Chapter 16
Cole
Ding.
Ding. Ding.
Ding. Ding.
“Please stop,” I grumbled from under the covers. If I heard another text coming in or another ping on social media, I was going to lose my mind. I should have turned the damn ringer off after the first round I’d also ignored.
After that I think I’d passed out, which was why my head felt like the basketball after a full NBA championship.
Tossing the covers, I rolled over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Arms splayed out, sweat rolling down both sides of my face. At some point, I’d turned on the ceiling fan, but the whirling motor and unsteady blades weren’t doing any good.
The sheets were soaked. All because of some filthy dreams, so dirty my cock ached. Maybe I’d masturbated in the middle of the night. Knowing me, the possibility was real.
All about the one woman I couldn’t have.
That had been made apparent by Jagger’s tough words. We were fucking co-captains with enough testosterone to fill an entire arena between us. If he even had an inkling I’d fucked his sister, every person in Seattle would face his wrath.
I smashed one hand on the sheets while rubbing my eyes with the other.
I’d really stepped into the shit on this time.
Not on purpose. But holy hell. The only saving grace of the night had been that Clementine hadn’t said a word about our tryst. Only that wasn’t her name.
Her name was Chelsea Black. Jagger Black’s sister.
Maybe if I continued reminding myself of that damning fact, I would finally accept reality. Instead, my cock was fully aroused, my leg muscles tense. How long was I going to walk around having blue balls?
At least I’d seen in her eyes a desire to keep our little secret just that.
A good old-fashioned secret. Why had she looked so adorable in her gym uniform?
Just little khaki shorts and a thin tee shirt that had made it almost impossible to look anywhere else but at her luscious nipples poking through her lacy bra.
I’d seen the way Anthony had stared at her and had come this close to punching his lights out.
Possessive much?
And she didn’t even belong to me. Imagine if she did.
A groan escaped past my fingers while my other hand involuntarily crawled toward my aching dick. Maybe if I allowed myself a little relief, I could push her out of my mind. Today was travel day. I needed to get my shit into gear.
We had two games to win or forget about a single NHL team looking in my direction.
My chest ached even as I wrapped my fingers around the base of my shaft. What I wouldn’t give to have her mouth wrapped around my dick, her soft lips sucking while her tongue worked the same magic as during our heated kisses.
And damn if she wasn’t one of the best kissers in the freaking world.
I closed my eyes while running my sweaty palm up and down a few times. When I twisted my fingers only once, the friction was powerful enough I lifted my hips off the bed.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Ignore it.
After taking another deep breath, I rolled my fingers up the length then squeezed my cockhead. My balls were tight as drums, the ache nearly as intense as when I’d been buried deep inside her sweet pussy. Shit, I craved the woman. More than I’d even done with anyone else.
Ding. Ding.
“Fuck me.”
When my phone rang, I was thoroughly disgusted and my cock responded, all the life drained out of it. Reaching over to my nightstand, I snatched the cellphone into my hand, growling as soon as I answered. Anyone daring to interrupt me deserved the sound of my wrath.
“This had better be damn good.”
“And good morning to you, brother.”
I lifted my head, shocked to hear my sister’s voice. “What the hell?”
“Yeah, I guess I could say the same thing. Have you checked your texts or the social media accounts this morning?”
“The last time I checked, it was early.”
“Not as early as you think and apparently your fans and haters never sleep. Plus, I’ve been working for hours, including trying to track down a reporter non-buddy of mine. Does the name Grant Michaels ring a bell?”
That forced me to sit straight up in bed. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you talked with a reporter recently? Including Grant?”
My head was far too foggy for this. “Some guy caught me coming out of practice. Said he was just there to remember his uncle or something.”
“Yeah? Well, he lied. I didn’t know you were getting married.”
“Say that again.”
“I’m not kidding,” she snarked. “Between his article, no matter how short, and the pictures that surfaced, well… Let’s just say I anticipate your life will soon become interesting.”
I pulled my phone away, noticing there were at least three dozen texts. She was already talking when I pressed the phone against my face.
“Now, I realize you didn’t know Chelsea was my roommate, but you didn’t even recognize my couch? Were you too busy fucking her to notice the floral pattern you’ve made fun of a dozen times?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Chelsea? She was rattling details off way too fast. “Slow down.”
“Chelsea, your fiancée. Oh, wait. You call her by another name. Shit, I can’t remember. But she calls you Roy. Remember now?”
Oh, you bet I was now awake. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Clementine is your roommate?” Now every muscle was tight as a drum and my cock flat as a pancake.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Imagine my surprise and her shock. And no, she had no idea who you were beforehand. My framed pictures are still in boxes and I might keep them there. Not that I mind you sleeping with her, but you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe someone would notice the two of you doing the hoochie-coochie on the pool table?
Perfect fodder to prove Grant’s article.
He’s likely wallowing in telling all kinds of stories. ”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, close to upchucking every drop of alcohol that hadn’t already been absorbed into my system. “Sam, you’re not making any sense. What about a pool table?”
“That’s the least of your worries. The number one story trending is that you’re engaged and off the market.”
“What the fuck? We had one date.”
“Yeah, complete with a little dirty dancing before a sleepover.”
“Why is that news?” I jerked up, reaching for my jeans. And why would the damn reporter make shit up? For ratings. I’d been an idiot. A fucking idiot.
“Why?” she scoffed. “Because you’re an eligible bachelor and part of the huge draw to the Wild.
If you don’t believe me, ask Roxanne. Remember her, the team’s social media director?
Even more explosive, you’re a damn shifter.
Don’t you remember what both Ford and Beck went through?
Do you honestly believe eight months is going to change anything?
Some people want a Cinderella story. Some want a love story, including a tragedy.
Then there are the rabid ones who feed off the belief we’re flesh eaters.
And others just want to find a way to discredit you.
None of the above are good for your career. Or for Chelsea.”
This was a fucking nightmare.
“Did you talk with Clementine? I mean Chelsea? Does she know?”
“Oh, she knows. We were out having drinks when a bunch of girls treated her like shit. She held her own, but that’s not the worst of it.”
“Then what is?”
“She didn’t know either one of us were shifters. Plus, I heard you had a little run-in with her brother, the new guy on the team you can’t stand?”
“Ah, fuck.” I put the phone on speaker so I could struggle into some clothes.
“Fuck is right. I take it from what she told me that Jagger has no idea you two hooked up?”
“We didn’t hook up, but nah. Are you kidding me?”
When she laughed, it was her way of calling me a stupid asshole without the words. I yanked on a clean shirt, raking my fingers through my hair. What the fuck was I supposed to do with this? Jagger would be pissed if he knew.
“Then I think you need to figure out a little damage control. Maybe you should call your big brothers for some advice.”
“Fuck that. I can handle this. I’ll call Clementine.”
“Chelsea, and I didn’t think she had to work today but she left early.
Without her phone. She didn’t act upset last night but honestly, I think she was in shock after learning about where Jagger had moved and that you’re my brother.
Then the shifter part. And evidently her dad is a real jerk.
I haven’t bothered to try and find anything about him.
Anyway, I don’t know where she went, but obviously you need to try and find her. ”
“I don’t know enough about her, Sam. We didn’t tell each other anything personal.”
“Yeah, I know. She told me that too.”
“Then you need to help me. If I can’t find her at the gym, then where would she go?”
Samantha groaned. “I have an idea. She’s a dancer. Did she tell you that?”
“Well, I caught her practicing in a studio at the gym, but she didn’t really tell me much.”
“She wants to be a dancer, as in accepted into a dance company. She’s involved with a local dance studio and they have a performance this Sunday. She might be there practicing. Dancing grounds her. If she’s not there, then I don’t know.”
“Where?” I was incensed, furious. Upset. Worried. I could only imagine what Clementine was going through.
“They use the Lincoln Theater on Second Street.”
“Okay. How didn’t she know I was a shifter? It’s all over the news.”
“Some hockey player was an asshole, and I’m not talking about her brother. She can’t stand hockey players, but that’s the least of your worries.”
I threw my head back, furious that I hadn’t told her I was a shifter myself. Maybe I’d been under the belief everyone knew at this point. How was I supposed to overcome not telling her something so important?
“Let me go. I’ll see if I can find her. If you see her first, just tell her that… That I really enjoyed spending time with her.”
“You need to tell her that yourself.”