Blayne’s eyes grew wide, her smile huge, and Crush immediately knew he had to stop this.
“I am not the new ... would you get off!”
“He’s shy,” the female felt the need to explain.
“I am not shy. You’re insane.” He finally pried her arms off his body and pushed her back. “Now stop harassing ...” Crush studied her, his heart dropping. “Why ... why are you dressed like that?”
She had on a Carnivore jersey, shoulder pads under that, hockey pants, socks, and shin pads.
“Why do you think I’m dressed like this?”
“Because hell has come to earth?”
She laughed and Novikov said, “You’re such a fan, figured you’d know Bare Knuckles Ma—”
“No!” And the grizzly and the hybrid male snarled a little at his outburst, both pulling their females back from the hysterical polar. “No, no, no, no!”
The feline’s grin was wide and happy. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”
“No! You cannot be Bare Knuckles Malone. You cannot be. You”—and he pointed at her with an accusing finger—“cannot be the daughter of the greatest player ever. And you cannot be the most feared enforcer in the league right now. You? No!”
“I’m sensing I should be insulted by that tone.” The feline grinned. “But I’m not! Because I have such a giving and loving nature and you are just so cute. We will have such adorable cubs. And since I’m never home, my little girl”—she raised her hand barely to her waist to illustrate her child’s height—“can raise them.”
“I am not cute and I’m not having kids with you!”
“You guys, you guys.” Blayne slipped between the pair. “There’s no reason to be angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Flinging her arms out and turning in a circle like a little girl, the feline exclaimed, “I’m in love!”
“That’s it.” Crush stepped away. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t run from our love!”
Crush had almost reached the elevators when Blayne leaped in front of him. “Don’t go, Crush.”
“I can’t stay. The game’s about to start, I need to get to my seat ... I can’t stay.” He reached around Blayne, punching the elevator button. When he leaned back, he realized that the wolfdog was staring up at him. And the more she stared, the sadder she looked.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Then she looked mad. He assumed she was mad at him, but when she grabbed his hand and walked back over to the others, it was the feline who received Blayne’s wrath.
“Why are you being mean?” Blayne demanded.
“I’m not being—”
“Bullshit! I know when a feline’s being mean, and you’re being mean. I don’t like it.”
“Now ask me if I care if you—owww! You bitch!”
Blayne had dropped Crush’s hand to latch on to the feline’s hair, digging her fingers in and twisting.
“Get off me!”
“Excuse us,” Blayne said before she stormed off down the hallway, dragging the feline with her.
Crush watched the pair disappear around a corner; then he looked at Novikov. He knew the man had the same expression Crush did, and they both started off at the same time to follow, but Gwen grabbed their arms. “Don’t get in the middle.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re not listening to me. Do not get in the middle of this. Trust me.”
“It’s really not that big a deal,” Crush felt the need to explain. “She drives me nuts, but Blayne didn’t have to get so upset about it.”
“Blayne felt she did, so you might as well not get in the middle.” Gwen glanced at him. “Rough couple of days, Crush? Maybe a rough couple of years?”
Crush, feeling uncomfortable, asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Whatever Blayne Thorpe saw, she’s worried about you.”
“Worried about me? Why? I mean, life is what it is.”
“Ooooh.” Gwen cringed. “Yeah, if Blayne asks you a similar question, I wouldn’t give that response.”
“Do not give Blayne that response,” Novikov agreed. “Otherwise, she’ll make me adopt you.”
“That would be kind of weird cause I’m older than you.”
“Is that really the only reason you can come up with of why that would be weird?”
Blayne stalked around the corner, the feline following behind, eyes rolling, feet dragging. Stopping between Crush and Gwen, Blayne waited for Malone to reach them, her foot tapping.
Once the feline stood in front of them, she said, “Now what was it you wanted me to say again?”
Blayne went for Malone’s throat, but Novikov caught her first, yanking the swinging, spitting, and screeching wolfdog away.
“Is there anyone,” Crush asked, “that you don’t irritate?”
The feline looked him over, and grinned. “Come on.”
She grabbed his hand, but Crush immediately yanked it back. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going to my seat and forget I ever met you and then I’ll decide whether to sue the makers of delicious Jell-O products or just the MacDermots for using Jell-O in a clearly despicable way.”
“You really are cute, you know?” And for once it didn’t sound like the feline was mocking. “My suggestion is to go after MacDermot and Llewellyn. The Jell-O people are probably a huge conglomerate that will have you tied up in court for years. And I need you to come with me because I’d prefer not to end up on the wrong side of Blayne Thorpe.”
“You already seem to be on the wrong side of Blayne.”
“If I was really on the wrong side of Blayne, I’d be in little consumable pieces for the hyena population. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Morally ... I guess not.”
“Morally, huh?”
“Should I get a dictionary so you can look up the meaning?”
Laughing, the feline grabbed his hand and started walking. “According to Blayne,” who was watching them walk by, panting hard, fangs out, “I owe you for being so mean to you. You apparently have a broken heart that needs to be mended.” She glanced back at him. “Just break up with your girlfriend or something?”
“No.”
“Well, she thinks you’re wounded and my tormenting you is beneath me.”
“So you two just met then?”
“I like how your sense of humor comes out when it’s to make fun of me.”
“You need to pick up the step, Malone,” Novikov yelled after her. “We’ve got a game to get to.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
After a few minutes of following along, Crush asked, “So where are we going anyway?”
“You’ll see.”
“If you’re just going to find another way to publicly embarrass me, can we do it at another time? Like after the game?”
“I don’t waste my time embarrassing anyone when I’ve got a game about to start.”
“And why is that?”
“Because embarrassing others is a pastime and pastimes are for after the game. Like video games or going out to clubs.”
“Can you be more cat?”
“Not even if I tried.”
She took him down a small set of stairs to a door manned by a couple of very large security guards. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Cella,” one said while opening the door for her.
“He’s with me. This is ...” She stopped, looked at him. “What’s your name?”
“You’re just asking me that?”
“Yes.”
“MacDermot didn’t tell you?”
“She did but”—she shrugged—“it slipped my mind.”
Knowing that if he tried to make a run for it, she’d just hunt him down, Crush decided to just get this insanity over with. “Name’s Lou Crushek.”
“I thought Blayne called you Crush.”
“My friends call me Crush, and since you’re not—”
“Crush it is then.” She yanked him inside the bi
g room with the giant windows overlooking the rink and dragged him until they reached the plush leather seats.
“You’ll watch the game from here.”
Crush took a quick look around. When the Sports Center first opened years ago, Crush had taken what Conway still called “a sports geek tour of the place.” So he knew this room, although he and the other tourists had only been allowed a very quick walkthrough. “But ... but this is the—”
“Owner’s box. Right. And you can sit here. Right by my daddy.”
Crush gawked down at the older tiger male sitting in one of the seats, an open Guinness in his hand. Crush gawked, but he couldn’t speak. No words would come out. So, like an idiot, he just stood there. Gawking.
“Daddy,” Malone said. “This is Lou Crushek, aka Crush. He’s my new boyfriend.” The man blinked in surprise and then grinned. “Crush, honey, this is my daddy, Nice Guy Malone.”
Crush shook his head at the hand held out to him. “I think I ... I need to ...”
Surprisingly soft hands brushed hair off his face. “Oh, baby, you’ve gone all white. Which is kind of amazing considering you’re a polar.”
“He better sit down.”
Father and daughter shoved Crush into a seat.
“What’s wrong with him?” Nice Guy asked.
“He’s a fan, Daddy. I think he’s overwhelmed at meeting you.”
“Good kid,” Nice Guy said before glancing at his daughter and asking, “And he’s single, right?”
“Daddy.”
“Just making sure. Look, you go before you hear about it from Novikov. I’ll take care of the kid.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” She winked at Crush. “And I’ll see you later, handsome.”
And that was about the time that Crush completely freaked out.
Cella was at the door pulling it open when a big hand slammed against it and shoved it back, yanking her forward a bit since she still had her hand on the knob.
“You can’t leave me.”
Startled by the desperation she heard in that voice, she turned around and looked up at the cop. “Of course, I can.”
“No. You can’t leave me.”
“Look at you, already attached. But I play with the Genghis Khan of time management. I have to go.” She pulled at the door again and again it was slammed.
“What are you doing?” she asked, getting exasperated.
“You can’t leave me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true. I’ll just go with you.”
“I can’t take you to the locker room until after the game.”
“No, but I can go to the seat I paid for.”
“The seat in the nosebleed section? That’s where Blayne said you were headed. Why would you want to go there?”
“Because I can’t stay here,” he whispered.
“Why not?” she whispered back.
He leaned in closer, and still in a whisper, “Because that’s Nice Guy Malone.”
“I know,” she again whispered back. “I recognize him from all my birthday parties and when I find him inappropriately fondling my mother. Not seeing the problem. Just talk to him.”
“Talk? Talk to him? To Nice Guy Malone?”
Good God, the man was having a panic attack.
“What am I supposed to say to Nice Guy Malone? I mean he’s ... he’s Nice Guy Malone.”
And that’s when she understood. Kind of like if she’d had the chance to sit and chat with John L. Sullivan, one of the last known heavyweight bare-knuckle champions. She’d probably be having a full-on panic attack if she’d met him—partly because the man had died in 1918, but also because he was her hero.
And her father was the hero of this uptight cop that Blayne Thorpe suddenly felt so protective of, which did nothing but make him even cuter than he already was simply because he had excellent taste.
“You have to take me out of here,” the polar begged.
“No.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. I just want to make sure you don’t regret this night for the rest of your life by walking away. Besides, my dad’s a total talker. Mr. Storyteller. All Malone males are. So you won’t have to say a word.” She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Now balls up and go talk to your lifelong hero.”
Cella shoved and her father was there to grab the polar’s arm. “Come on, kid. I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
“Introduce me?” And she heard his voice crack a little.
“Way cute.” Cella chuckled and headed out, ready to have some fun on the ice.
CHAPTER SIX
“Would you like a menu, sir?”
Crush shook his head, and wondered how he could get out of this. “No.”
“Go on,” Nice Guy pushed.
“We have a lovely peppered, ringed seal sandwich with spicy hot mustard. It’s a favorite among our polar clientele.”
And wow, but did that sound good. But no. No. He couldn’t. This was getting completely out of hand!
“He’ll take it,” Nice Guy volunteered for him. “And some of those sweet potato fries, too.” The waiter nodded and walked off. “You might as well enjoy this, kid.”
“I have no idea how I got here. This can’t end well.”
Nice Guy studied him for a few moments, then said, “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
Stunned, Crush stared at his hero. It was usually the last thing anyone ever accused Crush of being. Meth dealer, mass murderer, biker, but no one ever said, “You’re a cop, aren’t you?” It was why Crush was so good at his job. He could infiltrate any lowlife, underworld association he wanted simply because he looked as if for ten bucks and a pack of smokes, he’d cut someone’s throat.
Of course, that used to insult him, but not anymore.
“Uh ... well ...”
Nice Guy patted his arm. “It’s all right, kid. You don’t need to admit anything. I just know cops when I see ’em.”
“No one else ever guesses it right.”
The tiger shrugged. “I was always ‘Nice Guy’ Malone, but I wasn’t always ‘Nice Guy’ Malone.”
Crush frowned while Nice Guy’s teammates laughed around them.
“What,” Crush asked, “does that mean?”
Cella, now with her skates on and stick and helmet in hand, made her way to the long, covered hallway that would lead out onto the ice. But when she was still a corner-turn away, a small wolfdog sped out in front of her, blocking her path.
Not wanting to fight, Cella immediately held her hands up. “I made it up to him! I made it up to him!”
“Huh?” Blayne shook her head. “Oh, whatever. I’m not talking about that.”
“Oh.” Cella lowered her hands. “Then what’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“After you just busted my balls?”
“Those are two separate issues!” Blayne bellowed.
Cella’s eyes narrowed. “Blayne ... did you have sugar today?”
She lowered her gaze. “Maybe.”
“And on that note ...”
Cella tried to go around her, but Blayne skated in front of her. She had on her quad skates for derby practice and the tiniest shorts known to man or God. Thankfully, the little wolfdog looked good in those shorts.
“I need your help,” she said.
“With what?”
“My wedding. Gwen’s wedding. It’s all gone to shit!”
“You knew Novikov was difficult.”
“He’s not the problem. Gwen’s mother. Lock’s mother. They’re the problem.”
“How are they a problem for you?”
Her lips briefly pressed into a thin line. “Apparently, I’m like a daughter to them,” she said flatly.
“Oh. Well, have fun with that.”
“Cella, I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Your mom.”
Of course. Every bride wanted Barb Malone as their wed
ding planner, but that just wasn’t possible. “My mom is booked for the next three years. I think she even turned down one of the Kennedys.” Cella glanced off. “Or maybe it was just a close relative of the Kennedys. Either way—”
“So you’re saying no?”
“I’m saying no.”
“Fine!” Blayne and her sugar high bellowed.
Cella watched her skate off, waiting until she was about ten feet away before she softly said, “Unless ...”
Wild dog ears honed in on that and Blayne stopped. “Unless?”
Cella faced her, shrugged. “Maybe if you could help me with Novikov and the way he treats the team ...”
Blayne clenched her fists. “We made a promise to each other that I would never involve myself in his hockey career and he would never call derby a ‘chick sport.’ ”
“Oh. All right. Well”—Cella turned around, headed toward the team—“good luck to ya!”
With a speed that Cella always marveled at, Blayne shot in front of her. Damn shame the girl couldn’t ice-skate very well, because, wow.
“Fine. I’ll do it. If you get your mother to take on my wedding and Gwen’s.”
“Why not make your lives easier and just have one joint wedding? Novikov won’t care and MacRyrie will learn to put up with him for one day if it makes Gwen happy.”
“My God ... that’s brilliant!”
“I know.” Cella pointed at herself. “Because that’s what I do. I solve problems. Now move your skinny ass.”
As Cella walked away, Blayne yelled from behind her, “I love you, Cella!”
“Shut up.”
Cella got in line with the other players, waiting for their team and names to be announced.
“Thanks for joining us,” Novikov muttered.
“Oh, shut up.” She stepped in next to Van Holtz. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Cella noticed how the wolf stared placidly across the room.
“Feel better?” she asked him.
“Mhmm.”
“Dee-Ann stop by?” The wolf grinned and Cella said, “Then I’m glad I stopped by before then.”
“So am I.”
Cella chuckled until she heard someone whistling and whispering, “Hey ... you. Hey,” at her. She looked around at her own teammates, then over at the waiting Alabama Slammers. A young wolf grinned at her, winked.
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