“Again ... that I didn’t need to know.”
“That’s when I realized hockey wasn’t just that thing I did, but a way I could get legit. Get on the right team, become the best player—I could get a girl like her.”
“And you can get your equipment legally.”
“Didn’t really care about that.”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
“Before I knew it, I was considered the best in the league and I had the She-tiger of my dreams.”
“Except for the extreme illegal activity during your important developmental years—that was a surprisingly sweet story.”
“Mhmm.” Nice Guy suddenly looked him over, eyes narrowing. “What do you know about my daughter?”
“Apparently nothing,” he muttered, but when Nice Guy tensed, Crush quickly added, “I knew about Bare Knuckles Malone.” Who didn’t? She had one of the worst reputations in the league next to The Marauder and was one of the first female enforcers for a pro-team who wasn’t a She-bear. “But I didn’t know the woman I was talking to was Bare Knuckles. Her face is impossible to see from my usual seats and any time they show her on the big screen, she’s wearing a helmet.”
“Yeah. She does that for safety reasons.” What safety reasons? But before Crush could get into it, Nice Guy asked, “And how long have you two been dating?”
“Dating?”
“She said you were her boyfriend.”
“Uh ...”
Gold eyes narrowed. “You’re not just using my little girl, are you?”
“No. No, no. It’s just—”
“Just what?” And that came from “Mac Truck” Lewis, a wolf and one-time goalie who used to play with Nice Guy. It suddenly occurred to Crush that every man here was not only friends with Nice Guy, but like a father to Nice Guy’s daughter. That was the beauty of hockey, it transcended breed or species, because it was all about whether a player could skate backward while keeping an eye out for a little black puck.
These men were like Bare Knuckles Malone’s godfathers. And he was the nonplaying idiot they thought was dating her. Hell, they thought he was her boyfriend. A status he’d rather chew rocks than be cursed with. But he wasn’t about to say that to a bunch of his heroes who adored her.
Besides, he hadn’t felt this unsafe since he was alone in the middle of a three a.m. Hells Angels beach party.
“It’s just ...” Crush cleared his throat and scrambled for a satisfactory lie. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of her. I worry about that.”
The men relaxed, smiled, and Nice Guy patted Crush’s shoulder. It felt like he was being beaten with a baseball bat.
“Don’t worry about that. My girl has good instincts. Just like her mother.” When Crush only stared at him. “Hey, I haven’t broken a guy’s leg for money—and hockey doesn’t count—since I was sixteen. See? She knew I had potential.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
One of the Slammers cut across the ice, heading right for Novikov. Cella shoved past the winger in her way and went after him, but she didn’t think she’d reach him in time.
“Reed!” she called out. “Move!”
As a canine, the hillbilly took orders pretty well, and shot in front of the player, blocking him from getting near Novikov.
She reached her teammate and blocked another player, ramming him into the glass by using her legs to launch her body at the guy. They both hit the glass and then dropped to the ice. She was ready to pull off her gloves and take the guy on since he was calling her all sorts of things she found insulting, but the crowd roared, signaling a successful goal, and the end buzzer went off.
Cella got to her feet and skated away from the other player, but kept her eyes on him as she did.
“Bitch,” the maned wolf sneered.
“Loser,” Cella shot back, laughing as one of her teammates picked her up around the waist and carried her off the ice before she started another all-team brawl.
She kind of had a reputation for doing that.
Once off the ice, her teammate—Bert!—let her go, shaking his head and chuckling.
They all marched back to their respective locker rooms and Cella slapped hands and laughed with her female teammates before jumping in the shower and washing off all the blood from the game. When she headed back to her locker, she found Jai waiting for her.
Cella grabbed a dry towel. “Hey. What’s up?”
“How’s your knee?” Jai asked.
“Fine.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No. It’s fine. See?” She pointed to her weak left knee before going back to towel-drying her hair. Thankfully, the swelling hadn’t started yet, although it would swell. It always did after a game.
“Put some ice on it anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t yeah, yeah, yeah me. Just do as I tell you.” Jai checked her clipboard. “I gotta go. I’ve got some artery repair to deal with. I swear”—she shook her head and held her clipboard to her chest—“Novikov is so mean. Got a guy bleeding out in surgery.”
Cella stood up straight, flipping her hair off her face. “Then maybe you should ... you know ... take care of him?”
Jai rolled her eyes. “He’s just a coyote.”
“Jai!” God, the mountain lions ... such bigots when it came to the canines, especially the coyotes and wolves.
“I’m going, I’m going. Had to check on you first, right?”
“Cella!” someone called out. “Your dad is outside. Along with some polar bear. Said they’re waiting for you.”
“Tell them I’ll be out in a bit.”
“Polar bear?” Jai asked, still letting that coyote bleed out in her surgery.
“Yeah. He’s that guy I woke up naked with at MacDermot’s house.”
The other females stopped dressing and focused on Cella.
“I didn’t fuck him,” Cella added. Then she grinned. “At least not yet.”
“Oh, that’s classy,” Jai chastised.
“Man. Bleeding. Needs surgery.”
Jai sighed. “Well, if you’re going to get pushy about it ...”
Cella shook her head and grabbed her cell phone from inside her locker. She speed-dialed her daughter’s number and waited for the brat to answer.
“Hi, Ma.”
“Hey, baby. You all right?” She made sure to check in on Meghan after every game. Although, she didn’t know why she bothered. The kid always seemed so put out.
“I’m fine.” Then Cella mouthed along with her daughter’s next word, “Studying.”
Of course, she was. “Well, I shouldn’t be too late tonight.”
“And that affects me how?”
“Could you at least pretend to care if I come home? Would it kill you?”
“It’s not that I don’t care. I’m just at the college library with Josie. It’s open late. Uncle Tommy’s picking us up when we’re done and then Josie and I are spending the night at Aunt Kathleen’s.”
“Why?”
“Babysitting some cousins. Now, did you kill anyone tonight or did you allow them all to make it out alive?”
“No, smart-ass. I didn’t kill anyone.” With the phone caught between her raised shoulder and ear, Cella pulled on a pair of panties and then a pair of grey sweatpants.
“Then just your usual mayhem?”
“Can’t disappoint the fans.” She reached for a bra. “Hey, I was thinking—”
“No.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Okay. Finish.”
“I thought we could go and get a mani-pedi and our hair—”
“No.”
“Again, you didn’t let me finish and why not?”
“I’ve got too much to do.”
“You’re seventeen, not forty working for a Fortune 500 company. Get over yourself.” Cella tugged her bra until it fit perfectly, then said, “I don’t know where you got this haughty, superior, ‘I’m better than everyone’ attitude you’ve draped yourself in but ...” Cella’s words faded away when she realized that her female teammates were hysterically laughing at her.