“Blayne, watch out for the—”

“Ow!”

“—pole.”

CHAPTER 7

“This was great,” Blayne said, rolling back and forth in front of Bo. “I learned so much.”

Bo relaxed against the railing, watching Blayne move. God, she’s pretty. “Good,” he muttered, not really sure what he was responding to and not really caring.

“So we’ll do this again tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great! I’ll meet you here at seven.”

“Wait . . . what?” What had he just agreed to? Why was he not paying attention? But before he could tell her no she skated up to him and put her arms around him, shocking him into silence.

“I really appreciate this help.”

“Oh. Uh. You’re welcome.” Where was his strength of will? Where was his focus? When did he become so goddamn weak?

“I’m gonna be so ready for the championship.” She grinned up at him. “And it’ll be all down to you. My hero.”

Eh. Strength of will was overrated.

“Do you know the time?” she asked.

Of course he did but that wasn’t the point. “I see you’re still wearing your fake Prada.”

She unwrapped herself from him so she could smile down at it. “Actually, this is my Cha-Chanel. And it’s working!” She studied it. “Sort of. But isn’t it pretty?”

“Pretty useless.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t seem insulted. “Don’t start that again. And what time is it? I need to be somewhere by eight thirty.”

Bo glanced at his watch, then couldn’t look away. He’d scheduled only an hour with Blayne. One hour. No more, no less. But . . . but . . .

“It’s . . . it’s eight twenty,” he said.

Blayne smiled. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“Eight twenty,” he said again.

“Yeah. I got that. Wait. Is there a subtext to the number? Like two eleven on X-Files?”

“What?” Bo shook his head. “We should have been done twenty minutes ago.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the list. “See? I have it written down.”

“You actually have a list written down?”

“Lists are important.”

“See? This is what I mean. This can’t be healthy for you. Living on this rigid, ridiculous schedule.”

That’s when Bo asked, “Didn’t you say you had to be somewhere by eight thirty?”

“Yup!” She smiled and Bo gawked at her. He gawked until her eyes got big and she blurted out, “Oh, shit!” She lifted herself up and over the railing with one arm. He would have enjoyed it more if she didn’t aim her skates right at his head, but he knew she was panicking and hewas fast enough to get out of her way. He watched her skate out the door only to return twenty seconds later. “I never went to the locker room,” she said, sliding to a stop by a backpack and a haphazard pile of clothes on the floor.

She started to pull her clothes off right there in the stadium, and Bo rushed over to her and quickly grabbed her hands. “Not in here.”

“Why?”

“We’re not alone.”

“Huh?”

He motioned to the top bleachers in the far corner of the room. The maintenance guys who kept the entire sports center running like a well-oiled machine were eating their breakfast and watching the pair. They often watched Bo in the mornings over their breakfast, but they had somehow found their way down to the derby stadium. Bo didn’t mind, but he wasn’t about to let them have a free show of a naked, panicked Blayne.

“Hey, guys!” Blayne raised her arm and waved.

The males waved back. “Hi, Blayne!”

She smirked. “You guys wouldn’t have watched me change without letting me know you were there, now would you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” one of them answered back.

“Bad shifters!” she teasingly chastised. “Bad, bad, bad!”

Sensing she’d already forgotten how late it was, Bo grabbed a handful of Blayne’s crap. “Come on.”

She gazed at him calmly. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s now eight twenty-four,” he announced.

“Shit!” She grabbed the rest of her things and tore out of the stadium, Bo following after her.

One of the maintenance crew tossed out, “Good luck with that one, Marauder.”

Followed by another’s, “You’re gonna need it!”

With a snort that some might consider a laugh, Bo tracked Blayne down in the nearby ladies’ locker room. Bo set down what he had by the stuff she’d thrown on the floor. What he didn’t understand was why she had so many clothes if she were only going to work? He could hear her in the showers and, unable to ignore the pile of stuff she had lying around, he began to pick up and organize everything.

“Shit!” she called out, not seeming bothered by the fact he was in the locker room with her.

“What?” he asked while he folded her clothes.

“Forgot to take off my skates before I got in here.”

“How did you—” No. It was better not to ask.

Taking the quickest shower in history—for a woman—Blayne ran back out in nothing but a towel, her skates and practice clothes in her hand.

Bo took the skates and sweaty clothes and handed her a pair of gray cargo pants, a black sweatshirt, and a matching set of sports bra and panties, all neatly folded.