Page 80 of Captain's Claim

But it's not Blake.

It's Eli Thompson.

Eli: Need a favor. Call me ASAP. It's urgent.

I frown, water droplets running down my arms as I sit up straighter.

Eli Thompson needs a favor? From me?

The bubbles swirl around me as I stare at the message. After a moment's hesitation, I reach for my phone, careful not to get it wet.

Whatever this is about, it must be important for Eli to reach out like this.

I hit the call button, and it starts to ring.

Chapter Nineteen

Blake

The press kicks my ass for thirty whole fucking minutes.

Question after question. Quip after quip about what they saw earlier by the elevators. By the time I escape that media circus, my jaw aches from clenching my teeth.

I stride through the hotel lobby, my mind locked on one thing: getting back upstairs. To Sophia. To that hot tub where I left her naked and waiting.

"Blake! Hold up!" Big Mike's voice booms across the marble floor.

Fuck.

He and Greg materialize in front of me, blocking my path to the elevator. Their faces split with matching grins that make my stomach turn.

"Did you see the social numbers just now?" Greg waves his phone. "That thing you did outside? Pure gold. Engagement is through the roof again!"

"The NHL's new power couple, man!" Big Mike claps my shoulder. "Every sponsor wants a piece of this. The league office called—"

I tune them out, remembering how Tim Riley melted down during the press conference. Poor bastard looked ready to faint for the second time today as the reporters circled like sharks, firing question after question about me and Sophia.

They didn't even mention the game with Chicago tomorrow.

"Is it true you're living together?"

"How long have you been dating?"

"What about the viral skating video? Can we expect to see more of that?"

Tim stammered. Sweated. Choked on his own tongue while Big Mike and Greg just... watched. Let him drown.

"—thinking we should schedule a joint interview—" Greg's still talking.

"No." I cut him off, already stepping around them. My cock throbs, remembering how Sophia looked stretched out in that tub. The way her lips curved when she dropped those tiny panties. How her skin gleamed wet, soft and…

"But the numbers—"

"Later." I punch the elevator button harder than necessary. "I have somewhere to be."

The doors slide open and I escape inside before they can stop me again. As the elevator rises, I loosen my tie, my mind racing ahead to what's waiting upstairs.

That is, if she's still there. Still waiting. Still wet.

---