Page 103 of Our Secret to Keep

“I don’t see how I can commit to anything more than sex,” I admit. “I’m not even sure what I want out of this. But I want you.”

River turns his back to me and digs through his locker. He tosses a Henley and a pair of black joggers over his shoulder with a sigh.

I move behind him, placing his hands on his hips. “Don’t ignore me, Riv.” I nibble on his earlobe, and my teeth trail over his hot skin. “You know I’m right. Just think about it. Neither of us knows what the fuck we’re doing. But we want this.”

He sighs loudly. “I don’t think our friendship could survive if you break my heart.”

Two dinging sounds interrupt our conversation, slicing through the silence in the room like a knife. I reach into my locker and grab my cell phone. River does the same, clutching his phone so hard his knuckles drain of color.

It’s a Google alert.

We both stare. Blink.

I hold out my cell phone. “Did you get this?”

He nods, biting his lip, hand trembling as he swipes on the notification.

Dread settles into my belly, chills rolling down my arms. My heart rate speeds to a horrific pace. All the blood rushes to my head, and there’s a whooshing sound in my ears.

River presses his shoulder to mine as we click on the article written byThe Beacon Press. The headline readsThe Secret Life of Ryan Rousseau’s Son.

“I can’t breathe,” River chokes out, staggering into the locker, holding his chest. He drops his clothes on the floor. “Fuck, this is not happening.”

I drag him to a bench and force him to sit.

“Can you read it to me?” River asks, tears welling in his bottom lids.

I scan the contents of the short article and read it aloud.

A former girlfriend of River Rousseau, the son of NHL legend Ryan Rousseau, spills the tea in a spicy new book. River is slated to sign with an NHL team and follow in his father’s footsteps, but the salacious biography could derail his plans.

The publisher has yet to release all the details. However, they are teasing that River shares women with his best friend and teammate, Nathaniel Brooks, the son of Texas oil billionaire Spencer Brooks.

In this juicy tell-all hotter than a sexy romance novel, the author, who uses the pen name R. Daly to conceal her identity, pens a graphic love story guaranteed to break the ice and steam up your Kindle. Dirty Pucking Secrets is available for pre-order and will hit shelves in May.

“Fuck,” River chokes out, shaking uncontrollably. “I’m so screwed.”

“We can fix this,” I say, though my tone lacks confidence. “We always do.”

He shakes his head. “Not this time, Nate. You missed an NDA. Someone you forgot about.”

For the sake of our friendship, I hope I didn’t forget someone.

River will never forgive me.

He will leave me.

He’ll stop loving me.

Fuck.

I type the book’s name into Google. Hundreds of videos, images, and articles have already been posted on various social media platforms and news outlets.

My eyes drift to a recent TikTok video from The Kingston Spy. As usual, she tagged River and me.

River leans over my shoulder as I click on the video. The Kingston Spy uses video clips from River’s TikTok account and then flips to a green screen with theDirty Pucking Secretsbook cover. She also shows screenshots from various articles talking about the book.

“Look at what our dirty, dirty boys have been up to,” a woman says in an AI-generated voice. “We love them. We want to date them. And sometimes, we even hate them. You can bet your pucking ass I’m reading any book about River Rousseau and Nate Brooks getting it on. Oh, hell yes. And guess what, my loyal followers. I know the woman who wrote this book.”

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