Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

The next morning, the glass facade of the Climate Pledge Arena was slick with a fresh coat of Seattle drizzle, reflecting the flashing lights of the broadcast vans.

The pre-game energy was already buzzing by the time I walked through the security entrance.

Reporters were already lined up in the media lounge, local sports anchors were checking their lapel mics, and the heavy thrum of a home-game crowd starting to gather outside the gates vibrated through the concrete floors.

I had my A-game face on. My suit was tailored, my tie was perfectly straight, and the fresh blister patch on my neck was completely hidden by the stiff collar of my dress shirt.

"Kain Evans! Over here for a quick segment!" the lead anchor for the local sports network called out, gesturing toward the media backdrop.

I forced a smooth, easy smile—the perfect picture of the calm, reliable captain the city expected.

I stepped up to the microphone, keeping my shoulders perfectly squared, like I’d done before.

I hate press conferences, as I’d previously mentioned, but without a press conference, there’s not much coverage for our team.

So, as the team ’understanding’ captain, I have to take this one for the team.

"Evans, a tough three-day training camp in Lake Placid just wrapped up, and you’re heading straight into a high-stakes matchup against a brutal Vancouver offense tonight," the reporter said, shoving the mic toward my chin. "How’s the team’s conditioning after that mountain air, and are you personally ready for the physical toll?"

I took in a not so perceived deep breath, ready for this question.

"The boys are hungry," I replied, my voice deep, steady, and projecting absolute confidence. "Lake Placid gave us exactly what we needed to tighten our transitions. Vancouver plays a heavy, aggressive game, but we’re on our own ice tonight. We control the pace. I’m feeling 100 percent, and we’re ready to show our fans what the Serpents can do."

"Speaking of the lineup," the reporter continued, shifting his notes. "Rookie winger Reid McCoy had a phenomenal showing during the scrimmage reports we received. There’s a lot of chatter about the sudden on-ice chemistry between the two of you." They already have Intel on that? They’re good. "Are we going to see that translate to the first line tonight?"

We just have to leave it at the thought that we’re ’getting along’ well so no one suspects a thing.

"McCoy is a talented player," I said, keeping my expression entirely neutral, though a tight knot formed in my stomach at the mention of his name. "He’s adapting quickly to our system. But hockey is a team game. It’s not about two players; it’s about all twenty guys executing the game plan."

"Spoken like a true leader. Good luck out there tonight, Captain."

"Thanks," I nodded, stepping away from the cameras but then one persistent reporter called out.

I knew I couldn’t get away without answering this one wild question concerning Reid’s blatant remark before we went on our trip.

"Evans, regarding the remark Reid said about crushing it this season because the team has him, how does he plan to hold up those words?" He asked and I went quiet for a second.

I did wish to avoid it but I guess I can’t run from it. I hate to handle this well. So I stepped back to the mic and responded.

​"Confidence is exactly what you want to see from a rookie," I said, a light, easy smile playing on my lips. "Reid’s got a big mouth, but as you all saw in the scrimmages, he’s got the skill to back it up. He’s here to win, just like the rest of us. If he says he’s going to crush it, then I expect him to do exactly that on the ice tonight."

​"Does that mean you approve of his aggressive attitude, Cap?" another reporter shouted, but I was already stepping away, offering a final, polite nod before walking past the security line.

​The moment the double doors closed behind me and I entered the restricted corridor, the media smile completely vanished.

I let out a sharp breath, my fingers immediately flying to my collar to ensure the edge of the patch hadn’t peeked through.

I headed straight for the locker room. The heavy scent of expensive leather and industrial floor cleaner hit me as soon as I pushed the door open.

Since it was still morning, the rest of the guys weren’t getting dressed for the game yet; most of them were hitting the arena’s gym or lounging around in their tracksuits. But a few select lockers were draped in pristine game-day jerseys, ours included.

​We had a promotional photoshoot scheduled before the pre-game skate.

​"Great interview, Cap," Reid’s voice drifted over the low hum of the locker room.

​I turned toward my stall at the far end of the room. He was already sitting there, dressed in his blue hockey pants, idly taping the blade of his stick.

He didn’t look up, but that signature, snobbish smirk was plastered right across his lips. I could hear the subtle, mocking undertone in his voice, perfectly tailored to tweak my nerves.

​"I was doing damage control, McCoy," I gritted out, my jaw tight as I unbuttoned my suit jacket and hung it up. I carefully loosened my collar, making sure it didn’t snag on the adhesive patch on my neck. "Don’t let it get to your head. You still have to back up those words on the ice tonight."

​"Oh, I’ll perform," Reid chuckled, finally looking up. Those smoky grey eyes locked onto mine, dark and full of a terrifying, quiet intensity that made my inner Omega give a small, excited twitch.

​He stood up, his frame blocking the narrow space between our stalls. He stepped in closer—too close—his sturdy shoulder brushing against mine as he reached past me toward his locker. Before I could step back, his hand slid down, his fingers giving a firm squeeze on my ass, through my tailored trousers.

​"You look great in a suit, Evans," Reid murmured, his voice a low, intimate vibration meant strictly for my ears. "Makes your fresh ass stand out."

​A jolt of heat shot straight up my spine. My face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and absolute fury. I instantly slapped his hand off, glaring at him as I yanked my tie loose.

​"Don’t touch me," I hissed, checking over my shoulder to ensure none of the trainers or early players were watching. "Stop acting like a damn maniac. We need to get ready for the shoot. The media team is already waiting on us."

​Reid just let out a short, amused huff, completely unbothered by my tone as he grabbed his jersey from the hook.

He looked entirely too comfortable, too in control, while I was left trying to steady my hands just to get out of my clothes.

Damn perverted demon.