Page 113 of Captain's Claim

"IR-ON RIDGE! IR-ON RIDGE! IR-ON RIDGE!"

I keep Sophia pressed against me, one hand tangled in her hair as the chants echo off the wooden walls. I throw my fist in the air with each beat of the chant, and Sophia just laughs beside me.

This is my town. My team. My girl.

And now they're playing by my rules.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sophia

Aweek later, I'm popping another chocolate into my mouth, letting the rich salted caramel filling coat my tongue as I recline in my office chair.

Myoffice chair.

Across from me, Mia and Natalie stare, arms crossed, their judgment so thick I can practically taste it through the sea salt inside the truffle I’m currently demolishing.

“So,” Mia drawls, reaching across my desk to snatch another chocolate from the half-devoured box. “Let me get this straight. They begged?”

I smirk, sipping my coffee. “No. Theygrovelled. It sounds better that way.”

Natalie kicks her feet up on the edge of my desk, shaking her head like this is the most delicious piece of gossip she’s ever received.

“Unbelievable. Big Mike and Greg? The same men who tried to turn you into the NHL’s answer to Barbie and Ken?”

“The very same.”

Mia whistles, exchanging glances with Natalie. “And they came crawling back?”

I hold my fingers an inch apart. “On their knees.”

Of course, that's not exactly how it went down.

The headlines shifted from "Ice Queen Seduces Captain" to "NHL's Power Couple Stands United." Sports commentators who'd questioned my credentials suddenly praised my "innovative approach to sports marketing."

Even my former colleague who'd trashed me on ESPN backpedaled so fast he probably got whiplash.

Amazing what happens when the most respected captain in hockey tells the world to back off.

The paparazzi still lurk, but they keep their distance now. No more ambushes outside Summit Café or sneaky shots through restaurant windows. They photograph us from across the street, capturing moments we choose to share rather than stealing private ones.

I let the board stew for three whole days after Blake's press conference at Ridgeview Tavern. Their calls went straight to voicemail while I lounged in Blake's bed, watching the media narrative transform in real-time.

Blake found the whole thing hilarious.

Whether it was watching me ignore Greg’s desperate voicemails, or the fact that he got me all to himself for three whole days, I still haven’t figured out.

Probably both.

Especially considering the way he kept me occupied.

My body is still sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. If I never have to brace myself against his kitchen counter again while he dragged his tongue over every inch of me like he was conducting a very thorough taste test, it’ll be too soon.

Scratch that.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

But what hedoesn’tknow?

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