“Yeah,” Bo said. “You can call him.”

“Excellent.”

“But I want a seal farm.”

Van Holtz gaped up at him. “You want a what?”

“A seal farm. With fresh seals.”

“How . . . revolting.”

“I don’t judge you killing Bambi.”

“Not every deer we take down is Bambi.”

“And I want more control of the team.” Before the wolf could freak out at that particular request, Bo said, “I may want to coach one day.” He thought about it another second and added, “Or own my own team. One or the other.”

Van Holtz skated off. “We’ll talk more later.”

Bo headed back to the team’s bench, but before he reached it, he had to stop and watch a woman try and roller skate across ice. It was . . . interesting.

“What are you doing?” he asked when she was close enough.

“Trying to reach you.”

“Leap for it, or we’ll be here all night.”

She did, Blayne landing right in his arms.

“How did you do?” he asked, enjoying how she immediately put her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. She let him hold her like this a lot, and he loved it.

“We won! But apparently I’m as hated as you now.” She pouted. “I said I was sorry every time. I even meant it!”

“Then they’re just being unreasonable.”

“That’s how I feel.” She grinned. “But you . . . passing the puck.” She hugged him. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I wanted to win. If that meant passing my puck to that idiot—”

“Sha-sha-sha.” She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t ruin the moment for me.” He caught her fingers in his mouth and tickled them with his tongue.

Giggling, Blayne said, “Maybe we’ve changed places. I’m the heartless cruel one now and you’re the nice one.”

“I’ve learned anything is possible—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Novikov, can I have your—”

“—Do you not see I’m busy?” he bellowed into some wild dog’s face. He focused back on Blayne so he didn’t have to witness the wild dog–male sobbing that followed. “Where were we?”

Blayne’s smile was soft, her palm pressing against his cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I guess we have to go out with the old men brigade tonight?”

They both looked over at the VIP seats where two males were talking, Dr. Luntz—he’d never call her Marci—sitting on his uncle’s lap.

“I never thought they’d become so friendly. He invited Dad to visit next month.”

“Maybe wecan all go.” Blayne perked up—if it was possible for her to perk up more—her smile huge.

“You mean like a vacation?”

“A vacation with skating.”

“Yay! Ice pond skating! And running in snow! I can’t wait!”

He had the perkiest girlfriend in the world. It should annoy him. It didn’t.

“It’ll be a family trip. I like your father,” he added honestly. How could he not? The man had told him exactly how to handle Blayne’s clutter problem: “Since you have the space, give Blayne her own room and let her mess it up as much as she wants. Never go into it, and never ask about it. As far as you’re concerned, it doesn’t exist. Just make sure she keeps all her shit in there with the door closed, and you can keep the rest of the place just as you want it. In the end, you’ll both be happier.” His idea had worked like a charm too.

But the time management thing? “Forget it, kid,” Ezra Thorpe had said. “You’re on your own.”

“Hey,” Van Holtz called out, motioning to them with his hand. “We’re taking team pictures with the Babes. You two get over here!”

“In a second,” Bo told him. He hitched Blayne up a little higher. “I have a question first.”

“Of course I’ll marry you!” Blayne cheered, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I wasn’t going to ask that.”

“Oh.” She un-hugged him. “Sorry.”

“I was going to ask you that on Sunday. At three forty-five p.m. Before the surprise romantic dinner but after my Sunday laps in the pool. It was on my schedule!” he finished on a bellow.

“I know!” she bellowed back. “I saw it. You left it right out on the kitchen table! Was I supposed to ignore it?”

“Since you never look at the schedules you’ve been writing for yourself, much less mine—yes!” He scowled at her. “You know I hate when you mess with my schedule Blayne!”

“You’re rude,” she accused. “Rude!”

“Yeah. But you’re going to marry me anyway, aren’t you?”

That thousand-watt smile made Bo feel warm from the inside out. “Of course I am! Then again, I can’t officially tell you that until three forty-six, p.m., Sunday. Mostly because you’re a freaky hybrid with a schedule fetish.”

Skating over to the rest of the group to take the picture, Blayne in his arms, Bo laughed and said, “Yeah, and I love you, too, Blaynie.”

Can’t get enough Shelly Laurenston? Try getting to know her arrogantly sexy dragon shapeshifters, which she writes as G. A. Aiken. An excerpt of her newest release, How to Drive a Dragon Crazy, follows