenched the truck door open. Climbing inside, I stared up at the window.

"Please don’t look under the table, Bennett," I muttered out loud to the empty cab, throwing the truck into reverse. "Please don’t look."