Beast Behaving Badly (14 page)

Giggling a little, Bernie said, “Didn't I always teach you to pay them and get rid of them
before
breakfast?”

It was a joke Bernie had tossed at Bo before, usually getting him one of the hybrid's blank stares, but this time the brows lowered and the colors of his eyes flickered from blue to gold the tiniest bit, making Bernie's giggle a hell of a lot worse.

“Did you just call her a whore?” Bo asked, and Bernie knew the guy was serious. Deadly serious.

“I prefer courtesan,” the canine cut in, distracting both males.

They glanced over and she was buttering up a piece of bread. “It sounds much more romantic, don't you think?”

“You're not my courtesan,” Bo argued.

“Well, it's better than being your whore.” She leaned in and whispered, “Whore implies you can't get laid without an active credit card or cash. Courtesan implies villas and champagne provided by your vast wealth. You want a courtesan.”

“I do not—why are we arguing about this?”

“I didn't think we were arguing.” She held the slice of bread up to his mouth.

“What? You're feeding me now?”

“Isn't that what courtesans do?”

“You're trying to irritate me.”

“Not really hard when you're being such a cranky ass.” She ended up eating the bread herself.

In the end, Bernie didn't mind the wolfdog's presence. Not when she had the singular ability to keep Bo Novikov from ripping Bernie's head off.

When a phone began to ring, both males looked at Blayne, but she only gazed back. Finally, Bo asked, “Do you really think I'd have ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' as my ringtone?”

“Oh! That's Jess's ring.” She pulled that mountain climbing–size backpack onto her lap and proceeded to dig through it, dropping all sorts of items on the table while she searched.

“I just organized that for you,” Bo snarled.

“Don't start. I know it's in here somewhere. Ah-ha!” She held up the phone triumphantly. “Told ya.”

“What do you have the side pockets for, if you're not going to use them?”

She waved him off and answered her phone. “Jess? Hey. What's up?”

The waitress returned with their food, staring at the junk-covered table. Bo grabbed the wolfdog's bag and carefully placed all the items inside, giving the waitress the much needed room for all their food.

The wolfdog didn't even seem to notice, diving into her double order of waffles, ham, and bacon while grunting in answer to whoever was on the phone until she suddenly asked, “I don't understand, Jess, is there shit backing up into your tub?”

Scrambled eggs dripping with ketchup and hot sauce, hovering near his mouth, Bernie glanced over at Bo, but he was still organizing the wolfdog's bag, shaking his head, and making that disgusted noise he often did with rookie players.

“So it's not your tub? Or that's already fixed? There's shit backing up in your sink? What?”

Bernie glanced around, and not surprisingly since the room was filled with predators who had above-average hearing, everyone was scowling at them.

“Well, don't cry, sweetie. I'll fix it. Just let me finish my breakfast. Jess, I've gotta eat. Apparently it's an order. Okay, sobbing over a backed-up sink seems excessive.” The wolfdog briefly leaned away from the phone. “And the raging isn't better. So you just calm down right now, missy! Okay.” The wolfdog grinned. “Love you, too!”

She disconnected the call and went back to eating. Bo placed the bag against her chair, sighing heavily. “Is there a reason you have a Boba Fett action figure in your bag? Is there a use for it other than more goddamn clutter?”

“I don't know which will upset you more,” she replied. “Telling you it's nothing but clutter or confessing that I often take it out and play ‘I am Boba Fett' when I don't think anyone can see me.”

Her phone rang again. This time the tune was Adam and the Ants' “Dog Eat Dog.”

“Christ, it's Phil. She must be freaking them out. I've gotta go.” She chugged back her orange juice, put the rest of her bacon and ham on her last remaining Belgian waffle, folded the waffle, and stuffed it into the linen napkin. “I'll bring the napkin back later after practice tonight. See ya!” She grabbed her backpack and charged out of the restaurant, only to return two minutes later, diving into Bo's lap and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Did I thank you?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Well, I promise I'll
totally
get around to it.”

“No you won't. You'll forget and leave me hanging.”

“I may forget to say the words, but I never forget when someone covers my ass.” She hugged him, and to Bernie's surprise, Bo hugged her back. “I'll see you later.” She kissed his cheek and took off again, dashing around the bustling wait staff with ease.

“She's a derby girl, isn't she?”

“Yep.”

Bernie could tell by the way she moved. “She hugged you, and you didn't push her off you.”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to invite me to the wedding?”

“After calling her a whore, I'm thinking no.”

“I thought we agreed on courtesan?”

CHAPTER 13

B
layne pulled out the shredded doll from the pipe and shimmied out from under the sink.

“Found your culprit.” She handed the remnants over to Jess.

Eyes narrow, the wild dog shook the doll. “Damn kids!”

Blayne got to her feet and pulled off her gloves. She quickly put her arm around Jess's shoulder and hugged her close. “It's okay. I'll take care of it. By the time I'm done, your plumbing will sing. Arias. Now just breathe. Breathe. Now.”

Jess let out a puff of air, but eventually, normal breathing did commence.

“There. All better.” Blayne plucked the shredded toy from Jess's grip. “We'll just toss this.” She walked across the enormous kitchen to the trash can. She stepped on the peddle, lifting the top, and asked, “How about some hot chocolate?”

“I had to lay off the chocolate.”

Blayne froze, the toy still trapped in her hand. “Pardon?”

“I had to lay off chocolate. Doctor's orders. Until the baby's born. Caffeine's not good for 'em and the doc wants to make sure she can tolerate chocolate. Apparently there are some issues with wolfdogs and chocolate?”

Blayne swallowed, her hand trembling. “Uh . . . sometimes. Like full canines, some wolfdogs don't handle chocolate well.”

Dropping the toy into the trash, Blayne quickly searched out exits in the room, should she have to make a run for it. There were few things that truly scared her, but a wild dog without chocolate was no different—or less deadly—than a starving grizzly.

And a
pregnant
wild dog?
Oy.

Blayne's father still had scars on his back from what he referred to as “Your mother's sudden distaste for my red beans and rice.”

“What about you?” Jess asked, and Blayne realized that the female now stood beside her.

Swallowing, “What about me?”

“Can you eat chocolate?”

Blayne licked her lips. They were so dry now. “Uh . . . I can. But my problem is sugar. Too much of it, with my metabolism and all . . . not a good thing.”

The wild dog stepped closer until the only thing separating them was Jess's giant stomach. “Uh-huh.”

Blayne instinctively kept her eyes on the ceiling or on the floor or anywhere that wasn't in or near Jess's cold gaze and did what she always did with her dad when things got really tense between them. She said, “I love you, Jess.”

A lot quicker than her dad ever reacted to it, Jess replied, “Awww.Iloveyou, too, Blayne.” She threw her arms around Blayne and hugged her tight. Blayne let out a silent relieved breath, and that's when she saw Jess's friends standing in the backyard, watching the females through the kitchen window.

Blayne mouthed, “Get in here!” And got back quick shakes of four heads. “Now!”

Rolling their eyes and sighing, the wusses headed to the sliding glass doors in the back of the house and Jess pulled back and smiled up at Blayne, seconds before she burst into tears.

 

 

Bo finished his drills. They were the same drills he'd been practicing since he was five years old and his father put his first hockey stick in his hands. He did more repetitions now than he did then, but he still did them and it was the one thing out of his schedule that he knew he couldn't bypass. A situation he'd had to evaluate since his usual daily non-game-day schedule had been destroyed because of Blayne Thorpe.

He'd also come to the conclusion that Blayne was a vortex. A black hole where schedules and basic time management were lost forever.

Not only did she destroy her own schedules, but she destroyed the schedules of others. In fact for the first time since, from his high chair, Bo had pointed at the clock in his parents' kitchen and silently indicated to his astonished mother that she was late with his breakfast, had Bo not been aware of time. It was something internal, something that he could do without much thought. It was like he could feel the tick-tick of a clock inside him, giving him a down-to-the-second idea of what time it was. That is, until he'd spent time in the Blayne vortex.

In retrospect, perhaps it was a good thing she'd run away from him that first time they'd met. If he'd gotten trapped in her vortex at nineteen, he may have not gotten out of the minor league. Instead he'd still be “No Name” Novikov, playing for some barely-paying-me-enough-for-my-seal-steaks team instead of where he was today.

It was definitely something to keep in mind if he was going to continue spending time with Blayne. Maybe he needed to limit his time with her like some guys needed to limit their time with alcohol. “I'll only see Blayne Friday and Saturday, so I can sleep in on Sunday to get over my hangover.” Or, in this case, Blayne-over.

The thought made Bo snort to himself as he skated over to the bench where he'd put his towel and a couple of gallons of water, slowing down as he reached it.

He blinked at the wolf watching him, holding out a towel. “You practice every day like that?”

“Don't you?” Bo asked the wolf who'd hired him. Van Holtz wasn't a bad goalie, but he could always be better. He had a lot of potential.

“No,” Van Holtz replied. “I don't.”

“Explaining so much,” Bo muttered while pulling off his helmet. He grabbed a gallon of water, bent over at the waist, and dumped half of it over his head. He stood tall and did a once-over shake, making sure to saturate Van Holtz in the process.

Raking his hand through his wet hair, Bo smiled at Van Holtz. “There. Much better.”

The wolf did his own mini-shake, wolf eyes glaring.

“Is there a reason you're here, Van Holtz?” Bo asked. “Shouldn't you be mixing a sauce or creating a fondue or something?”

“I'm here about Blayne.”

Bo picked up another gallon of water and took a swig. He swished the water around his mouth, then spit it out at the wolf's feet. The wolf didn't even budge. “What about her?”

“She's a very good friend of mine. Like a sister.”

“And?”

“Must we really discuss your reputation in detail?”

Although Bo's game reputation was nearly close to fact, his personal one was a joke. If he'd done half the things he was accused of, he'd never get any practice in. He definitely wouldn't be able to keep up with his schedule. An annoyance many of his past lovers had been unable to overlook. Bo used to wonder where all the stories came from and then it dawned on him it was probably from Bernie, but he didn't really care enough one way or another about it. If people wanted to believe that crap that was on them. If they didn't, also on them. It didn't matter to him.

Yet, for the first time, it did matter to him because this was Blayne. And what Bo didn't need was some sanctimonious tail-chaser acting like he had to protect Blayne from the big bad Marauder. Did this little runt think he was going to warn Bo off? Push him away from Blayne so that . . . what? He could have his shot at her? Was that what all this was about? A way for this canine to get his grubby, flea-infested paws on Blayne by acting like her protective hero/ guard dog?

Even worse, now Bo couldn't get the thought of Blayne with some ball-licker out of his mind. That's when Bo felt that unmistakable itch at his hairline, and he knew from that and the way the runt took a step away that his mane was growing. It was a rare occurrence and something unique to him because of his mixed blood. But the idiot had woken up the lion male that had been characteristically sleeping during Bo's daily training session, and now Van Holtz would just have to deal with it . . .

 

 

It was the cherry pie that saved them all. Jess couldn't have chocolate, but she could have many non-chocolate baked goods like cakes and pies and cookies.
Thank you, God!

But she'd still been weepy, so Blayne did what she always did when faced with someone else's sadness . . . she talked. A lot. Perhaps, as Gwen often said, too much. She talked and talked and talked until she finally said something stupid.

“So I had breakfast this morning with Bo and his agent . . .”

The way everyone froze in the middle of pie eating or coffee drinking or texting on their cell phones or typing into their tiny notebook computers was more than surreal. It was downright creepy. And she knew in that second, she should have kept her mouth shut.

“Bo . . . Novikov?” Danny asked.

“Wait—”

“You had
breakfast
with Bo Novikov?” Phil asked. “Were you naked? Or just wearing one of his oversized shirts and looking kind of tousled, you saucy wench you?”

“No, no. It's not like that,” Blayne said desperately. “He's not one of my gentleman callers.”

“Then what is he?”

“A friend!”

And that's when they all started laughing at her. Nothing like having a bunch of dogs laughing
at
you rather than with you. The wolf in her wasn't appreciating it one bit.

“You can't be that stupid,” Sabina said. “A Russian bear like Novikov has no friends.”

“He's also feline and Asian. I have a way with Asian felines.”

“One! And she does weird thing with neck. You're only friend she can make,” Sabina added.

“That's not true,” Blayne argued, feeling protective of her best friend. “Don't talk shit about Gwenie. It just pisses me off.”

“Why are you so upset?” Sabina asked. “I don't care who you fuck.”

“I am
not
doing anything of the sort with him!” Blayne could feel her face getting red. It wasn't that she was shy, but still there were some things not to be discussed in large groups of people. And who she was or was not fucking was definitely high on that list.

“Yet,” Sabina went on, “he is Marauder. He will get what he wants.”

“No, he will not. I'm not some groupie-whore.”

“Then, darlin', what were you doing with him?” May asked. “Because from what I understand, he only sleeps with groupie-whores.”

Fed up, Blayne screamed,
“I am not sleeping with Bo Novikov!”

The wild dogs silently gawked at her until their gazes moved past her and toward the kitchen door behind her. Cringing, terrified at what she may see, Blayne looked over her shoulder and into the bright, gold eyes of Mitch Shaw.

“You”—he said softly—“and
Bo Novikov
?”

“Mitchell, do not blow this out of—”

“I
knew
he'd take advantage of you!” Mitch roared, his lion's mane swirling around his face. “I'll kill him!”

He shot out the door, and Blayne went after him. She was way faster than him and slammed into him before he got ten feet from the kitchen. The problem wasn't catching him, it was taking him down. She wrapped her arms around his head and her legs around his chest.

“Stay away from him!” she screeched. “It's not what you think!”

“Like hell it's not! I'm gonna rip that fucker's lungs out! No one takes advantage of my Blaynie!”

Blayne knew Mitch was serious. Knew he planned to go over to the sports center and confront a man who could crush him with his pinky.

So Blayne did what she had to do. What she always had to do when it came to fighting Mitch O'Neill Shaw.

 

 

Spending most of his time in a house filled with wild dogs had taught Smitty a few things: Dogs never shut up; there was not enough chocolate in the world to satisfy them; why speak quietly when you can yell your conversation; they all howled—badly—when any fire trucks went by; and anytime of the day or night, if there was weirdness to be found, the dogs would find it right in their own kitchen.

This time, however, he found it in the hallway outside the kitchen. And although the wild dogs weren't at the heart of it, like usual, he wasn't surprised to see who was.

“In retrospect,” he said to his baby sister, her pretty little face buried in her hands as she stood next to him, “do you think you should have rethought picking yourself an actual wolf to be your mate?”

She didn't answer, but Sissy Mae didn't have to. Then again, where would Smitty find his fun if not for the big-haired lion male desperately trying to pry a crazed wolfdog off his back? It still amazed him how the Smiths had such a bad reputation when, in fact, they were probably the sanest among the packs, prides, and clans. Then again, when they went outside their own to mate, this is what happened.

He got a sobbing female who, while pregnant, couldn't have any sharp objects within five feet of her, and his sister got a lion who couldn't bat off the unwanted attention of an incredibly sweet wolfdog.

“Get her off me!” Mitch yelled. “Get her off me!”

Since no one else was doing anything and Smitty knew he'd eventually need to learn to handle these kind of wolfdog issues on his own for when his baby wolfdog was born, he walked up to the tusslin' pair and grabbed Blayne Thorpe around the waist, holding her nice and tight.

A month back, Smitty had gone with Jessie Ann to a birthday party thrown for Blayne. He'd been thinking he'd rather set himself on fire, but it turned out to be a really nice affair at a Van Holtz restaurant. At the party he'd met Blayne's daddy, Ezra Thorpe. Also a former Navy man, they got to talkin', and Smitty had immediately liked the older wolf. And Petty Officer Thorpe was nothing but helpful once he realized that not only was Smitty's mate a wild dog but that she was about to have their first child. A daughter. Smitty had learned a lot from the man in a few hours. And the most important thing he'd learned was that “No matter what anyone says, wolfdogs don't suddenly go postal and attack for no reason. The reason may not seem logical,” he'd added, “but they've got a reason. As long as you know that much, you can control the situation before law enforcement has to get involved.”