“I will not! You can’t make me.”

Ric winced. “Yes. She can.”

Jess did, too. By taking away the one thing Mitch Shaw cherished with all his lion male heart—besides his food, need for sleep, and high-end hair products.

“No more karaoke for you! ” Jess screamed in his face and Shaw stepped back, stunned.

“Jessica!”

“Apologize or you’re out!”

“But . . . but you love me!”

“And we’ll learn to live without you, too.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “Unless you apologize.” Shaw rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Blayne,” he mumbled, sounding like the twelve-year-old brat Ric often compared him to.

“Do you mean it, Mitchy?” Blayne asked, making sure to sniffle and wipe her eyes.

The lion snarled a little but Jess added, “No more power ballads, Mitchell. No more Frank Sinatra. No more Mariah Carey.”

Frowning, Ric looked at Dee who, frowning herself, was already looking at him. They both shuddered and silently agreed never to speak of it again.

“Fine!” Shaw yelled. “Yes, Blayne. I mean it. I’m sorry. Have whoever you want on the team.”

“Yay!” Blayne cheered, clapping her hands together. She ran back over to Ric and Dee. “You’re up, Ric.” Then with tears abruptly gone, her voice and attitude strong, she added in a whisper, “Pop it low and right at Brendon Shaw. He’s so fuckin’ lazy, he’ll never dive for it.” Making sure not to laugh, Ric nodded. “You’ve got it.”

“Isn’t this fun?” Blayne demanded of Dee. In answer, Dee slammed her catcher’s mask down in front of her face. “I think so, too!” Blayne happily squealed before running off, oblivious as always.

“Why do we not only let Teacup make these stupid suggestions, but follow them?” Dee asked him, smelling delightfully of She-wolf and sweat and sun protector.

“Because even you can’t ignore the tears of a wolfdog.”

“Only ’cause she started making those snot balls with her nose. I hate those.” It was true, though. Having wolves playing against dogs in this heat was really a recipe for disaster, and he’d be much more annoyed and fed up—if he weren’t really enjoying himself so damn much.

Then again, Ric always did find entertainment in the strangest places.

“All I gotta say, Ric, is those ribs you and your cousin are planning to barbecue for tonight better be damn fantastic.”

“When aren’t they?” he demanded, insulted she’d once again questioned his culinary expertise.

“When aren’t my ribs perfect?”

The corners of Dee’s lips turned up into one of her smiles. “Don’t take it personally, supermodel.

I’m just sayin’ that you better cook as good as you look. Because after a day like today, I’m going to be hungryand cranky. You’ll need to satisfy one and appease the other.” His desire to say, “Marry me,” nearly choked him, but Ric fought it off and he promised, “The meat is seasoned. The corn shucked and wrapped in foil, ready to be grilled.” He smiled at her. “I know how you like your corn.”

Her smile grew a little more. “Love corn.”

“Are you two done staring longingly in each other’s eyes or should we just take a break?” Now scowling, Dee turned her head and focused on the only idiot really taking the game seriously.

Mitch took a step back, grabbing his brother and yanking him in front of his body. “Take him, Dee. Take him!”

“You bastard!” Brendon yelped.

“Can we just get on with this?” Novikov demanded. They’d chosen him to be umpire since no one thought it would be fair that he should play on any team because he’d only cause serious bloodshed in his quest to win. Plus, he was such a dictator about sports, he wouldn’t give anyone an unfair point.

Ric stepped up to the plate, watching as Mitch did his little pitcher’s dance before he pitched the damn ball. Dee, the catcher, crouched low behind him, her mitt raised.

“And don’t try distracting me, Dee-Ann,” Ric warned her. “I’m focused.”

“Wouldn’t bother,” Dee said.

Mitch nodded at whatever hand signal Dee had given him, checked the bases one more time, then pitched.

Ric readjusted his stance, pulled back his bat, and waited for the perfect moment to knock the softball right into Brendon Shaw, who was now back at first base.

And that was when Dee whispered, “You are going to love the tiny black bikini I’m wearing after the game, Van Holtz.”

It was the last thing he remembered for a good three minutes after that softball slammed into the back of his head.

A bag of ice in her hand, Dee ignored the glares and low growls of the wild dogs and their friends and sat down next to Ric on the bench.

“Don’t talk to me, evil She-wolf.” He rested the left side of his body against the metal fence that was behind the bench, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Don’t be that way, Ric.” She grabbed hold of Ric’s T-shirt and pulled him over until his weight rested against her. She placed her hand against the back of his neck and lowered his head, placing it against her chest. Using her fingers, she eased around and found the swelling knot at the base of his skull and carefully placed the bag of ice there. “Doesn’t that feel better?” He grunted a little, his arms now wrapping around her waist, his face burrowing deep against her breast. After a moment, he settled and said, “Now it does.” Dee rolled her eyes in disgust. Honestly, wolves took any advantage they could get. At their core—they were all the same.