“Because you were breaking people’s legs at thirteen?”

“No, that didn’t bother her. Besides. They weren’t people. They were degenerate gamblers. But I did beat up her kid brother for his lunch money. That kind of pissed her off.”

“Yeah. I can see a girl holding that against you.”

“Didn’t stop me from trying, though. Malones, we don’t back away from a challenge. Gifts for her. Flowers, candy. A cool car for me ... stolen, of course.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“The latest clothes. Everything I figured a girl would want. Then she finally said it. ‘You’re a lowlife and I wouldn’t date you if you were the last tiger on the planet.’ ” He tapped his chest. “That one hurt. Right here. So I figured if I was gonna get her, I had to stop breaking legs, stealing cars, throwing degenerate gamblers off rooftops—”

“Again ... that I didn’t need to know.”

“That’s when I realized hockey wasn’t just that thing I did, but a way I could get legit. Get on the right team, become the best player—I could get a girl like her.”

“And you can get your equipment legally.”

“Didn’t really care about that.”

“Of course, you didn’t.”

“Before I knew it, I was considered the best in the league and I had the She-tiger of my dreams.”

“Except for the extreme illegal activity during your important developmental years—that was a surprisingly sweet story.”

“Mhmm.” Nice Guy suddenly looked him over, eyes narrowing. “What do you know about my daughter?”

“Apparently nothing,” he muttered, but when Nice Guy tensed, Crush quickly added, “I knew about Bare Knuckles Malone.” Who didn’t? She had one of the worst reputations in the league next to The Marauder and was one of the first female enforcers for a pro-team who wasn’t a She-bear. “But I didn’t know the woman I was talking to was Bare Knuckles. Her face is impossible to see from my usual seats and any time they show her on the big screen, she’s wearing a helmet.”

“Yeah. She does that for safety reasons.” What safety reasons? But before Crush could get into it, Nice Guy asked, “And how long have you two been dating?”

“Dating?”

“She said you were her boyfriend.”

“Uh ...”

Gold eyes narrowed. “You’re not just using my little girl, are you?”

“No. No, no. It’s just—”

“Just what?” And that came from “Mac Truck” Lewis, a wolf and one-time goalie who used to play with Nice Guy. It suddenly occurred to Crush that every man here was not only friends withNice Guy, but like a father to Nice Guy’s daughter. That was the beauty of hockey, it transcended breed or species, because it was all about whether a player could skate backward while keeping an eye out for a little black puck.

These men were like Bare Knuckles Malone’s godfathers. And he was the nonplaying idiot they thought was dating her. Hell, they thought he was her boyfriend. A status he’d rather chew rocks than be cursed with. But he wasn’t about to say that to a bunch of his heroes who adored her.

Besides, he hadn’t felt this unsafe since he was alone in the middle of a three a.m. Hells Angels beach party.

“It’s just ...” Crush cleared his throat and scrambled for a satisfactory lie. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of her. I worry about that.”

The men relaxed, smiled, and Nice Guy patted Crush’s shoulder. It felt like he was being beaten with a baseball bat.

“Don’t worry about that. My girl has good instincts. Just like her mother.” When Crush only stared at him. “Hey, I haven’t broken a guy’s leg for money—and hockey doesn’t count—since I was sixteen. See? She knew I had potential.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

One of the Slammers cut across the ice, heading right for Novikov. Cella shoved past the winger in her way and went after him, but she didn’t think she’d reach him in time.

“Reed!” she called out. “Move!”

As a canine, the hillbilly took orders pretty well, and shot in front of the player, blocking him from getting near Novikov.

She reached her teammate and blocked another player, ramming him into the glass by using her legs to launch her body at the guy. They both hit the glass and then dropped to the ice. She was ready to pull off her gloves and take the guy on since he was calling her all sorts of things she found insulting, but the crowd roared, signaling a successful goal, and the end buzzer went off.

Cella got to her feet and skated away from the other player, but kept her eyes on him as she did.

“Bitch,” the maned wolf sneered.

“Loser,” Cella shot back, laughing as one of her teammates picked her up around the waist and carried her off the ice before she started another all-team brawl.

She kind of had a reputation for doing that.

Once off the ice, her teammate—Bert!—let her go, shaking his head and chuckling.

They all marched back to their respective locker rooms and Cella slapped hands and laughed with her female teammates before jumping in the shower and washing off all the blood from the game. When she headed back to her locker, she found Jai waiting for her.

Cella grabbed a dry towel. “Hey. What’s up?”

“How’s your knee?” Jai asked.