Of course, none of that mattered right now. She had a game tonight and just enough time to get in a warm-up. She had to be ready. Her father would be meeting up with his old buddies and watching the game from the owner’s box. She had to make sure that, at the very least, she didn’t embarrass herself in front of him.

Cella reached for the rink entrance door, but she heard the sounds coming through it. Knew what those sounds meant. Growling, she snatched the door open and rushed through.

“Unbelievable.” She dropped her bag and charged across the rink and right into the middle of the brawl, pushing the males back and away from Novikov. Because, as always, he was at the center of the fight. But what surprised Cella was that the one fighting him was Ulrich Van Holtz, the wolf the entire league referred to as “The Gentleman.” He was also the Carnivore team’s captain, goalie, and goddamn owner.

“I control this team!” Van Holtz shouted at Novikov. “Not you! Not ever!”

Blue eyes shifting to gold, the longest fangs she’d ever seen exploding from his gums, the hybrid roared, “Then you can take your goddamn team and—”

Cella punched Novikov, her fist slamming into his nose, shutting him up. Shocked and bleeding, he stumbled back, gawking down at her.

She pointed a finger at him. “Do not say anything you’re going to regret.” She spun, pointed that same finger at Van Holtz. “You either.” Cella looked around at the rest of her teammates. Well, at least the male ones. The females were sitting in the bleachers, eating popcorn. Useless. These people were useless!

“We have a game in less than two hours,” she reminded them. “Let’s get ready.”

The males skated out, leaving Cella with Van Holtz and Novikov. She motioned to the three females watching them from the bleachers. But they only motioned back. Realizing it would be a waste of time to try to force those bitches to do anything, she walked over to Van Holtz first. “I’ll meet you in your office in about ten. Okay?”

When Van Holtz just stood there, scowling at Novikov, Cella turned him and shoved. “Ten minutes.”

She went back to Novikov and grabbed his arm, yanking him across the ice toward one of the exits. Without saying a word, she led him to Jai’s office.

“Maybe I could just—”

“Trust me!” the hybrid promised, practically skipping down the street like a little kid, but holding on to Crush like a linebacker while Conway followed behind them. Still laughing.

She dragged him into an office building, past the front desk, around a pillar, and into a small office. A feline sat at the desk, frowning when she saw what her friend was dragging in.

“We need your help, Gwenie.”

“Another stray, Blayne?”

“No.”

“Really?” She sat back in her desk chair. “What’s his name?”

The canine chewed on her bottom lip, finally eking out, “Big handsome bear?”

Shaking her head, the friend began to turn away but the canine quickly explained, “He needs your help, Gwenie. He was at Mr. Peterson’s about to get a buzz cut!”

The feline turned back around, her frown worsening as she looked Crush over. “He’ll look like a mass murderer.”

“I was thinking more serial killer.” The canine looked up at him. “There’s actually a difference.”

“Yes, I know,” Crush responded. “Look, I can just go to one of those Quick Cut places—”

“Bite your tongue,” the one called Blayne gasped. “We don’t discuss those places here.”

The feline rolled her eyes. “I swear. The drama with you sometimes, Blayne.”

“Come on, Gwenie. Please? Help a bear-brother out.”

Finally laughing, a smile lighting up that pretty face, the feline stood. “All right, all right.” She pointed at herself. “Hi. Gwen O’Neill.”

“Oh! And I’m Blayne Thorpe. Sorry.”

Now it was Crush’s turn to frown. “Why do I know that name?” His frown deepened. “You’re not a criminal, are you?”

“Here or in Philadelphia?”

Confused and a little alarmed, Crush asked, “Does that matter?”

“Yes,” both females answered at the same time.

“Hey.” Conway, who’d been lounging against the doorway, enjoying every moment of Crush’s nightmare, stood straight, pointed at framed pictures on the office wall, and asked, “Do you guys know him?”

Crush stepped forward and leaned in to study the pictures, shock ripping through his system. “Holy ... do you know him?”

“Hockey fan?” the one named Gwen asked, grinning.

“Hockey stalker, more like it,” Conway joked.

“I don’t stalk. I just attend every home game. Religiously. Without question. Which is why I can’t worry about fancy cuts right now. Gotta get to the Sports Center. Game tonight.” The New York Carnivores, his home team, against the Alabama Slammers.

Still, Crush had to know ... “So do you guys really know Bo Novikov?”

The canine grinned. “A little.”

Hhhhm. Probably a hockey groupie. But her name still sounded familiar; Crush just couldn’t remember why.

“Where are you sitting?” Blayne asked.

“Nosebleed seats. But they’re my nosebleed seats.”

“You didn’t invite me to the game,” Conway complained.