Page 76 of Captain's Claim

"Dibs!" Connor shouts, already pulling up the spa menu on his phone.

Natalie shrugs beside me. "Huh. Makes my life as the team physio easier."

I drift toward the roster posted by the elevators, scanning for my room assignment plastered beneath the Icehawks logo.

The champagne turns sour in my stomach when I spot my name.

Room 1542: Sophia Hart & Timothy Riley (PR)

"There has to be a mistake."

I blink hard, but the words before my eyes don't change.

"Problem?" Blake materializes behind me, a red sports drink in his hand, his breath warm against my neck as he reads over my shoulder. His whole body goes rigid. "Tim Riley? They paired you with Tim fucking Riley?"

"I'm sure it's just an administrative—"

"RILEY!"

Blake's voice booms across the lobby. Tim, a lanky guy with hipster glasses, looks up from his phone.

Ryder elbows Connor, both failing to hide their grins. "Somebody's feeling territorial."

"Twenty bucks says he throws him in the water fountain." Connor's smirk has Blake's head whipping around so fast I worry he'll strain something.

Meanwhile, Tim shuffles up beside us, clutching his phone and briefcase like a shield. His Adam's apple bobs as he takes in Blake's thunderous expression.

"I-I didn't request this arrangement," Tim squeaks, holding up his hands. "Corporate just sent me the room assignments this morning."

Blake's jaw ticks. The veins in his neck stand out like rivers on a map.

I'm not ashamed to say… it does something to me. Something warm and exciting.

Ryder leans against the marble pillar, thoroughly enjoying the show. "Shit… Riley's gonna pees himself before this is over."

"I'm raising my bet to fifty," Connor chimes in with a wolfish grin. "And throw in my dessert privileges for a week if Blake doesn't dunk Tim head-first into that fountain like his first fucking baptism."

Blake's glare could melt steel as he turns to them. "Shut the fuck up. Both of you."

Connor mimes zipping his lips. Ryder suddenly becomes very interested in a potted plant.

I press my knuckles to my mouth to keep from laughing.

Tim shuffles nervously, clearly weighing his options. “Uh… I-I can go to the front desk? See if they can switch me?”

Blake doesn’t hesitate. He grips Tim’s arm - not hard, butfirm, dragging him toward the concierge desk. The poor guy stumbles over his own feet in the process.

“Find him another room,” Blake demands, slamming his palm onto the counter like a mafia boss making an offer thatwillbe accepted.

The concierge blinks, startled. “I… I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked for the weekend. Hockey team in town and all.”

Blake exhales sharply through his nose. “Fine. He takes my room.”

"The penthouse, sir?" The concierge asks, tapping on the keyboard behind the desk.

Blake snorts. "Yes,the fucking penthouse."

Tim whirls. “Wait, what—”

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