Chapter 11
King
Me: How’s my girl?
I shoot off another text, leaning against my locker, in my pads and pants, waiting for the equipment manager to finish sharpening my skates for today’s practice. The locker room smells like sweat and ten kinds of masculine bodywash.
In the past, locker rooms always smelled like home. But now, her scent tells me she’s my new home.
There’s talking and laughter all around me as the team dresses for practice, but every thought I have is of her.
It’s been five hours and thirty-eight minutes since I walked into her office. It feels like a lifetime. Every minute my head is filled with her.
How soft her lips felt. The taste of our kiss. The way she said my name when she came. Her flavor on my fingers.
But, I’ve kept my vow, and it feels like living death.
Guilt ravages me for ruining her office. It was an impulsive move to light that handful of paper under the alarm sensor, but I’m a freight train barreling down the tracks when it comes to Emee Bristol.
After I took her shopping, I checked her in at the Lux, letting the concierge know whatever she wanted or needed, it was their job to provide. I hated leaving her, but I had my appointment with Dr. Hoffman, then practice, and she needed to get her feet back under her and breathe.
I can be a lot.
Her wide green eyes and that wild hair…not to mention how her tit fit in my hand perfectly and all that ripe sweetness she creamed into my palm, and how it tasted like forever. It all tells me I need to be inside her. How am I going to make it until the end of the season without nutting in that warm, sweet heaven between her legs?
Fuck. I squeeze my phone, staring at the screen. She’s not answering me.
It’s been ninety-six seconds, and I’m ready to come apart. I’m like a lovesick puppy, playing back every moment since she shocked my heart back to life and took control of my dick in that red dress.
It’s insane how possessive I feel about her already. The need to console and consume and care for her is unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
Text me back, goddamn it.
I fire off another text, my fingers flying on the screen of my phone as I growl at one of my teammates when he shoots me a look.
Me:Tell me you’re okay. What did you have for lunch? I’m still a little salty I couldn’t take you out. Had to get to Dr. Hoffman. He thinks highly of you. I’m jealous he’s known you for so long. Answer me, firecracker. I need to know you’re okay.
Fuck. I’m not playing games with this girl. She’s got a direct line to this wild, nurturing, protective part of me I didn’t know I had.
After I lapped her sweet cream off my hand, I took her down the street to the Galleria.
First, our wet clothes were hella uncomfortable, so I told her to pick any store she wanted, and she chose the Nike store.
Fucking girl.
She only smiled as I told her to pick out my clothes as well as hers, and she chose an identical pair of gray sweats and white t-shirt to the ones I was wearing.
I made sure she had at least a week’s worth of clothes from there, with shoes, then insisted on taking her to the Apple Store to get her a new laptop.
Her phone survived the sprinklers, but her laptop was gonna be toast even when she gets back into her office to retrieve it. She kicked up a fuss about paying, but I took care of it with a phone call before we arrived, and gave the store manager who I know a heads-up on some other special treatment I needed for her new setup.
He took us into his office and got her all rigged up on her Apple account, making sure all her logins worked, she could access her client list and schedule in the cloud, and she had every program she would want or need.
While he was finishing up with some of the technical stuff, I distracted Emee, sending her out with another sales associate to get a new laptop case and whatever else she might need, while Gabe asked for her phone to make sure it was ‘updated’ and connected to the new laptop.
Then, I made sure Gabe got me set up with what I needed: a clone account and a screen sharing program on a duplicate new MacBook.
As well, I had him download a location tracker on both of them, then linked it to an app on my phone.
Over the top? Invasive? Yeah. But since she put her hand on my shoulder, I’ve lost my fucking mind.
And I don’t want to find it.
She still isn’t answering my text.
I scan the locker room where my team is milling around in various states of gear, ready to head out onto the ice. I can’t leave, but fuck, if she doesn’t answer, I’m calling my security company and sending them to the hotel.
I check the tracking app for the hundredth time. There’s been no movement on her phone or her laptop for twenty-four minutes. What if she fell?
What if she slipped in the shower and hit her head?
Or, she opened her hotel door to some stranger.
The idea of her hurt or in pain drives a rusty spike into my skull.
Me: Firecracker. If you don’t answer me, I’m coming there and missing practice.
One. Two. Three. Fou—
Emee: Don’t you dare.
Relief floods through me.
Me: I’d skip the whole season if I thought you were in trouble.
Emee: Well, I’m fine. I called an Uber, so I used your card…I’m going to go to my apartment. I called the leasing office of my building and the super let me in.
Me: Good girl for telling me where you’re going. What do you need at your apartment?
Emee:Things for work, more clothes, toiletries, so I can just stay here. It’s so lux. lol I could use a little change of scenery. I’m getting the suite organized for clients. If they stop canceling on me, that is. I only had two late afternoon clients for today, but when I got into my scheduling program, they had both canceled. Luckily, it was a light day for appointments, and I guess it was for the best. But then, guess what?
Me: What, baby? Tell me everything.
Emee:All my clients for tomorrow canceled as well… Maybe they heard about the fire, but it’s weird.
Sure, it’s weird. But not that weird, when you consider it was me that sent them messages from your scheduling program and canceled their appointments.
Me: Yes, weird. You need some time to get yourself organized, right? You like to be organized. Oh, and since you don’t have your wallet or a license, I’m sending you a number for a car service. They are waiting for your call, and it’s all set up. Ubers can be dangerous. I don’t want you getting in a car with a stranger.
Emee: King, you don’t need to do that.
Me: I do what I do. And, I didn’t cancel. I’ll see you in the morning, baby.
Victor walks toward me, tapping on his phone. “Hey, I saw there was a fire at the office building where that cuddler is.”
“Yeah.”
“Some poor Bentley took a potted plant to the roof, too.”
I shrug. “Didn’t see anything.”
He stares at me for a long minute, then rolls his eyes. “You fucking… Tell me you’re joking, man.” His upper lip twists in a snarl. “Right now, tell me you had nothing to do with that fire. Or that car. That chaos has your signature all over it.”
He puts a hand out to keep me from walking by, then shoves me into the locker.
Anyone else did that, I’d rip their arm off and fuck them up the ass with it.
Victor only gets a pass because he’s a friend, and I’m riding the high from hearing that little squeaky chirp she makes in her throat when she comes.
And, hearing her call me her King?
My fucking soul left my body.
I shove Victor’s hand off my shoulder. “I did what I had to do.”
“Jesus fucking…” He turns, taking the four steps to his locker and grabbing his helmet off the shelf inside. “Arson is no joke, man, they find out you did that shit you’re going to fucking jail. How you gonna be there for the team then, asshole?”
“Was there a fire?” I bark, slamming my fists into his chest then throwing my hands up. “Did anyone see any fire? A fire alarm does not arson make, my friend.” I tug my jersey on over my head, jerking it as it gets stuck in my shoulder pads, finally pulling it into place. “And the car thing was personal. Some swinging dick tells me he wants to fuck my girl? Shit needed handled.”
“Please tell me you’re not…” Victor growls. “Jesus fucking Christ, man, you could have any puck bunny you want, and you decide to bang the therapist?”
I huff. “Shut your mouth. I didn’t bang anyone.”
He studies me for a moment, before shaking his head, his finger in my face. “This is not fucking happening. No fucking way. Are you going to fuck her to make sure she gives you some glowing report? That shit is going to blow up right in your ugly fucking face. You want your whole team to pay for your bullshit?”
“Something wrong with your ears? I said we didn’t fuck.”
“Yeah? Well, then, explain the words my girl to me, because that shit sounds like you’re fucking her.”
“Fuck you.” I grunt. “You say pussy one more time I’m knocking your fucking gold tooth out.”
She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.
The equipment manager turns the corner with my skates in his hand, eyeing me, then Victor, before making the smart decision to leave them sitting on the bench without a word.
Victor shuts his mouth, thank Christ. I’m not above knocking out a few more of his teeth if he pushes up on me anymore when it comes to Emee.
I grunt and growl, swearing at no one as I finish getting suited up for practice, while he and the rest of the team do the same.
We walk together out of the locker room into the chilled air blowing down the hall from the rink. We’re two steps out the door when Victor turns to me, his face serious. “Okay, so you didn’t fuck her. But you wanted to. Dude, I’ve never seen you like this over pussy.”
“Don’t fucking call her pussy.” I straight arm him against the wall, nearly knocking him off his skates, as a few of our teammates shoot me disapproving looks as they go by.
“Whatever. Keep your shit straight. This cuddling thing, this therapy. Whatever, we need you on the ice, coach needs you, I need you. Your head is already fucked over this girl, I can see it. As soon as the season is over, I’ll get you all the pussy you want, but right now you gotta forget about her being anything other than the key to you getting back to your team.”
I throw a roundhouse punch toward the side of his head, but he ducks just in time and my fist grazes on the blue painted cinderblock wall with a crunch. Pain zaps up my arm as he shakes his head in disappointment.
“Perfect, you ass. Break your hand and be out for the season. You’re letting a lot of fucking people down with your King of Chaos bullshit. Don’t pull that with me.”
I glare back, each breath burning my lungs as I heave the thick air in and out like dead weight.
He shakes his head, his face hardened, then turns and walks away. I knock the heel of my palm over and over against the side of my helmet as I follow.
My head is fucked, he’s right. I’m not going to let the team down. So, I grit my teeth and head out onto the ice for practice.
Where I fucking suck balls.
I can’t play for shit and everyone notices.
After, none of my teammates will look at me. I’m the hero and the villain, depending on if I’m serving the common goal or not.
Winning.
The team matters.
But, fuck, she matters more.