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The most irritating smirk appears as his eyes hold mine.

Fuck. Who am I kidding? It’s sexy as hell, and the very last thing I want to do right now is demand the driver pull over so I can kick Garrett out.

Allowing this to continue is crazy. But I’m powerless but to permit it.

Ripping my eyes from Garrett’s, I glance at the rearview mirror. Garrett has already said too much. If he knows who I am or suspects why Garrett might be forcing my hand to take him home, then I really am going to regret this.

But despite waiting a few minutes to see if he’s going to look back at us, he doesn’t. Not even when we stop at a light. Instead, he answers his cell when it rings and speaks to what I can only assume is his partner on the other end about what time he’s finishing tonight and their plans for the weekend.

Beside me, Garrett sits silently, waiting for me to…Well, fuck knows what he’s waiting for me to do, to be honest.

But it seems his patience is better than mine.

When I finally turn back to face him, he’s sitting there looking way more relaxed than he should, considering what he’s just done.

“What if I don’t want you coming back to my place?” I ask quietly.

“Then change our destination,” he suggests, his brows lifting slightly.

It’s a test, and I think I’m about to pass it, because when I sit back and fold my arms over my chest, my lips remain closed.

It would be so easy to tell the driver to go somewhere else. Another bar or club, maybe. Hell, even a coffee shop. Anywhere but my house, where we’ll be alone…

My temperature spikes.

All night I’ve been torturing myself watching Garrett with another man.

I should have left long before I did, but I’m a bit of a masochist. I guess I kind of have to be, considering my entire life consists of smothering who I really am and pretending to be someone who will be accepted.

I let out a huge sigh as the weight I carry on a daily basis presses even heavier on my shoulders.

Garrett’s stare makes the side of my face burn red hot. But he never voices the questions that must be spinning around his head, and I never turn to look at him.

If I do, I fear what I might do or say next. And that can’t happen while we have company.

The drive to my house seems to take longer than ever.

It was my choice to live so far out of town. But after spending years in a quiet street in North Vancouver, the last thing I wanted to do was move to an apartment in downtown LA. I couldn’t think of anything worse than constantly being surrounded by people.

So I requested that the realtor the Vipers recommended look a little farther out of town for a house where I could have some peace and plenty of space.

Out here, I can mostly live my life without being watched. Sure, I have neighbors, but they’re mostly families who are too busy to pay attention to the guy who moved onto the street. I’ve met a few of them, and they seem nice—and, thankfully, completely unaware of who I am, or at least willing to pretend. That suits me perfectly.

While I might live for hockey and being out on that ice, the fame and attention that goes with it…Yeah, I could do without that.

Garrett whistles in appreciation once we’re out of the car and the driver is heading off for his next job. “This place is nice.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I make my way toward the house.

I don’t have any intention of hanging out on the street for anyone to see.

By the time I’m at the front door and turning the key, Garrett is right behind me.

Last chance to send him away, a little voice says.

But I banish it almost instantly and walk into my house, leaving the door open behind me in invitation.

His footsteps on the hardwood floor are like gunshots.