Zeek

CHAPTER TWO : Zeek’s POV

“Fuck.”

I groaned as the girl’s nose hit my groin. Rare to find one who can take all of me down her throat, even my fiancée never managed it.

My phone lit up. Of course she’s the one calling, and now I have to chase away this gem of a throat to pretend I’m the perfect partner.

“Sugar plum,” she moaned in her perfectly pitched voice, her face flawless even without her glamorous makeup.

“My love,” I faked my enthusiasm, “you should be asleep, it’s late.”

“Not till you give me a goodnight kiss, baby.” She pouted perfectly, the way she always does when she wants something and needs it to look effortless.

It’s all lies though. She won’t call just for a kiss. She probably got tipped off I had a girl with me.

“Baby, do you mind walking around and showing me your space?” 

“It’s the same boring space, sweetheart. Nothing to see.”

“But I want to see!” Her tone glitched, losing the sweet pitch she’s fond of. The last thing I wanted was a relationship issue, her fans are evil and would bury me on social media, and my team won’t hesitate to trade me over bad press. So I played along.

“This is the bedroom and the bathroom…” I flipped the camera so she could see every corner. Thankfully the girl from earlier had already left.

“Don’t forget to kiss me on camera tomorrow. We don’t want fans thinking we have an issue, now do we?

“Not at all, love. Goodnight.” I blew her a final kiss and hung up, putting my phone on do not disturb before she could get any more wild ideas.

My dick was hard from the girl’s ministrations earlier, but my fiancée’s performance had made it flaccid. I filled the tub till it overflowed and sank into it. I always land on my feet. It’s practically a gift.

When next I opened my eyes it was already very late. I didn’t bother with a towel or robe as I made my way to the bedroom and slipped under the duvet.

“What the fuck is this?” I screamed as the person underneath screamed too. I quickly grabbed the robe nearest to me, and before I could put it on, all I could see of whoever it was is a flaming red hair and the duvet covering the rest of her body.

Then I heard the door opening and the sounds of cameras.

Fucking paparazzi.

It’s not even daybreak and they’re already hounding me. They might have taken her picture, and everyone knows I only use room 106.

I rushed over to the other room to stop whatever it was she planned to do.

“What the fuck is wrong with everyone, and why is the fucking paparazzi at my door?”

She grumbled while massaging her temple with so much intensity.

“The question should be why the fuck are you in my room? Who sent you? You can’t ruin my career, I would ruin you and your sponsor before I—”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re so loud for an intruder. My head aches.”

Did she just ask me to shut up? Does she know who I am?

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” I asked in a fake calm voice.

“Who cares and who the fuck are—” She stopped mid-sentence, the moment she saw my face fully, and I watched the wheels turn in her head as she realized who I was.

Yes. I basked in the shock and awe. I’m a motherfucking legend and I deserve such adoration.

“You. You are. You are—”

“Zeek Marlow, world number one hockey play—”

“You’re the arrogant pig. How dare you come into my room, you disgusting pig.” She shrieked, anger clouding her features.

Voted the world’s hottest man to exist just last week, still the most decorated and popular hockey player alive, and she called me a pig.

“You must be mistaken—”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear you say anything.”

“It’s my room.”

“It’s mine.”

My phone rang. I gave her a scathing look before I went to fish for it. The team owner. Why is Richy calling me at 2 am?

“Rich—”

“Why the fuck is the media getting photos of your room, and why is a redhead half naked in it?” He boomed over the phone.

“It’s all a misunderstanding, I swear I can—”

“This is bad press. Fucking bad PR, and the game is in a few hours.”

“I swear, I can explain—”

“Either you wed Careesha before the game so the press don’t have a field day, or you make your relationship with this redhead public. I don’t care what you do, but if you don’t fix this, forget about playing for the team, Marlow.”

Fuck.

“No. Richy, please—”

“You have just five hours.”

The line went dead.

I looked up to see the cause of my misfortune staring at me with unadulterated hatred.

“Tell whoever sent you, mission successful.”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“You definitely know the game you’re playing, don’t play me for a fool.”

“I’ll take the bed. You should take the couch, I’m too fatigued to handle this,” she announced, and without waiting for my response she went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“Hey baby, please call me as soon as you get this.” I sent a voicemail to Careesha.

My phone buzzed again almost immediately, an alert from the same blog that broke my own headline. Still holding out hope it was Careesha calling me back, I opened it.

It wasn’t her voice I got. It was her face, laughing, wrapped in someone else’s arms outside a private club. My eyes moved to the caption before they moved to the man’s face, and by the time they did, I already knew.

In bright red mocking font, the caption read: Popular model, influencer, and Zeek Marlow’s fiancée spotted in the arms of Zeek’s opponent, ice enemy Leo Cane.

Fucking Leo Cane.

My only real threat, the one person who’s managed to stand on nearly the same level as me. 

Him going  after Careesha is dirty, but I’ve done worse to him for five years. He’s a reminder of how shaky my grip on the top actually is, and I hate his uptight ass for it.

My father’s words rang in my head. “You’re nothing, you’ve just been lucky so far, and one day the world will see you for the loser you truly are.”

If I don’t play at the finals, I might as well be that loser. And now the one man I refuse to lose to has my fiancée on his arm, while I’m stuck cleaning up a mess with a redhead who thinks I’m the villain in this story.

I looked toward the closed bedroom door.

She has no idea what she just became a part of. If I can’t have Careesha, this stranger isn’t walking away.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​