Novikov took a moment to think about it, and finally agreed. “All right. But next practice—you’ll all get to hear how you suck and how to fix that suckiness.”
Ric waited until Novikov walked off to the shower before he told his best friend, “Let it go.”
“I should twist him into a pretzel.”
“What’s the point of that? Especially when there’s a risk he might twist you back. Let’s just take a shower and get out of here.”
Grabbing his towel, Lock stormed into the shower, Ric about to follow. But he took a moment to unlock Novikov’s locker, move his deodorant, hairbrush, and mouthwash around, and lock it all back up again.
He was heading to the shower when Blayne walked into the locker room.
“Blayne!” the entire team called out.
“Hey, guys!” She leaned in and whispered into Ric’s ear, “Dee got hurt.”
“What?”
“Don’t panic. She’ll be fine. I think the bleeding’s stopped.”
“Wait . . . what?”
“You’re still panicking. Anyway, I can take her home, but then I realized that you should take her home. Or, if you’re worried about how she’ll heal . . . take her to your home.”
Confused by all of this, Ric asked, “I don’t understand what you’re—”
“You. Take poor, wounded Dee home.” She winked. “It’s all part of my ‘Project: Wolf-Wolf’ plan.”
“I thought you were coming up with a less appalling name.”
She shrugged. “Nothing worked. So Project: Wolf-Wolf it is! It’s cute!” When he continued to scowl, “Suck it up, Van Holtz, and take her home.”
“Shouldn’t I take her to the hospital—”
“So cute,” she snapped, cutting him off. “But sometimes so freakin’ dumb.”
“Yes, but if she’s badly wounded—”
“Ulrich. Did my Project: Code Name Bear-Cat not work for Lock and Gwenie?” Blayne’s ridiculous but fun-loving plan to get their two best friends together forever, although to anyone with eyes that pair had seemed destined to be together—with or without Blayne’s help.
“Yes, but—”
“Then my Project: Wolf-Wolf will work for you. But you must listen to me and trust me implicitly.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Just take her home already! Geez!”
“Okay, okay!” He grabbed a towel, preparing to shower first. “I’ll be right out.”
“No problem. She’s hanging with the Babes.” Blayne’s derby team.
Now Ric did panic. “What?”
“She’ll be fine. They love the Dee-ster.”
“Good God, woman. You don’t call her that, do you?”
“Well . . .”
Deciding the shower would have to wait, Ric threw his clothes on.
“What are you doing, baby?” Blayne asked Novikov once he’d returned from his shower.
“Someone keeps moving the stuff in my locker around. It’s driving me nuts!”
Blayne rolled her eyes and circled her forefinger around her temple while mouthing, He’s so crazy, at Ric.
Shrugging, Ric grabbed his bag, and rushed out of the locker room.
When Ric got down the hall, he found Dee-Ann surrounded by the derby girls of Blayne’s team. Like Blayne they were a loud, fun-loving, chatty bunch . . . and Dee looked seconds from killing them all. Seeing the desperate rage in her eyes, Ric quickly walked over and caught her arm. “Hello, gorgeous ladies.”
“Ulrich!” they all cheered and a few hugged him.
“Did we tell you how much we love the jackets?” They all turned and showed off the light jackets he’d purchased for them that not only had the team name, their derby name and number, but also the Van Holtz name as he was one of their biggest sponsors. What could he say? The sponsorship drove his father crazy, but there was nothing the older wolf could do about it—not legally anyway.
“I’m so glad you guys like them.”
“You two should come out with us!” one of the girls begged. “We’ll get coffee or something.”
“We’d love to,” he began, but before he could finish, Dee dug particularly sharp claws into his hand, “but we can’t.”
“Oh.” The entire team eyed them then, together. “Ohhhhh.”
“Got it,” another said. “You guys go. Have a great night.”
Ric laughed, tugging a snarling Dee-Ann through the group.
He led her down the hall until they reached the elevator. Once inside, he asked, “What’s going on?”
With a sigh, Dee pulled back the sleeve of her denim jacket. He saw the stitches. “Malone?” he asked and Dee chuckled.
“Nah. She’s not a fan of knives. It was a Hyena. It’s not that bad. And Teacup didn’t do a bad job.”
“You let Blayne sew you up?”
“It was either that or hear the sobbing.”
“Excellent point. And you handled the derby girls very well, too.”
“That took a lot out of me. They were watching the game, but when Blayne didn’t come back, they all went looking for her. Like she was some lost kitten. But when they all started talking at once . . . that’s when I thought, ‘Time to start the killin’.’ ”
“Good thing I rescued you when I did then,” Ric teased.
“Yep.”
The doors opened and they walked out into the underground parking lot. “I’ll take you home,” he said, not bothering to frame it in the form of a question or an offer.
“Don’t need you to take me home,” was Dee’s immediate response.
He pressed his hand against her forehead, ignoring the way she slapped at him. “Until I’m sure you don’t have a fever, get used to having me around.”
“Great. First Teacup, now you gettin’ all pushy.”
“I’d like to think I rank a little higher than Teacup.” He stopped and glared at her. “And now you’ve got me calling her that!”
CHAPTER 8
Dee was busy trying to think of ways she could ditch Ric. Not that she didn’t appreciate his trying to help, but she didn’t need a babysitter and she wasn’t in the mood to share a cab to Rory’s hotel so that Ric could complain about her needing a place of her own. She had one, she just never went there. She always meant to but then something came up and by the time she got around to heading home, it was just easier to head to the hotel or Bobby Ray’s place.
Thinking she had a good excuse, Dee began to lie but stopped when she saw it. It sat in its own little spot, all by itself, freshly washed and detailed by the staff kept down here, Dee was betting. But worth it, she had to admit. So worth it. Because if there was one thing Dee didn’t believe in scrimping on, it was an automobile. And good Lord, but Ulrich Van Holtz had the best automobiles.
Now, it was true, she leaned toward American muscle. Cars from the sixties and seventies that, with the right engine, could hit speeds that would have troopers on her ass for days. But unlike her cousins, Dee had no problem with small foreign cars that just reeked of speed and sex. And that was the one thing she really liked about Van Holtz. The man knew how to pick his cars. Most of the time, they weren’t even on the market yet in the States. Instead, he had them shipped over from Italy, Germany, and Asia.
Today he’d gone for a Mercedes-Benz so new that it wasn’t even on the market in Europe yet. She knew because she’d read the article about its upcoming European release in one of Sissy Mae’s magazines.
While Ric tried to force his hockey bag into that tiny trunk, Dee dragged her fingers over the rear fender and moved around the vehicle to the passenger door.