Page 90 of Rookie Rules

"Do you?"

Rowan stood. The distance between them was small enough to cross. Physical language had always been easier in this house. He moved around the island and touched Luca's waist.

Luca's hand closed gently around his wrist.

"Not yet," he said.

Rowan stopped.

The refusal was quiet and complete. He lowered his hand.

"Talk," he said.

Luca released him. "The cameras don't bother me. You talking about me like a teammate in front of reporters doesn't bother me. That's your job. It's my job too."

"Then I don't understand."

"I know you don't."

The hurt in the answer was controlled enough to be worse than anger.

Luca walked into the living room. Rowan followed. The reusable heat wrap was coiled in the second drawer. One corner of the rug still held the memory of Luca's hand applying pressure exactly where asked.

"I'm not asking you to tell the team," Luca said. "I'm not asking you to touch me at the rink or answer personal questions or turn Tuesday's interview into some kind of announcement."

"I never said you were."

"You keep defending against it anyway."

Rowan's first response was denial. The second was a list: team hierarchy, media scrutiny, Luca's first season, the room's need for trust. All valid. None requested.

"The rules protect both of us," he said.

Luca looked at him. "Do they?"

"Yes."

"No one knows. Nothing happens during game responsibilities. I have followed both."

"I know."

"This is not a relationship. It ends with the season."

Hearing the last two in Luca's voice made them sound less like rules than a sentence already imposed.

"You agreed," Rowan said.

The moment the words left him, he wanted them back.

Luca's face changed.

"I agreed because I wanted you," he said. "You asked me why. I told you. That doesn't make every word true forever."

"We needed limits."

"You needed them."

"Yes."