CHAPTER 8
Bo walked around his truck and looked up at the club buried behind a few buildings. To a full-human it probably looked like some crackhouse, complete with scary drug-dealer protection out front. But Bo could feel the music vibrating through the ground and into his feet, could smell the different breeds housed inside the building, and could see the shifters easing out of a side door and disappearing into the surrounding darkness. Plus the fact that the scary protection guys out front had eyes that reflected in the darkness pretty much screamed “not-quite-human gathering inside.”
Sami and Sander stood on either side of him, also staring up at the building.
“This is gonna be fun,” Sander said, rubbing his hands together.
“Let’s go,” Sami added.
Bo grabbed them by the back of their thin leather jackets and yanked them back to his side. “A few rules,” he said.
“Don’t be such a drag,” Sander whined.
“We haven’t even done anything yet,” Sami added.
“But you will . . . unless I make rules. So here they are. No stealing. That includes wallets, credit cards, cell phones, smart phones, PDAs, or any other small phone-like items that you think are shiny and pretty. You are also not to take anyone’s identity; I don’t care how much you think they deserve it. The only cash you’ll be using will be yours or mine. I find out anything has gone missing, I start breaking fingers.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They started to walk off, and Bo yanked them back again. “There will be no cons.”
“But—”
“No long cons, no short cons. No ‘my grandmother is dying and I need money for the hospital’; no ‘I was robbed at Penn Station and lost everything’; definitely no ‘I have this great idea that just needs a few backers and a plane ticket to South America but only if you want to double your money in less than a week.’ Absolutely no pretending either you or Sander are prostitutes, so you can roll someone in the parking lot. No getting anyone drunk and taking inappropriate pictures of them to use later. I don’t care if they are mated to someone else and you think they deserve it.”
“Okay! Fine.”
The pair started to walk off again and Bo yanked them back. “No having sex in the one place you’ll definitely be caught—”
“Oh, now come on!”
Sami stamped her foot. “You’re killing our fun!”
“Agree or we leave.”
“Fine. We agree.”
They approached the club, and the foxes immediately caught the attention of the bouncers. Not surprising. Not only were they foxes—therefore not to be trusted—but with their smaller shifter size, they stuck out among their kind.
The bouncers watched the pair closely as they walked by, but when Bo got closer, he saw the recognition in the males’ eyes. He got the usual reaction, too, when that sort of thing happened. One male smiled and couldn’t let Bo in fast enough, and the other snarled and muttered “no-talent asshole” under his breath as Bo walked into the club. Something he’d become so used to that he didn’t even bother to react anymore. Besides, he didn’t want to see Blayne with bloody knuckles.
Once inside, the foxes caught everyone’s attention first. The females checking out Sander, the males checking out Sami, and those who were flexible either way, checking out both. The pair of them dressed for attention—Sami in her “New York winters are for wimps” leather bikini top, leather shorts, fur boots, and thin leather jacket; Sander in his leather pants, designer silk T-shirt that fit his narrow frame perfectly, and thin leather jacket. Bo knew they looked like Euro trash. Hell, Sami and Sander knew they looked like Euro trash. That was the point. That’s what made them so good at what they liked to do when Bo wasn’t around to make his strict rules. They enticed to manipulate, but their loyalty to each other was something Bo never questioned.
The club was big and packed. He saw stairs leading to another floor, and a sign next to the stairs that read GAMES UP with an arrow. This floor had several bars and tech music. Not his favorite music, but he could tolerate it.
The trio walked over to the closest bar. Sami ordered them three beers before planting herself on a stool. She faced away from the bar so she could check out the room.
“You think she’s here?” Sami asked, removing her jacket.
Bo lifted his nose, sniffed the air. “She’s here.”
“Then you better track her down and make your move,” Sander said.
Bo’s eyes narrowed. Sander was being a little too eager, so he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the two sheets of perfectly folded paper. He flicked them open and held one page out to each. “Here are tonight’s rules.”
Sander stared at the printed page in front of him. “You wrote it down?”
“I find putting the rules in writing cuts down on the morning-after ‘But you never saids.’ You know I hate the ‘You never saids.’”
Mumbling under his breath, Sander snatched the sheet from Bo and shoved it into his front pocket. Sami took the sheet and carefully refolded it before slipping it into the top of her boot. “Okay,” she said, reaching behind her to grab the beers from the bar while Bo handed cash to the bartender. “Let’s go find your wolfdog.”
Ric, quite comfortable on the end of the U-shaped couch he’d reserved for the four of them, was about to go looking for Blayne when she suddenly dropped into his lap and announced to them all, “I heard people fucking in the bathroom!”
Not sure how to respond to that, Ric simply reached for his German ale.
“Good fucking or bad fucking?” Gwen asked.
Blayne thought a moment, her eyes focused on the ceiling. She finally answered, “Drunk fucking.”
“Ahhh.”
Ric laughed. Blayne always made him laugh, which was why he cared so much about protecting her. His cousin and Dee-Ann may think it was perfectly acceptable to use Blayne as bait, but Ric didn’t like it. Yet he admitted, at least to himself, that he did worry that if Blayne knew the truth, she might start doing things that would only put her in more danger. Or maybe she’d cower in her apartment, afraid to ever come out. Or maybe she’d do nothing at all. It was the wild card factor that made telling Blayne anything about this a risk. So, against his better judgment, he told her nothing and hoped that Dee-Ann was as good at her job as his cousin believed she was.
“Did you stand there and listen?” Ric had to ask.
“Of course not!” She reached down, fussed with the heel of her very sexy shoes. “But I did have to pee,” she admitted.
“Hey, Blayne,” Gwen murmured from the comfort of Lock’s lap. “Two o’clock.”
Before Ric could stop her, Blayne turned in his lap and rose up on her knees. She raised her arm in the air and began to wave while screaming, “Dee-Ann! Dee! Ann! Over here! Sit here!”
Ric winced, knowing he’d hear about this later. If there was one thing Dee-Ann Smith couldn’t stand, it was being the center of attention.
Glaring at Ric across the packed new club, the She-wolf walked over to the couch.
“Hey, y’all,” she said in that enticing Southern accent.
“Dee!” Then Blayne was up, her arms around Dee. Blayne hugged Dee like they were long-lost friends. Although based on the way Dee was currently scowling, Ric doubted that would ever happen.
“Get her off me,” Dee mouthed at him. “Now!”
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Blayne went on, oblivious as always. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
When Ric saw Dee’s hand reach around to her back, where he knew she had some illegal weapon stashed, he quickly grabbed Blayne around the waist and pulled her onto his lap while snapping under his breath at Dee, “Don’t even!”
Dee snarled, her empty hand dropping at her side as he sat Blayne down, both of his arms around her waist.
“Why don’t you join us, Dee?” he asked.
“Nah.”
“Oh, come on, Dee!” Blayne cheered happily. “Have a drink. Or let’s dance!” Blayne tried to stand up again, but Ric held her in place. “How about I introduce you around!” She tried to stand again, but Ric yanked the overeager wolfdog right back to his lap.
With an annoyed growl and a flash of fang, Dee walked off, disappearing into the crowd.
“Don’t go, Dee!” Blayne yelled after her. “Dee! Deeeeee!” she bellowed one last time before settling back down against Ric’s chest. Blayne gave a little pout. “She never hangs out with us anymore. I wonder why.”
Ric caught Lock’s gaze, but they both quickly looked away, both males afraid of being the ones to say something to make sweet, innocent, completely clueless Blayne Thorpe cry.
Blayne caught Gwen’s gaze, but they quickly looked away from each other, both females afraid of laughing so hard they might piss themselves.
Did Dee-Ann Smith really think Blayne was that stupid? Okay. Blayne had her moments. She’d admit it. But she knew when some heifer was following her. Hard not to be close to the O’Neill Pride and not pick up certain skills. Because of the O’Neills, Blayne knew when she was being shadowed. Of course, she also knew how to hot-wire a car, launder money, and get guns into Northern Ireland. Not that she’d ever do any of those things. She wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean she lacked the skill or brains to do them.
Yet for whatever reason, Dee-Ann Smith was following her. Constantly.
Blayne had the feeling Ric must have hired her. He worried about Blayne. She knew that hybrids had been taken, their bodies found weeks or months later with their throats or other major arteries torn out and their corpses covered in scars. Although full-blood shifters like bears and lions were often used for hunting by men with more money than sense, hybrids had always been the ignored. Until now. Until someone had decided it was a good idea to turn them into pit bulls.
So, did Blayne mind the protection? Not at all. A little protection from some Southern She-wolf was a hell of a lot better than ending up on the wrong side of a pit fight. But what Blayne didn’t understand, and what made her toy with Dee-Ann and Ric so much, was why they wouldn’t just tell her the truth?
Maybe Ric was worried Blayne wouldn’t feel comfortable basically taking money from him. And normally, she wouldn’t. But again, taking a little charity from a friend or ending up in the middle of a pit fight? The answer was a no-brainer for Blayne Thorpe. Yet she didn’t like the tricky way they were going about it. She especially didn’t like that Ric, someone she considered one of her best friends, wasn’t being honest with her.
Was it cruel to mess with them? Maybe.
Would Blayne stop? Doubtful.
At least not until they told her the truth. Besides, it took so little to get on the She-wolf’s nerves. All Blayne had to do was be herself, but with a dose of proverbial amphetamine added to really amp it up. She did love amping it up. She’d been amping it up since she’d realized it embarrassed the hell out of her father.
Honestly, the military types were so damn easy.
A shadow fell over them and she sat up, grinning, thinking Dee had returned. But when the shadow kept growing, she knew it wasn’t Dee. It was Novikov.
“Hey!” she cheered, glad to see that he’d made the effort to come. “You’re here!”
“Hey,” Novikov said while staring intently at Blayne. She’d have to work on him with that staring thing. A lot of females would be put off by it, and if he wanted to date a She-wolf, he was risking his eyes. She-wolves loathed the staring game.
Yet once Blayne got past his intense stare, she noticed that he had a beer gripped in his hand and a female hanging around his neck.
Okay. She’d admit that she didn’t expect him to bring a date. But she didn’t mind. Nope. Not at all. She wanted to help the guy get out and have fun . . . even if that meant dating an obvious porn star.
And isn’t she kind of cold in that outfit? Wait. Did he make her wear that outfit?
The group fell into an awkward silence, neither Lock nor Ric bothering to attempt even the basic politeness. She’d have to talk to them later about that. How could she teach Novikov to be polite when two of the most polite guys she knew weren’t acting polite? It was a conundrum!
After the silence went on for way too long, Gwen finally asked the question Blayne was dying to know the answer to.
“What is that?” Gwen asked from the safety of Lock’s lap, pointing at the fox.
And, to Novikov’s credit, he did appear truly perplexed by her question. “What’s what?”
Gwen frowned. “Around your neck.”
He glanced over, shrugged, and replied, “This is my fox. Sami.”
“Hiya,” Sami said, looking quite comfortable. She was a cute little thing. An Arctic fox from what Blayne could tell with white hair that reached to her shoulders. But her brown skin and the shape of her eyes suggested she was Eskimo. Wait. Is that the politically correct term? Blayne didn’t know, and now she felt guilty. What if it wasn’t the correct term? What if calling Sami Eskimo was the same as the old guy in Little Italy last week who’d called Blayne that “nice colored girl”?
“So,” Novikov went on, oblivious to Blayne’s struggle with finding the correct terminology to describe the human side of his fox, “what are you guys doing?”
“Nothing,” Lock said, and boy, could he make that one word sound more grudgingly given?
“I’m sorry, no.” Gwen, not nearly done with her side of the conversation, leaned forward a little bit on Lock’s lap and said, “I can’t just let this go. What do you mean she’s your fox?”
“I don’t know how to make it clearer.” At one time, Blayne would have thought Novikov was being rude, but now she knew that was just the way he spoke. That was the way his mind formed things. Directness without any venom attached. It was his way . . . and something she’d have to work on with him.
Of course, whether she thought he was being rude or not, Gwen didn’t care as she kept digging. Kind of like that hole Blayne dug in her dad’s backyard a few months back that he still yelled at her about. “Well,” Gwen pushed, “is she your girlfriend?”
“Gwen,” Blayne warned, but Gwen only raised her hand to shut Blayne up.
“No,” Novikov said simply.
“Your lover?” Gwen went on. “Your fuck-buddy? Any of those terms fit here?”
Novikov and the fox eyed each other, then both shook their heads. “No.”
“Then I’m unclear what you mean by she’s your fox.”
“Polars have foxes,” Lock explained, but Gwen and Blayne still didn’t get what that was supposed to mean.
“What?” Gwen demanded.
“Why don’t we just let this go?” Blayne asked, trying to keep everyone calm and sort of rational. But Gwen had already had three Guinnesses on top of her four Sprites at dinner. All that sugar and liquor was making for quite the O’Neill volcano.
“Let it go?” Gwen again pointed at the fox. “She comes in here looking like a future Playboy spread, and you want to let it go?”
The fox released her grip on Novikov’s neck and took the long drop to the ground. She couldn’t be more than five-three and maybe a hundred pounds, if that. And the fact that it was the middle of a cold New York City winter didn’t seem to faze her either, since she was decked out in the black leather version of a bikini top and shorts. Something Blayne wore in the summer when she and Gwen hit the Jersey Shore, at least the denim version of that outfit, but for winter? Not in this lifetime.
“You got a problem, feline?” the fox demanded.
Gwen tried to shoot off Lock’s lap, but the grizzly knew his woman. He tightened his grip on her, holding her with one arm while he continued to drink his beer with his free hand.
“Let me go,” Gwen ordered. “I’m going to tear the little twat’s face off!”
Lock chuckled. “That is so not going to happen.”
Blayne, always hating when anyone fought, jumped off Ric’s lap and got between the two. They weren’t close, but they’d locked gazes. And although the fox was tiny, even by human standards, Blayne knew better than to underestimate them. Small, foxes may be . . . but mean. Sometimes, they were really mean.
“Okay,” Blayne ordered. “That is it.” She glared at Gwen. “This is the opening to our friend’s club, and you are not going to start a fight.” Gwen hissed a little, but she settled back onto Lock’s lap.
Blayne faced the fox, held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Blayne. Nice to meet you.”
The fox blinked painfully bright gold eyes in surprise. “Um . . . hi.” She gazed at Blayne’s hand and, finally, took it. It was a short shake, but Blayne meant it. “I’m Sami. Nice to meet you, too.”
“Would you like to join us for drinks?”
Studying Blayne closely, the fox suddenly grinned and shook her head. “You know, I’m going to check on my mate. But I’m sure that Bo would love to stay for drinks.” Somehow her smile grew. “It’s been really nice meeting you, Blayne.”
“You, too.”
The fox sashayed off, patting Novikov’s arm as she passed. Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she watched her, and Blayne said, “What part of ‘let it go’ are we not grasping?”
“I don’t like her. And I’m in the mood for a good fight.”
“No more Guinness for you,” Blayne said, snatching the half-drunk glass away from her friend.
“Do you want to lose that paw, canine?”
“Be nice!” Blayne bellowed.
It was grudging, but Gwen settled down even while the rest of the predators around them watched Blayne closely. Sure. The drunk tigon is no threat, but the sober wolfdog—watch out!
Annoyed by the hypocrisy, Blayne tossed the glass onto a tray held by a passing waitress before dropping onto the couch next to Ric. Relaxing back, she realized Novikov was still standing there. And—still staring.
“Sit,” she said, motioning to an empty spot on the U-shaped couch. And yes, she did expect him to take the spot she pointed out. Especially since he didn’t seem to be one of those purposely contrary types. But what she didn’t expect was to suddenly have a tight bear-cat ass shoving its way between her and Ric.
Once Bo had forced his way between Blayne and Van Holtz, he felt much better. He didn’t appreciate the way the wolf and Blayne had sat so close together, Van Holtz’s arm around the back of her portion of the couch. A little too proprietary in Bo’s estimation. So he sat between them.
Blayne squeaked a little as she moved out of his way, and Van Holtz hit the floor since he’d been sitting right on the edge. The wolf glared up at him and Bo gazed back, sipping his beer. He figured that was the end of it until Blayne punched his shoulder.
“Apologize,” she ordered him.
“For what?”
“You knocked him on the floor. Are you really that rude?”
“It seems that the answer to that would be yes.”
“I’m fine, Blayne.” Van Holtz managed to get to his own big wolf feet without any help from Bo. “I think I’ll get another drink. I’ll be back.”
He walked off and Blayne hit Bo again.
“What now?”
“This is your fault.”
“What’s my fault?”
“Ric being upset.”
“It’s not like he ran off to the girls’ room crying.”
“Would you care if he had?”
“Other than to laugh? Probably not.”
Blayne turned on the couch to face him, pulling her legs up so she sat on her knees. “How can I help you if you act this way?”
“Help me? Help me with what?”
“Help with you.” She waved her hand around his face. “The poor, pathetic, lonely, rich superstar athlete that you are.”
Bo glanced over at the grizzly and tigon sitting across from them. “She’s serious,” the tigon mouthed to him, making Bo sigh.
“I’m a good person,” Blayne said earnestly, pressing her hand to her chest. “And because I’m a good person, I have friends. And I want you to have friends. But that won’t happen if you go around knocking wolves to the floor. Wolves are not to be toyed with just because you can.” She held up her finger, “Hold that thought,” and spun around on her knees so that she faced the back of the couch. “Hey, Dee-Ann!” Blayne screeched across the club. “Dee-Ann! You’re not leaving already are you? Sit here! Here! We still have room! Dee! Annnnn!”
With his left ear ringing, Bo watched as some She-wolf stalked off into the crowd while Blayne returned to her original position, facing Bo. “Now . . . where was I?”
“If I want to be a good person like you, I can’t toy with wolves just because I can.”
“Right!” Again she pressed her palm to her chest, appearing superbly innocent. “I’m here to help you. Let me.”
“Dee-Ann, wait!”
Dee-Ann kept walking until a strong hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “Please.”
“I’m done, hoss. I am done.”
“It’s not that easy and we both know that.”
“Find somebody else. I can’t deal with her.” She tried to walk out the front exit, but Van Holtz pulled her down a hallway and into a private room, recently vacated from the heavy scent of feline sex still lingering.
“You can’t walk away from this,” Van Holtz told her once he’d closed the door. “Blayne needs you.”
“What that wolfdog needs is heavy medication.”
“Look, let’s just talk. Okay? For a second.”
Van Holtz sat down on the couch, and Dee said, “Whoever was on that couch before ya just fucked there.”
The wolf stood right back up. “So we’ll stand.” He took a breath. “You can’t let her get to you like this. You know Blayne. She just wants everyone to have a good time. To be happy.”
What would make Dee-Ann happy was Blayne Thorpe’s head over her daddy’s mantel right next to the twelve-point buck he’d taken down in his younger days. That would make Dee-Ann happy. Continually discussing one pain-in-the-ass wolfdog, however, would not.
Lord, if they were all like Blayne, Dee-Ann wouldn’t help one of them. But thankfully, they weren’t all like Blayne. In fact, she’d been meeting some real interesting ones lately. Hybrids with real potential who didn’t waste her time by being idiotic and embarrassing in public.
“Don’t need Blayne Thorpe to make me happy. Just need her to shut her mouth and wait quietly to be snatched up by scumbags. Don’t think I’m askin’ too much here.”
“I think we both know it won’t be that easy.”
“Well, I can’t take much more of her craziness.”
“I know. I know. We’ll discuss it at the next team meeting. Okay?”
“As ya like. But I guess I don’t know why you don’t just take her home with you. Make her yours and she falls under the protection of your kin. Nothing they can do about it.”
The wolf gazed at her a long moment before he finally asked, “Make Blayne mine? You mean . . . you mean mark Blayne?”
Dee-Ann did what her daddy always did when asked a stupid question. Said nothing and waited until the person figured out on their own they asked a stupid question. And, sure enough, the wolf caught on quick, his whole body going kind of tense.
“I can’t mark Blayne. She’s like a sister to me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can assure you, Dee-Ann, my interest in Blayne is strictly friendship. I have . . . other interests.”
Whatever that meant. Although Dee-Ann didn’t care one way or the other. Her biggest concern right now was getting Blayne Thorpe off her radar for good. But until that happened, she had a way around being Blayne’s daily watchdog. Normally, Dee-Ann would inform her commanding officers of changes she’d made, but the Group wasn’t the Marines and Ulrich Van Holtz wasn’t her commanding officer. He was just a rich boy with a powerful uncle who liked him. So Dee would do what she’d been doing for months . . . running the show her way without bothering to let Van Holtz know about it. Why bother? The boy was as useless as tits on a bull, but he still made sure she got paid on time, and she did like getting that money. It was more than she’d thought and much more than she needed, even in this ridiculous city, but it was nice actually having a retirement fund. Especially since she’d never had one before.
“Understand?” he asked.
“Yeah. Sure.” Whatever. She didn’t understand males. He didn’t seem to mind that Blayne was a hybrid and they made a cute couple. Besides, if he wasn’t careful, that big buck of a hockey player would snatch little Blayne right out from under Mr. Society. One look and Dee-Ann could tell that Novikov didn’t play by anyone’s rules but his own. And the way he watched that little gal . . . well, when Dee’s daddy thought no one was looking he still stared at her momma the same way Novikov was watching Blayne.
But in the long scheme of things, it wasn’t Dee’s problem. If Van Holtz wanted to lose out on his chance with that idiot that was his problem.
Figuring the conversation was over, Dee walked out, ignoring the “Where the hell did she go?” that followed.
When the two boars stared at each other for way too long in Blayne’s estimation, she grabbed Novikov’s hand and pulled him away from the couch and Lock MacRyrie.
To her surprise, he followed her without complaint, and she led him up two floors until she got to the “Mood Room” level. Mellow tech music and low lights for those who had no tolerance for the exact opposite, Blayne had a feeling this was the perfect place for Bo Novikov. He didn’t seem remotely comfortable near the dance floor, and she doubted he’d do much better on the gaming floor or in the karaoke room where she knew she’d find the entire Kuznetsov Pack. It was clear Jess didn’t come to the opening. If she had, she’d be working every floor to make sure the event went off without the slightest hitch. But she was seriously pregnant and kind of miserable at the moment, so the opening of a Manhattan shifter club was not a good idea for her. She was much better off home and comfortable with her mate.
Thankfully, though, it looked as if the club was off to an excellent start, and giving shifters choices like the Mood Room was a very smart move.
Still holding Novikov’s hand, Blayne went deep into the Mood Room, trying to find a table or booth. Everything was taken at the moment, and when she arrived at the last booth at the very end of the room, she stopped and glanced at the three male lions sitting in it. She was trying to guesstimate when they might be done and leave when the three males gazed past her and up. Blayne looked up at Novikov just as he tilted his head toward the exit. It was a slight move, barely noticeable if she hadn’t been looking right at him, but holy shit did those lions move! Blayne stepped back as the felines took their drinks and escaped, their gazes now focused on the floor in front of them.
Blayne let out a sigh. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I didn’t want to stand here all night.” He pressed his palm against her back, urging her to sit in the booth, but Blayne couldn’t believe the size of that hand touching her through her knockoff designer dress. Like the size of a crater on the moon.
Okay. A bit of an exaggeration, but Blayne was known to exaggerate when it helped get her point across.
She sat in the booth and, again, thought he’d sit on the other side, but no. He squeezed in next to her. But Blayne wasn’t having it this time.
“Over there!” she yelped when he tried pushing her over when she wouldn’t move out of his way. “Over! There!”
Her demand worked, because he sat down on the other side.
“I need space,” she blurted out, her arms going wide to help illustrate her point. “Personal space! I’m a wolfdog. Getting crowded into corners makes us mental! Space!” Annoyed in general, she went on. “And stop scaring people to get them to move out of your way. And don’t try and stare down your teammates. That’s just rude! You’re on the same team. You should be working together, buddies to the end.” She flopped back into the booth. “I have so much work to do with you.” When Novikov didn’t say anything, she demanded, “Well?”
“What if I bought you a new watch?”
“Oh, my God!” she blurted out. “Are we back here again?”
“It irritates me.” And his calmness was pissing her off more than she could say.
“This watch goes perfectly with this outfit,” she argued.
“But you wore it during training and with your cargo pants to work.”
“Let the watch go!” she bellowed, startling the full-human waitress who wore the mark of some wolf on the bare shoulder peeking out from under a sleeveless club T-shirt. Blayne cleared her throat. “Diet Coke please.”
The waitress nodded, focused on Novikov. “Bottle water,” he said, handing her his half-full beer. “Thank you.”
After the waitress walked away, Novikov said, “You know, Blayne, I’m pretty happy with the way my life is right now.”
“You can’t possibly be happy.”
“Why? Because I’m not like you?”
Blayne snorted. “You couldn’t handle being me.” She swirled her forefingers around her head and admitted, “All that goes on inside this head at any given time . . . would destroy you.”
She didn’t know who was startled more when Novikov suddenly laughed, but it was something that she would remember for a very long time because it was something that everyone had said he never did. You know, unless he was laughing at you.
The laugh took him by surprise. It wasn’t that he didn’t find things funny, but he usually found things funny later. After he thought about it for a few hours and analyzed what funny was in context.
But in whatever context there was, even Bo knew Blayne was funny. Even when she was angry or annoyed, she knew how to keep her sense of humor. He admired that because he knew few people who had that skill.
Yet his problem with Blayne was that she wanted to “fix him.” Personally, he didn’t think he needed fixing, but she seemed real determined about it.
The waitress placed their drinks down. Blayne downed half of her Diet Coke before Bo had even picked up his tiny bottle of Italian water that he was sure would cost twenty bucks.
“So this is what I’m thinking,” she said when she slammed the bottle down. “Personality makeover.”
“No.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“I think you’re being ridiculous. That makes us even, doesn’t it?”
“I say a personality makeover because externally, you’re not half bad.”
Gee, thanks.
“I mean, you’re cute, especially with those freaky blue eyes.”
“Freaky?”
“The white hair alone would kill the look but the brown mane under it totally pulls it together. Although you may want to think about upgrading your conditioner.” She suddenly rose up on her knees and reached across the table, grabbing his hair and studying the ends. “I don’t think these are split ends, but they are a bit frizzy. A good conditioner will help you with that.”
“Blayne—”
She sat back. “And your wardrobe isn’t bad at all. Which just leaves your personality. And if you let me, I can help you fix that.”
“It doesn’t need to be fixed. This is who I am; I’ve accepted that. Maybe you should.”
“I don’t have a problem with you.”
“Then why—”
“Explain the foxes to me,” she said, looking very professorial all of a sudden.
“Why?”
“Who are they? Where did they come from? She said she has a mate; does he mind her lounging on you?” She leaned in close again. “Or does he get to lounge, too? Do you guys all sleep in the same bed?” She practically jumped out of the booth. “Are you bi? Oh, my God! That would be so cool!”
“Hey, hey, hey!” He held up his hands to ward off her insane eagerness. “It’s not like that! It’s never been like that.”
She dropped back into her seat. “Oh.”
“Sorry you’re so disappointed.”
“No, no. Not disappointed . . . per se.”
And Bo heard himself laugh again, Blayne joining him.
“I’m just trying to understand the dynamic. Were they assigned to you? Or did you choose them like you would a puppy from the pound?”
“I guess they kind of chose me. The first day of school when I moved to Ursus County, they sort of attached themselves to me. Followed me back to my uncle’s house. I thought he’d make them leave, but instead he fed them and told me to ‘get used to it.’ I guess it makes sense. In the wild, full foxes attach themselves to polars and eat what’s left over from the polars’ kills, which is very logical because polars mostly only eat blubber—”
“Ew.”
“—leaving the meat and bone for everyone else.”
Her face scrunched up. “Lovely.”
“You asked.”
“So basically they’re like parasites.”
“I think Sami and Sander prefer ‘scavengers.’ ”
“But they do live off you, right? Eating your food? Stealing your money?”
“They’ve never stolen from me. Sami will just walk in and say, ‘I’m taking money out of your wallet’ and I say, ‘Okay.’”
“Nice.”
“But they always have some scam going, and haven’t gotten money from me in a while. I just make sure I have cash for bail or, ya know, mob types. When they get in over their heads.”
Blayne pressed her hands to her head. “I have so much work.”
“How ya figure?”
“What? You think some lioness or She-wolf will put up with your hot fox wandering in and out of your house, taking cash out of your wallet? They won’t be okay with that.”
He studied Blayne a moment before asking, “What about you? Would you be okay with it?”
“Well . . . my best friend can turn her head a hundred and eighty degrees when the mood strikes her, her entire family has Irish mob ties, and my father used to run with a motorcycle club masquerading as a Pack—so I’d have to say I don’t know if I’d have room to judge. But I’m me. I’m unique.”
Yeah. Blayne was definitely that.
“But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about getting you a nice girl.”
“Then we’re ruling out She-lions and wolves. I mean . . . if we’re going for nice girls.”
Her grin huge, she leaned across the table and punched him lightly in the ribs. “Look at you with the joking.”
Feeling pretty good about making her laugh, Bo was annoyed to see MacRyrie lumber up to their table.
“Normally I wouldn’t say anything so you could suffer,” the grizzly stated with no preamble, “but Gwen said Blayne would be mad at me if I didn’t tell you. And I like Blayne.”
“Tell me what?”
“Your foxes are getting arrested.”
Bo winced and rubbed his forehead. “Dammit.”
“What did they do?” Blayne asked.
“It’s probably an old warrant,” Bo explained, dropping his hand to the table. When Blayne did nothing but watch him with a sad expression on her face, Bo guessed, “We’re back at the personality makeover again, aren’t we?”
“I’m merely suggesting that with a little help from me you might actually get friends you can go out with that won’t get arrested for old warrants.” She held her hands up. “Merely a suggestion.”
Not in the mood to argue this point, Bo eased out of the booth and stood. The grizzly was just shy of seven feet, so they locked gazes again.
“Friends being arrested,” Blayne reminded him. “Boar-on-boar violence or helping your friends. Your choice.”
Dammit. She was right. Bo moved his gaze over to Blayne. “Tomorrow. Seven a.m. Do not be early or late. Just be on time.”
“Will do.”
Unsure of how he would look back on this evening, Bo headed off in the hope of preventing his friends from going to jail for the night.
Blayne shook her head. “That man.”
“What’s going on with you two?” Lock asked and Blayne couldn’t help but notice he appeared concerned. So sweet!
“I’m trying to help him become a better person. Better person, means a happier person.”
“Maybe you should have given yourself an easier challenge first. Like moving the Empire State Building to Jersey with your teeth. Or closing off an active volcano with a pebble and a bottle of water.”
“I could be wrong, Lock MacRyrie, but I’m sensing sarcasm.”
Bo dragged the two foxes out of the club by the backs of their necks, after he made them return every wallet, watch, purse, and piece of jewelry they’d “grabbed,” as they liked to call it. Since foxes always believed that “stealing” had such an ugly connotation.
Thankfully, the two undercover cops who’d busted them were shifters and let the pair off with a warning as long as they returned everything.
“I give you people lists,” Bo snarled, throwing them into the backseat of his truck, “and you completely ignore them!”
He slammed the door closed and stormed around to the other side of the truck. He got in and turned the motor over.
“We needed the cash,” Sami explained. “We’re heading to Thailand tomorrow.”
“You know I would have paid for your trip.”
“We don’t want you to think we’re living off you.”
“You are living off me.”
“Yeah . . . but we don’t want you to think it.”
Bo glared at the couple over his shoulder, muttering, “Maybe she’s right.”
“Maybe who’s right? About what?”
“Blayne. She seems to think I need a personality makeover.”
“What’s wrong with your personality?”
“I apparently only attract criminals.”
“Oh.”
Neither fox argued that point, allowing Bo to face straight ahead and ask out loud, “I don’t know what she’s doing. She’s insisting she wants to help me.”
“Because she likes you,” Sami explained, “she’s compartmentalizing you. Putting you in a safe zone.”
“I don’t want to be in a safe zone.”
“Then keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
“How does that help me?”
“First off, don’t look for logic. You’ve picked the most illogical hybrid on the planet. Second, she’s one of those chicks who has to be ‘friends’”—she raised her hands and made air quotes—“with a guy before he can hope to get close, but by then he’s already moved on to a girl who doesn’t need that and he’s already thinking about the wolfdog like a sister. Trust me, she’s got thousands of buddies and brothers throughout the tri-state area. If you want more than that, you’ll have to work for it.”
“I don’t mind working for it. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“Her lack of time management really worries me.”
Sander sat forward, placing his hand on Bo’s shoulder. “Will you give a shit about her lack of time management when she’s got those insanely long legs wrapped around your head?”
Bo thought on that for a moment, then answered honestly, “No.”
“Then why are we still sitting here discussing this?”
The fox had a point.