Page 41 of Ice Wolf
I couldn’t keep track of what was happening, already at the point of losing all sense of self control. The fact I was close to hyperventilating meant the heavy anxiety was about to take a toll.
While I was about to have a meltdown, Saint was loving every minute of the attention, posing for pictures and signing everything from napkins to women’s chests. It was ridiculous how popular he was.
The crush of heated bodies around me was suffocating. I tried to take several deep breaths, closing my eyes and counting slowly as I’d learned could usually calm me in these situations.
Only the exercise wasn’t helping in the least.
Puff. Puff. Puff.
Oh, this wasn’t good.
Maybe standing would help.
I was forced to shove my chair back as I was tossed against the edge of the table by some big burly guy crushing me with his full weight.
Now breathing was impossible.
“Hey, Saint,” the big burly guy yelled, the husky voice reverberating in my ears. “You gonna shift into a big, bad monster if you win tomorrow night’s game? You know Rocco will be waiting for it.”
Rocco. Who was Rocco?
“The Denver Devils won’t know what hit them and Rocco? Just a puff piece in a uniform,” Saint tossed back. I could see the headlines now. Whoever this Rocco guy was could cause more trouble, although a healthy rivalry might work in our favor.
While the thought was being formed into a visual Instagram post, the burly guy suddenly shoved his butt in my face.
Fans were desperately trying to grab Saint’s attention.
Breathe. Breathe.
That was it. Obviously, my client wasn’t doing anything to stop the melee. It was up to me to get control of the situation.
“Hey!” I yelled, elbowing the jerk ignoring I was sandwiched.
With little wiggle room gained, I shoved my way past him and two others, trying my best to get Saint’s attention.
“As for shifting, you never know, buddy,” Saint answered and I’ll be damned if he didn’t howl. Like a freaking wolf.
What in the hell was he doing?
Pushing and shoving wasn’t ladylike, neither was jamming my knee into another guy who had the nerve to try to toss me aside. But I did it anyway. I could see playing hardball was needed.
“What’s it like to be a werewolf?” The girl’s boobs were hanging out of her dress. No kidding. I could see the top of her areoles.
“Saint,” I called, forced to clear my throat since the lump formed earlier was huge.
“What’s it like?” he repeated and ran his hand through his hair. When he smiled, I shook my head.
Don’t do it. Do not do it!
“Being a werewolf is fabulous.”
And there it was. An admittance. He had no idea how much his joke would damage his reputation.
I elbowed another jerk, side kicked a second one, and snarled at a third until I finally shoved my way to within a few feet of my date. Correction. My client.
No, my nightmare.
Every iPhone and android phone was in operation, clicking endless shots.
