Crush looked at his watch again. Then he checked his phone. He had several text messages from a possible dealer he’d been hoping to use as a CI. Of course, now that was all dead in the water. A reminder that made Crush begin to feel angry again about being pulled out of the work he loved so much. All because of that vicious sow, Baissier. To think, after all these years, she still hated him. Then again, he really hated her.

Deciding it was time to get to his seat, he filed the messages and—

“Hey, Crush. Crush!”

He bit back a sigh, regretting he’d told the hybrid his nickname because now she wouldn’t stop using it, and prepared himself to tell the sweetest girl he’d ever met he had to go.

“I’d like you to meet my fiancé,” she said, skipping up to him. “Bo Novikov.”

Crush’s head snapped up and he looked directly—well, almost because the man was four inches taller—into the eyes of the meanest player ever in shifter sports history and Lou Crushek’s personal hero.

Then Crush stared—and he kept staring.

CHAPTER FIVE

Cella tracked her father down in the busy hallway, the meeting place for teammates and their family or guests before the game began.

“Hey, Daddy.” Decked out for the game except for her stick, skates, and helmet, Cella reached up and hugged her father.

“Hey, kid.” He hugged her, tight. “How are you feelin’?”

Cella leaned back and gazed up at her father. “I’m fine.”

“Good, good. I know it’s hard, but your focus has to be on the game. Remember that.”

“I know, Dad. My focus is always on the game.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” He patted her shoulder and gave her what she could only term a brave smile. Then he hugged her again. “You know I love you, right? We all love you.”

What the fuck was going on? “Daddy, I know.”

“Good, good.”

Pulling away from her father and wondering when, exactly, he’d lost his mind, Cella asked, “You all set in the suite?”

“Sure. Guys are all here, too. They’re rootin’ for ya.” The “guys” were some of the best shifter players from the East Coast teams’ past. Her father’s friends now. Every few months or so during the season, they’d all come in to watch a game, bullshit about the past, and drink. There was always lots of drinking.

Maybe her father had already put away a few Guinnesses, but Cella didn’t think so. He was just acting ... weird.

“Have a good game, baby.” He kissed her forehead.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Her father gave her one more brave smile before walking away.

Realizing she couldn’t worry about the craziness of her family right now, Cellaturned and took a quick look over the crowd to make sure she wasn’t missing anyone—like an investor—whose ass she could be kissing.

Cella had no moral issues with that sort of thing. It was important sometimes to keep the team getting all the cool extras. And what was a little hand-shaking, fake smiling, happy-go-lucky bullshit spreading if it meant getting those extra soft and fluffy towels in the locker rooms or first-class trips to Hawaii or Rio?

Since there didn’t seem to be anyone tonight who needed a little Cella-attention, she decided to head back to the locker room, but then she caught sight of him.

“Malone.”

Cella barely bit back her roar and glared at Smith standing behind her. “Stop sneaking up on me, hillbilly.”

“Be more alert, Yankee.”

“So everything set?”

“Yep. MacDermot pulled a surveillance team together to work the taxidermist. She said to give ’em a couple of days. What were you just staring at?”

“That bear from earlier. MacDermot’s new partner. The cute one. He’s here.”

Smith followed Cella’s gaze. “Hair’s shorter.”

“It’s known as a haircut. Basic grooming, Smith. You should look into it.”

The She-wolf grinned. “Always so sweet on me, ain’tcha, Malone?”

Cella grabbed Smith’s arm. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I wanna go torture the bear some more.”

Smith shook her off. “Can’t you do that on your own?”

“Would it kill you to be a girl for just five minutes?”

“What’s my pussy gotta do with anything?”

“Oh, come on!” She glanced back at the bear. “It’ll be fun.”

Cella reached for Smith, but she found nothing but air. And when she turned to look for her, the She-wolf was long gone.

“How does the bitch do that?”

Crush cleared his throat and tried again to speak in actual sentences. “Um ... it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Novikov.” Holy shit. Holy shit! He was talking to Bo Novikov. The Bo Novikov. There was only one player greater than Bo Novikov and he no longer played. But Crush had been following Novikov’s career for years and had been like a little kid when he’d found out Novikov had been picked up by the New York Carnivores. Now Crush didn’t have to worry about paying for those away trips just to get a chance to see Novikov play more than a couple of times a year.

And now ... now Crush was standing in front of the man. Talking. To him.

Holy shit! Holy shit!

“Call him Bo!” Blayne cheered. “Right, honey?”

“I don’t care,” the hybrid sighed.