“What?” Blayne demanded. “What did I say?”

“You cannot keep treating every male you meet as some sort of wounded puppy you found on the street.”

“I don’t—”

“And now you’re doing it with Bo Novikov of all people. He’s rich, famous, not bad looking, and has had a bevy of females to ride his cock. But you need to believe, for some reason, that he’s secretly miserable.”

“Well, he can’t be happy.”

“Why do you say that? Because he’s not running around hugging everyone? Because he’s been known to beat up a few fans? Make a few kids cry? Get into fistfights with his teammates on and off the ice?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Not everyone is like you, Blayne. There has been nothing to indicate, at least to me, that Bo Novikov is an unhappy person.”

“Oh, really?” Blayne grabbed her backpack and pulled it open, laying it down in front of Gwen. “And what about this?”

The tigon stared at the bag for a long moment. “He did that?”

“You didn’t think it was me, did you?”

“Good God. It’s so . . . organized.”

“He folded my extra sets of panties . . . who folds panties?”

“Maybe he’s secretly perverted. He wanted to feel your panties—”

“So he organized my entire bag while I was in the shower? There’s not even one pair missing. Gwen, this overly organized bag is a cry for help.”

“Or he’s happily gay. Gay men, for the most part, are very tidy and very happy they don’t have to deal with women’s bullshit.”

“I thought about that, but I don’t think we have that situation here. Look what’s missing from this high level of coordination. . .”

“It’s not color coordinated.”

“Nope. It’s alphabetical and in rigid boring lines.”

“In other words, something your dad would appreciate.”

“Exactly. And I can’t let anyone live like that, Gwen. Not anyone!”

Gwen laughed. “That poor guy. He has no idea what he’s in for.”

Ric skated over to Lock, leaning against the rink wall and protective glass. “Who is that?” he demanded.

Lock glanced across the rink. Novikov stood talking to a hot little fox. She had to be an Arctic fox—she had on shorts. It was below zero outside! “Arctic fox,” Lock said while busy readjusting the tape he’d wrapped around his hockey stick.

“Yeah, but what’s he doing talking to her?”

“It’s probably his Arctic fox.”

“His Arctic fox? What does that mean?”

“It means she’s his Arctic fox.”Lock didn’t know how he could be any clearer.

Reece Lee Reed, who’d moved up from the minors nearly a month ago and was part of the Smith Pack, slammed to a stop in front of Lock and Ric.

“Did he buy her on the black market?” Reed asked with what Gwen insisted on calling “That hick, backwoods Smith accent.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Are you saying they’re going out?” Ric demanded.

“Is there a reason you sound so upset?” Lock asked.

“You kinda sweet on him, Van Holtz?”

Ric ignored Reed and said, “I heard he was with Blayne this morning.”

“God,” Reed sighed. “That man is becoming my hero.”

“He was helping her with derby,” Lock clarified. “According to Blayne via Gwen he was really nice and completely hands off.”

“Nice? He was nice? Novikov?”

“I’m telling you what I heard.”

Reed chuckled. “Blayne would think Satan himself was just misunderstood.”

Lock couldn’t even argue.

“What if she likes him?” Ric asked. “What if she’s hoping it goes beyond some ludicrous derby training?”

“I still don’t see why you’re so worried?”

“Good God, man. Look at her!” He gestured to the fox with a tilt of his head. “She’s like the porn version of Nanook of the North.”

“Nanook does the North,” Reed muttered . . . then he laughed at his own joke. He was a self-contained wolf, finding entertainment wherever he wanted.

“I doubt they’re having sex. She’s his fox,” Lock explained again.

Bert, a black bear, skated over and, leaning in, said, “Word in the Center . . . Blayne Thorpe dropped the great Bo Novikov on his ass during derby training.”

“Bullshit,” Reed said. “Little thing like that. She couldn’t drop my sister.” Lock had to agree. He knew Reed’s sister, Ronnie Lee. She could easily play for the Chicago Bears as a fullback, where Blayne looked like she belonged on the cheerleading squad.

“My source,” Bert added, “impeccable.”

“Maintenance guys?” Lock guessed.

“Yep.”

“Did she really drop him, or was he just trying to get her on the floor and that was the easiest way?” Reed asked.

“Really dropped him.”

“Just what I thought. He’s weak. A few years of the good life and he’s lettin’ little gals like Blayne Thorpe drop him.”

Ric looked up at Lock before answering, “You’re right, you know. Novikov is weak. Completely at the end of his game.”