Once Cella had all her equipment, Mario patted her shoulder. “Good luck tonight, Miss Malone.”

“Thanks.”

“Will I be picking you up after the game?”

“I’m not really sure. I’ll text you.” She walked off, heading toward the exclusive entrance. A wolf security guard was holding the door open for her when she suddenly stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Everything all right, Miss Malone? Miss Malone?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

Cella took one more look around, but didn’t see anything. It was just a feeling. Letting out a breath, she headed inside, smiling at the wolf still watching her. Once in the hallway, she put down her stuff and pulled out her cell phone. She hit her speed-dial and waited.

“Smith.”

“It’s Cella.”

“Yep.”

“I think someone’s following me.”

Smith was silent for a moment, then said, “You at the Sports Center?”

“Yeah. And my father and Crush are going to be here tonight.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Crush impatiently stood in line with Conway. Usually he was impatient to see the game. But for the first time he could remember, he was impatient for the game to be over so he could see a woman. Not just any woman, either. But a foul-mouthed little feline with what his foster mother would have called “unsavory family connections.” Like Peg Baissier was British royalty or something.

“You’re really liking this girl, aren’t you?”

“I specifically like her because she’s not a girl.”

“You mean because she’s a feline?”

Crush remembered to hold his temper in. “Because she’s a woman.”

“Girl. Woman. What’s the difference?”

“Ask your wife that. When the swelling goes down, let me know how well she took it.”

Conway chuckled. “Chay’s just glad you’ve found a girlfriend.”

“Pretend girlfriend.”

“Are you having sex with her?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a yes, otherwise you’d just say no. You’re one of those honest guys.”

“You make that sound wrong.”

“Depends. And if you’re having regular sex with her, she’s not your pretend anything.”

“I don’t know if we’re that serious yet.” Or maybe he just didn’t know if Cella was that serious. She was not an easy woman to figure out; he at least knew that much.

While Crush was busy contemplating the extent of his relationship with Cella, he noticed that the crowd had grown disturbingly quiet. He looked at Conway, both of them frowning. Then he looked to his left—and into the cold blue eyes of the Marauder.

“Uh ... hi?”

The Marauder looked him over. “What are you doing?”

Crush again looked at Conway, but hisfriend could only shrug.

“Waiting to get my seat.”

“But this is the line for the shitty seats.”

A bit insulted, Crush looked down at his season holder ticket. “They’re a bit high up, perhaps, but I still see the game well enough.” There. That was well put.

Well put for someone not The Marauder.

“But they’re shitty seats. We call those the shit seats.”

One of the males of the hyena clan standing behind Crush snapped, “Do you mind? We paid good money for these seats.”

The polar bear–lion hybrid only turned his head, scowl turning him into something so fearsome Crush was glad the man had never become a criminal.

“Did you just interrupt me?” Novikov asked the hyena.

“What if I did?” the hyena demanded, and that’s when Crush remembered the idiot and his Clan members had already had more than a few beers between them.

After years of being a beat cop, Crush went on instinct and grabbed Novikov seconds before those big hands were around the hyena’s throat. Conway kept the hyenas back by flashing his badge and eventually his gun.

“You’re gonna be late for the game!” Crush reminded Novikov and the hybrid immediately stopped fighting and looked at his watch.

“Shit!”

He grabbed his equipment and motioned at Crush. “Well, come on.”

Figuring he wanted Crush and Conway to keep the fans off him until he got to the locker rooms, Crush pulled his buddy and the pair followed after him.

“What about our seats?” Conway whispered to him.

“They’ll still be there when we get back.”

“So what? We’re doing protection duty now?”

“Stop whining.”

“But it’s Minnesota,” he said about the team the Carnivores were playing against.

“If you say that one more time ...”

They followed Novikov into the elevator. The doors closed and the hybrid shook his head. “Do you know who I blame for this?”

Crush was tempted to say, “Your bad temper?” but decided not to. The man was at least four inches taller and another sixty pounds heavier. Crush could shoot him, but what about the game?

As always, Crush’s priority was his team.

“Because of her. Because of Blayne Thorpe.” Novikov pointed at himself. “I’m never late. Never. And then I met her. And somehow she’s managed to get me involved in her crazy timetable. I’m always here three to four hours early so that I can practice and avoid the crowds. But I had to wait for her to get back from Long Island. Do you know why?” Rather than verbally answer, Crush and Conway just shook their heads. “Because she had a surprise for me. Do you know what kind of surprise?” Again, they went with the head shake. It seemed the safest bet. “China patterns! Do I look like I give a holy fuck about china patterns?”