Page 76 of Ice King

There were scheduled interviews and a meeting with the coaches. While we didn’t have a home court advantage with all three games being played in LA, we were pumped and nothing was going to stop us.

After tossing the phone on the counter, I stripped off my clothes, staring at myself in the mirror. There wasn’t a single ache in my body, my ribs completely healed. I rubbed my hand down my chest toward my cock, a single touch and I was fully aroused. Just thinking about the hot copper-kissed blonde did that to me. There wasn’t a puck bunny out there who had anything close to what Georgia had.

But the headlines were fun to read, the pictures taken from every angle the kind of notoriety the team needed. Whereas I’d been called a has-been and a danger to society after game one, now I was being heralded as a hero to the team.

Granted, the team hadn’t taken some of the comments too kindly, but winning was the only thing that mattered. I planted my hands on the counter, staring into my eyes, easily able to see a glimpse of my wolf. As with everything else about being famous, I’d need to be careful how I handled the press.

Especially since I’d gotten a call from my on again-off again, often pain in the ass agent. I’d resisted hiring one, only agreeing to do so after my father had insisted. That had gotten me a good deal by allowing me to stay close to home. However, the dollar amounts had been less than desirable.

But… his message left very early in the morning had been simple and straight to the point. A national firm had reached out to him, prepared to offer a six-figure deal. There was only one caveat. One.

That I win the next game. Not even that we grabbed the Calder Cup, but that we won this game. That I could do with blinders on. While emitting a deep laugh, I backed away from the counter. In such a good mood, I spun around, doing what I thought would be a wicked little dance.

Somehow, I managed to trip on my own two big feet, slipping on the floor and smashing against the edge of the counter.

A horrible crack shocked the hell out of me. What the fuck had made the dreadful sound? As soon as I pushed myself up from the awkward position, I made the mistake of taking a deep breath. A bolt of white-hot agony made intaking another breath even more painful. I managed to stand at my full height, pressing my hand against my ribs.

With the feeling of shards of broken glass between every rib, tears formed in my eyes. I remained still, concentrating on relaxing every muscle. Finally, I had a little relief, enough to take a deep breath without seeing stars.

Whew. No more dancing for me.

While I laughed, just moving a few inches was painful. A wave of knowing hit me. My fucking ribs. What the hell had I done to myself? This couldn’t happen. Not right now. The anger was raw, frustration building to the point I didn’t know what I was doing. With the brutal smash of my fist against the counter, flashes of light formed in front of my eyes from the rush of agony. I was forced to grit and grind my teeth to keep from wailing.

Noise caught my attention and as soon as I saw her face, as occurred every time she walked into the room, my cock hardened.

“There you are,” I told her, pressing my hand across my mouth to hide my labored breathing. “Guess what? I think I have a national sponsor.”

“That’s great. I’m so excited for you.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.

“All because of you.” Another flash of pain almost took my breath away. But my smile was bright. I had a work to do.

Georgia was wearing a sly smile while allowing her gaze to travel from my face to where my hand was placed against my ribs. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a damn thing,” I said quickly.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Now come here.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I asked as I stuck my head into an auxiliary location near the locker room. We were just about to suit up for the game. The room reminded me of a makeshift medical facility, which immediately raised my hackles.

Whoever he was speaking with turned his head toward me. I shifted my gaze to him then back to the coach, who wasn’t happy, even irritated. What the hell was going on?

The assistant coach was also in the room, leaning against the concrete wall with his arms folded. Why was it the air was stagnant as hell?

“Come in and close the door.” The coach backed away, slapping his hands on his hips.

“What’s going on?” I did as he asked while a level of anxiety rolled into me.

“I guess I wasn’t very clear with you before,” Coach Stryker said, laughing in a way that had nothing to do with humor.

“What are you talking about?”

“All injuries need to be reported. You know that. Now, I might have crossed a couple lines with your shoulder, but I honestly believed that your work with Ms. Wallace had paid off. You appeared in tiptop shape.”

“I am.”