Page 73 of Ice Rebel

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Ignore it.

After taking another deep breath, I rolled my fingers up the length then squeezed my cockhead. My balls were tight as drums, the ache nearly as intense as when I’d been buried deep inside her sweet pussy. Shit, I craved the woman. More than I’d even done with anyone else.

Ding. Ding.

“Fuck me.”

When my phone rang, I was thoroughly disgusted and my cock responded, all the life drained out of it. Reaching over to my nightstand, I snatched the cellphone into my hand, growling as soon as I answered. Anyone daring to interrupt me deserved the sound of my wrath.

“This had better be damn good.”

“And good morning to you, brother.”

I lifted my head, shocked to hear my sister’s voice. “What the hell?”

“Yeah, I guess I could say the same thing. Have you checked your texts or the social media accounts this morning?”

“The last time I checked, it was early.”

“Not as early as you think and apparently your fans and haters never sleep. Plus, I’ve been working for hours, including trying to track down a reporter non-buddy of mine. Does the name Grant Michaels ring a bell?”

That forced me to sit straight up in bed. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you talked with a reporter recently? Including Grant?”

My head was far too foggy for this. “Some guy caught me coming out of practice. Said he was just there to remember his uncle or something.”

“Yeah? Well, he lied. I didn’t know you were getting married.”

“Say that again.”

“I’m not kidding,” she snarked. “Between his article, no matter how short, and the pictures that surfaced, well… Let’s just say I anticipate your life will soon become interesting.”

I pulled my phone away, noticing there were at least three dozen texts. She was already talking when I pressed the phone against my face.

“Now, I realize you didn’t know Chelsea was my roommate, but you didn’t even recognize my couch? Were you too busy fucking her to notice the floral pattern you’ve made fun of a dozen times?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Chelsea? She was rattling details off way too fast. “Slow down.”

“Chelsea, your fiancée. Oh, wait. You call her by another name. Shit, I can’t remember. But she calls you Roy. Remember now?”

Oh, you bet I was now awake. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Clementine is your roommate?” Now every muscle was tight as a drum and my cock flat as a pancake.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Imagine my surprise and her shock. And no, she had no idea who you were beforehand. My framed pictures are still in boxes and I might keep them there. Not that I mind you sleeping with her, but you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe someone would notice the two of you doing the hoochie-coochie on the pool table? Perfect fodder to prove Grant’s article. He’s likely wallowing in telling all kinds of stories.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, close to upchucking every drop of alcohol that hadn’t already been absorbed into my system. “Sam, you’re not making any sense. What about a pool table?”

“That’s the least of your worries. The number one story trending is that you’re engaged and off the market.”

“What the fuck? We had one date.”

“Yeah, complete with a little dirty dancing before a sleepover.”

“Why is that news?” I jerked up, reaching for my jeans. And why would the damn reporter make shit up? For ratings. I’d been an idiot. A fucking idiot.

“Why?” she scoffed. “Because you’re an eligible bachelor and part of the huge draw to the Wild. If you don’t believe me, ask Roxanne. Remember her, the team’s social media director? Even more explosive, you’re a damn shifter. Don’t you remember what both Ford and Beck went through? Do you honestly believe eight months is going to change anything? Some people want a Cinderella story. Some want a love story, including a tragedy. Then there are the rabid ones who feed off the belief we’re flesh eaters. And others just want to find a way to discredit you. None of the above are good for your career. Or for Chelsea.”