“Both of you stop it,” Blayne snapped. “And Dee’s here because I want her to be here,” she told Novikov.
“She tagged you like a wildebeest.”
“Would you let that go already?”
“Here.” Lock reached over to the sideboard, grabbed one of the big baskets of bread, and slammed it in front of Novikov. “Shove this in your hole and keep quiet.”
Snarling a little, the rude bastard continued to glare at Dee-Ann, and Ric was ready to climb across the table and tear the hybrid’s face off with his teeth. But Blayne had a good handle on her mate, pulling a notepad out of his back pocket and proceeding to write on it.
“What are you doing to my list?” he demanded as if she’d stolen his wallet.
“Just making a few . . . changes.” She held up the list. “I drew hearts and flowers on it!”
“Give me that!” Novikov yanked it back from her and so began another lecture on the proper use of lists.
How Blayne tolerated it, Ric had no idea. To each their own, he guessed.
Ric picked up his fork, ready to dig into his medallions of gazelle and deer in wine sauce. But finding only an empty plate where his food used to be, he decided that he’d been right. Dee-Ann had been hungry.
“What?” Dee asked around his gazelle when he raised a brow in her direction. “You were busy talkin’.”
Dee ate the most amazing angel’s food cake with white icing and listened to the chatter going on around her.
It seemed wedding plans were not going well for Lock and his mate because their mothers had different views on pretty much everything. Blayne was worried her wedding would top five hundred guests “easy,” and Ric was arguing with Novikov about . . . well, about pretty much everything, but mostly about who to add to their team and who to drop. Since she had no interest in weddings, Dee listened mostly to the hockey discussion. Especially since Reece Lee Reed was on the team now.
Dee had grown up with the Reed boys. Although she’d always been closest to Rory, the eldest, she was tight with all of them. Ricky Lee Reed was currently in Tokyo, working in the Japanese division of her cousin Bobby Ray’s security business. Yet all the Reed boys were as close to her as her cousins Sissy Mae and Bobby Ray. Then again, her cousins had never faced the wrath of Eggie Smith when caught trying to sneak her drunk ass back into her parents’ house. So, like Lock MacRyrie, the Reeds had earned her loyalty.
After a few minutes, the conversation turned to Cella Malone, and MacRyrie said to Dee, “By the way . . . Malone moved back to the city. She’s on the team now.”
Dee gazed at the bear while Ric chuckled beside her. “I know,” she said.
“Oh.” The grizzly’s head tipped to the side and he asked, “Did you know you have a bunch of bruises on your face?”
“I’m aware.”
He thought a moment and added, “It’s not because of Malone, is it?”
“Do I really need to answer that?”
He shook his head, dug into his platter-sized slice of berry-nut cake. “I’m thinking, no, you don’t.”
“Do you know Marcella Malone?” Teacup asked.
“My face does,” Dee muttered.
“Isn’t she great? She’s so nice and sweet. I met her at team practice the other day. Her dad is ‘Nice Guy’ Malone.”
“Fascinating,” Dee lied, then slammed her fork into Ric’s before he could get some of her cake. “Don’t you need that hand to work so you can keep cooking?”
“You won’t share?”
“Not without a fight.”
Ric leaned in a bit, the rest of the table having a discussion about something else she couldn’t care less about. “And don’t let this thing with Marcella Malone bother you, Dee. You have more important work to do. I expect you to impress me.”
“Because that’s my life goal,” she replied dryly. “To impress a Van Holtz.”
“All the Packs would be better off if that was their life’s goal.”
“Y’all born with that level of arrogance?”
Ric grinned, showing perfect, gleaming white teeth. “It seems that way. Although my Aunt Irene says she hasn’t quite figured out if it’s an inborn personality trait or a genetic defect. But she’s working on it.”
Ric walked his guests out of his restaurant. It was a hot, muggy night and he couldn’t wait to get home. But he still had to ensure the kitchen was shut down properly, that he knew what was being delivered tomorrow so he could start working on the menu for himself and his Aunt Adelle, who shared executive chef duties with him, and that he dealt with any complaints that may have come up in the evening if they had to do with his crew.
“Everything all right?” Lock asked him, the pair standing off to the side while the others watched a hyped-up Blayne do backflips in her skates. He could only guess that there was some processed sugar in the honey cake the pastry chef had made. He’d have to check since it was listed on the menu as a sugar-free dessert.
“I thought I saw Stein earlier.”
Lock turned toward him, eyes blinking wide. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Not really. But it looked like him.”
“Your father’s going to have a fit if the kid’s back.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to help him?”
“No.”
“Ric—”
“I’m not.” The kid had broken his heart. Ric wasn’t about to help him now. Those days were over. “The kid’s on his own, which—according to him—is the way he likes it.”
“Stubborn.”
“It’s a flaw I’ve learned to live with.”
By now Novikov had a wriggling “I need to run and be free!” Blayne over his shoulder. “Anyone need a ride?” he asked, heading to what Lock called the man’s “military transport.” A vehicle so big, it could get an entire Roman legion in it.
“No, thanks. We have our truck.”
“Okay. See you at the game tomorrow.” He started to open the door of his truck, but stopped and faced them. He thought a moment and said, “And thank you for dinner.”
Ric, confused by the sudden bout of politeness, answered, “You’re welcome.”
With a nod, he suddenly slapped Blayne’s rear and said, “Happy now? I said thank you to your loser friends and Gwen.”
“It’s progress! Now let me go to run free!”
“You’ll be in Connecticut before I can catch you and I have a game tomorrow.”
He got her into his vehicle and put a seatbelt on her. It appeared to be a standard seatbelt but, for whatever reason, Blayne seemed unable to get it off, giving Novikov time to get around and inside the vehicle before his mate could make a run for it.
Watching her try to wiggle and fight her way out of that seatbelt, Ric stated, “I feel like we should be rescuing her.”
“Really?” Gwen asked, slipping her arm around Lock’s waist. “I always feel like I should be rescuing him. He’s gotta go home and deal with a hyped-up Blayne for the next few hours.”
Ric shook his head. “I need to talk to Jean-Louis about his honey cake. It’s supposed to be sugar free.”
“You gonna tell him, hoss?” Dee suddenly asked from behind Ric. To be honest, he’d thought she’d left a while ago.
Lock, appearing caught, shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.” He grabbed Gwen’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. What’s the redneck talking about?” Gwen demanded, forced to follow her mate to their truck.
Ric sighed. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I’m only telling you ’cause I don’t want Jean-whatever—”
“Jean-Louis.”
“Yeah. Him. He makes the best angel’s food cake I’ve ever had and I don’t want him fired over something not his fault. But when Novikov wasn’t looking, MacRyrie put sugar in Blayne’s soothing chamomile tea.”