“What’s wrong?” Blayne asked. “And what happened to your face?” When he didn’t answer, she accused, “You’ve been fighting with Ric again, haven’t you?”

“And there you go taking his side. You never even ask what happened.”

“Did it involve a list?”

Novikov crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I go now?”

“No!” the wolfdog snapped. “You’re going to learn to be nice to your fans if it’s the last thing I make you do. Now be nice to Crush. He’s a polar, too.”

“I’m only half polar,” Novikov reminded her.

“What you are is a mother—”

“Is he supposed to be nice to fans?” Crush, ever the detective, had to ask, barely realizing he was cutting into Blayne’s sentence.

Blayne blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, isn’t he known for not being nice to his fans? So is it fair of us as fans to ask him to be something he’s not?” Crush thought on that a moment before deciding, “No. It’s not fair.”

Looking kind of smug, Bo Novikov gazed down at Blayne.

“You can just get that look off your face, Bo Novikov!” Then Blayne stomped her foot and pointed at Crush. “And you’re not helping me, Crush! And after I got you such a nice haircut!”

“I didn’t know my hair was contingent on the approving or disapproving of your appropriate fan theory treatment.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“In Blayneland,” Novikov explained, “everyone helps everyone and there is respect and love throughout the universe.”

“Really?” Crush asked honestly. “Are there faeries and horses with wings in that universe, too?”

“Yes,” Novikov replied flatly. “There are.”

“You guys!” Blayne whined, sounding just like a cranky six-year-old.

Crush began to laugh, but it faded when Gwen returned to his side with another player. “Lou Crushek, this is my fiancé, Lock MacRyrie.”

The grizzly held his hand out and when Crush did nothing but gape at him, he went ahead and shook Crush’s hand, smiling a little.

“It’s nice to meet you, Detective.”

“You’re the Tank,” Crush finally said.

MacRyrie blinked. “Sorry?”

“That’s what everyone calls you. The Tank.”

The grizzly looked surprised. “I have a nickname?”

“You have a cool nickname,” Blayne corrected, her annoyance from mere seconds ago completely gone. “The coolest!”

“It fits,” Novikov noted, which got him everyone’s attention. “What?”

“Was that a compliment?” MacRyrie asked.

With an eye roll and a sigh, “If it must beto make you feel better.”

Again Crush started to laugh, but the sound—and happiness—died in his throat as she—she!—suddenly appeared in front of Crush. Grinning.

Why was she here? Why? And why could he not shake this feline? Was this how antelopes felt when a cat ran them down? And why was she here ruining what should be one of the greatest nights of his goddamn life?

That was it. That was it ! Never again would he ever have another Jell-O shot. In fact, no more liquor. Ever. Because clearly Crush would never be allowed to live down that one goddamn night—and he blamed the goddamn Jell-O shots!

Letting out a breath, Crush snarled, “You.”

“Baby!” she cried out just before she attacked him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you!”

“I am not your baby.” He tried to pull her arms off him. “Away, female!”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“No.”

Still wrapped around him like a spider monkey, the feline rested her chin on his chest and asked the small group, “Have you guys met the new man in my life?”

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.”