Beast Behaving Badly (11 page)

Once the treadmill eased to a stop, Bo pulled the earplug out of his right ear.

“—ing to me?” she said.

“What?”

“I said, are you listening to me?”

“No.” He went to put the earplug back in, but she caught his arm.

“Bo, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, I'm Bo now?”

“That is your name . . .” She frowned, obviously not quite sure. “Right?”

“Yes. It is my name. But you've been calling me Novikov. . . until this second when you want me to overlook your total and complete disregard for my time. But don't worry . . . that won't happen again. I won't let it.”

“I know you mean that in a really bad way.”

“I do. Now can I get back to work?”

Bo reached for the controls, but Blayne scrambled on top of the treadmill and threw herself over the console.

Stunned, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Blocking you from getting your workout until you listen to me.”

“Why do I need to listen to you? It won't change anything.”

“I had a reason. I swear.”

“People like you always have a reason.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah. People with no sense of time or commitment. Who just float through life knowing they can talk their way out of or into any situation because they're that damn charming. And although I admire that, I'm not that easy. I've gotten this far because I'm a total and complete asshole. Forgetting that, Blayne, was your biggest mistake. Now get off my treadmill or I'm throwing you off.”

She gasped. “You wouldn't dare!”

Dammit. She was right. He wouldn't.

“Fair enough.” He stepped off his treadmill and over to the one next to him. He grabbed the cheetah by the back of his sweat-soaked T-shirt and yanked him off.

“Hey!”

Bo ignored him, slowed down the tread to fifty miles per hour, and jumped on. He was pumping hard when Bo suddenly had a weight around his neck and hanging down his back.

Letting out a really annoyed sigh, he slowed the treadmill and stopped it. As he stood there, the cheetah now on the other treadmill giving him the finger, Bo asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to listen to me,” Blayne said.

“I'm not training with you again.”

“Fine. Whatever. But I still want us to be friends.”

She did? “Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“Blayne, no one likes me. Because I'm an asshole.”

“Oh, my God, he's
such
an asshole,” the cheetah sneered.

“Unless you want me to beat you to death with that treadmill, you'll shut the fuck up, basketball player.”

“Can we talk about this outside?”

Knowing she'd stay wrapped around him through the entire conversation if he didn't do as she asked, Bo stepped off the treadmill and walked into the hallway. “What, Blayne?”

“I wasn't blowing you off. My friends called me with a slight emergency, and it took longer than I thought it would.”

“A slight emergency?”

“When it's pup related, it's always a major emergency to wild dogs. But when I got there it was much less major and more slight.”

“Okay.”

“So you understand?”

“Sure.”

“And I'm forgiven?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Why not?”

“I know this is all fun and games for you, Blayne, but it's not for me. I'm rigid about my workouts because that's what keeps me in shape, keeps me sharp. I don't have time to sit around waiting to see if you'll show up.”

“I know. And I'm sorry. I did try and call you to let you know I'd be late.”

“Then why didn't you?”

“Don't actually have your phone number.”

Bo blinked. “You don't?”

“Nope. And I tried calling Ric, figuring he'd have your number, but he wasn't answering. Probably because he thought it was his dad. They have issues. So I called Lock, and he did answer but I kept asking him for your number and he kept saying, ‘It's in the river with the honey-covered salmon. I love honey-covered salmon, don't you?' And I have to admit, I got a little freaked out, and disconnected that call. And mind you, I'm doing all this while running because I wasn't sure a cab could get me here fast enough.”

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he hadn't given her his number. Yet Bo hated giving second chances. People always blew second chances. But she was still wrapped around his neck, her body hanging down his back, and he realized he wanted to give her a second chance.

“I can't meet you tomorrow,” he said. “I have a breakfast meeting with my agent. But I can meet you tonight. No team practice tonight.”

“We don't have to keep training if you don't want to. That isn't what this is about.”

“I know. But I made a promise. Just don't blow it, Blayne.”

“I won't.”

“You need help getting down, don't you?”

“I am a little high.”

Knowing she could get down herself if she wanted to, Bo still reached around, hooking his arm around her waist, and lowering her to the ground.

He held his hand out. “Phone.”

She dropped her backpack and desperately dug through it, tossing stuff out of it, until she found the phone at the very bottom.

“It's always at the bottom of my bag,” she muttered, handing it to him.

Bo quickly programmed his cell and landline numbers into her phone. Plus his e-mail address.

“I can get text messages, too,” he explained.

“Can't everybody?”

“I used to block them, but that irritated my foxes, so I accept them now.”

“All right then.”

“I don't like distractions,” he complained, handing her back the phone. “So don't
abuse
the text messaging.”

“And trying to type with those big fingers probably isn't easy, either.” When he snarled a little, she held her hands up. “Just kidding. Just kidding.”

“Tonight,” he told her. “At seven. Understand? Not a second late.”

“I promise.” She smiled and Christ, it was like the entire hallway got brighter. “You're not as much of an asshole as you keep saying you are.”

Yes, he was.

“You're actually a sweetheart.” She leaped up and kissed his cheek. When she landed, she said, “Tonight. At seven.”

He nodded and turned away while she crouched down to shove everything into her bag. To be honest, he couldn't watch her handle that mess, so he went back into the gym. The cheetah was still on his favorite treadmill, so Bo yanked him off, slowed the treadmill down, and got on.

“You asshole!” the cheetah hissed behind him.

But Bo just gave him the finger and kept on running, feeling
much
better.

 

 

Sitting comfortably on top of the tall stepladder, Blayne used the claw part of her hammer to pull away whatever weird crap the old owner had wrapped around the ancient pipes. It amazed her what people would do to stop a leak rather than call a plumber. In the end, they had to call a plumber anyway, but the damage had been done and Blayne was forced to charge an arm and a leg to fix the problem they'd created themselves.

“What is that?” Gwen asked about what was wrapped around the pipe and shoveled another donut in her mouth.

“I'm not sure.” Blayne admitted. “And to be honest, I don't want to ask.”

“What if it's something gross?”

“I'm wearing my gloves and this stupid mask. Besides, I'm in denial. How about leaving me there?”

Gwen chuckled and continued eating while watching Blayne work. “So you really have Novikov's numbers in your cell?”

“Yep. And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell your brother about it.”

“Are you kidding? Mitch has no boundaries in general, but when it comes to sports stars, he's even worse.”

“He should have joined one of the shifter football teams.”

“By the time the pro teams really took off and became legit, he was already a cop. But I think part of him will always regret that he didn't go the other route.”

“Yeah.”

“So are you two dating?”

“Me and Mitch?”

“No, you idiot. You and Novikov?”

“God, no. Why?”

“He likes you.”

“We're friends.”

Gwen shook her head and reached for another donut. “Don't be an idiot, Blayne. The man waited, according to what you told me he said, for fifteen minutes for you to arrive. He's Bo Novikov. He doesn't have to wait for anybody. Then, not only does he forgive you for making him wait, he gives you all his numbers.”

Blayne lowered the hammer. “You're over-thinking this.”

“And you're not thinking at all.”

“You act like that's new.” She went back to working on the encrusted pipe. “He's not, nor will he be, one of my gentlemen callers.”

“Ignoring the fact you keep using that stupid term,
why
won't he be one of your gentlemen callers?”

“He's too uptight. Always telling me to get a new watch.”

“You need a new watch.”

“And he has an unhealthy obsession over his schedule.”

“You mean because he actually follows his schedule rather than randomly changing it when the mood suits him?”

“That's exactly what I mean. He won't be happy with a woman unless she's as uptight and narrow minded as he is. Thank you, but I like my hippy-dippy ways.”

Gwen wiped her sugar- and chocolate-stained hands with a napkin. “You could try this new thing called ‘compromise. ' It's all the rage.”

“I know guys like him. I was raised by a guy like him. There is no compromise in his world; there is only submission or death.”

“I knew somehow we'd end up back at your father.” She tapped Blayne's foot. “And it seems to me Novikov has already compromised where you're concerned.”

“He's hoping for a shot at the goodies. Once he gets it, we'll be heading back to Submission Town, USA, where there is no compromise.”

Gwen's eyes crossed. “My God, you're weird.”

“Don't sound so shocked. You already knew this.”

Blayne finished cleaning off the material around the pipe and hung the hammer from a loop on her pants. Taking hold of the pipe, Blayne twisted and pulled, but the metal was too rusted to the connecting pipe that led into the building. She motioned to Gwen. “Anyone around?”

Gwen walked to the garage entrance and did a quick visual search. Shaking her head, she walked back over. “Nope. It's clear. And we're not done talking about this.”

“Let it go.” Blayne twisted hard, her natural strength tearing the pipe away from the other pipe. If the full-human owner had been around, she'd have had to get it off the hard, and much more boring, way.

Holding the pipe in her hands, Blayne glanced at Gwen.

“What?” Gwen asked.

“It's heavy.” She turned the pipe over and looked inside.

“Be careful, Blayne. Let's not have a repeat of—”

CHAPTER 10

B
o banged on the door again, seconds away from tearing it off its hinges when Blayne opened it. Without waiting to be invited, he pushed past her, throwing down his gym bag. He couldn't remember being this angry before. And, man, was he angry.

“Do you think,” he snarled, “that I offer to help everybody? Do you think my time is so meaningless that I can just sit around at the sports center waiting for you or
anyone
to show up? I know your concept of time is different from the rest of the universe but I am on a
schedule
. Do you even know what that means?” He turned around to face her.
“Do you?”

One brown eye slowly blinked up at him from a face half covered by an icepack. Surprised, Bo took a step back. “What happened to your face?”

“Badger.”

She'd mumbled so he was hoping he had heard wrong. “Badger? What about a badger?”

“I was assaulted by one.”

“By a badger?”

“Yes. By a badger.” She stepped around him and sat down on a loveseat she was pretending was a couch. Not surprising when the apartment was so small and—
Christ almighty!
—so messy. Bo looked around and wondered how she even managed to move her body around the room.

“Are you using a slang term I've never heard before regarding your assailant or do you mean an actual badger?” he pushed, trying not to think too hard about the horror that was her apartment.

“I mean a badger!” she yelled; then she moaned and curled up on her couch. “Go away, Bo. I want to be miserable alone.”

Instead of listening to her, he crouched beside her and reached for the icepack.

“What are you doing?” she asked, weakly slapping at his hand.

“Taking a look.” He lifted the icepack, cringed, and gingerly placed it back down on her wounded face. “We're taking you to a hospital.”

“I'll be fine. It's just a little swelling.”

It was more than a little swelling. “How did this happen?”

“I was on a job, and when I removed this pipe a badger was lying in wait.”

Lying in wait?
“Are you suggesting it targeted you?”

“Yessss,” she hissed. “The badgers hate me.”

“I didn't know plumbing was such a dangerous business.”

“It is for me.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“Not long. Gwen wanted me to go to the hospital, but I felt fine. Finished work, came home to change and get something to eat so I could meet you, and then suddenly I didn't feel so good.”

“Let me take you to the hospital, Blayne.”

“No. I'll have to deal with that goddamn ER nurse again, and I'm not in the mood to be mocked.”

“The nurse made fun of you?”

“She's a bigot.”

“I'd like to think you're talking about race, but you aren't, are you?”

“She's a breedist. Now go away. I'll be fine in the morning.”

Not wanting to take that risk, Bo reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He had tons of numbers programmed in it, but he barely used any of them. But he still liked having the information because he never knew when he'd need them. Like now.

After a quick search, a voice he knew so well but hadn't heard in years answered on the other end. “This is Dr. Luntz.”

“I somehow knew you'd still be in your office.”

There was a long pause and then, “Oh, my God. Bold?”

“Hi, Dr. Luntz.”

“Bold! Oh, Bold. I'm so glad to hear from you. How are you? Are you okay? I'm so proud of you. Do you know how proud of you I am?”

Bo couldn't help but smile. There were just some people in the world who were naturally amazing. Marci Luntz, M.D. was one of those people.

“Thanks, Dr. Luntz.”

“Marci. I don't know why you won't ever call me Marci.” Because it felt weird? “So what's up? I'm sure you're not calling me this late in the evening for no reason.”

“I need your advice, if you don't mind.”

“Bold Novikov, you know I don't mind. If you ever need anything from me, all you have to do is ask. What's going on?”

“I have a friend—”

“A girlfriend?”

“Dr. Luntz.”

“Sorry. Sorry. Go on.”

“She had a run in with a badger, now her face is swollen.”

“Is she grizzly, polar, or black?”

“Actually, she's wolfdog.”

“Ohhh!” And he could hear the excitement in Dr. Luntz's voice. Not surprising when she only handled bears and foxes on a daily basis that she would find the hybrids fascinating. “A wolfdog? Really? Well, well. Now that
is
interesting. Okay. First, tell me what you see. Lacerations? Bites? What?”

Bo moved the icepack again, trying not to cringe this time. “Her face has definite bite marks.” He lowered the icepack and checked the areas of her body he could see. “And scratches on her hands. She seemed to have attempted to put up some kind of weak, sad little fight.”

Blayne gave him the finger while Dr. Luntz giggled. “Bold Novikov, stop that. Now, what's swelling on her?”

“Just her face.”

“Around the bites?”

“Yes.”

“Wolfdog, right? Has she had her rabies shots?”

Bo tapped Blayne's shoulder. “Did you have your rabies shots?”

“Yes. I've had all my shots.”

“Yes. She's had all her shots.”

“Excellent. Then she probably just has an infection. Badgers are nasty little bastards, you know.”

“Should I take her to a hospital?”

“No, I don't think that'll be necessary. What she needs is antibiotics and sleep. I can call in a script for you. She will need to take half the pills as soon as you get them, followed by at least three eight-ounce glasses of water. She'll sleep then. It'll probably look like a coma, but she'll just be sleeping. If she wakes up in three hours, she's clear. Give her the rest of the pills and she'll be right as rain by sunup. If she doesn't wake up within four to five hours—take her to one of our hospitals.”

“Okay.”

“Don't worry, Bo. I'm sure she'll be fine. Hybrids have amazing immune systems as you well know.”

“I'll e-mail you the info for a local pharmacy that's run by a leopard. So no worries about dosage.”

“Excellent. I'll need her weight, height, age, and wolf breed, also.”

“Her wolf breed?”

“Gray wolf,” Blayne piped up. To be honest, he'd thought she'd already passed out. “Daddy's a gray wolf. And my metabolism is sixteen times that of other wolf shifters.”

“Oh, my,” Dr. Luntz said, overhearing the conversation. “That is
fascinating
.”

“I'm glad we're entertaining you.”

“Very funny. Get me the rest of the info and I'll write her a script based on that. And I'm so glad you called, Bold, even if it was for your sick friend. Now maybe you can get around to calling your uncle.”

“Phones go both ways.”

“I swear,” she sighed out. “You two.”

“Bye, Dr. Luntz.”

“Bye, Bold. Take care of yourself.”

He disconnected the call and quickly began texting her the rest of Blayne's info.

“What's your weight?” he asked.

“I'll die before I tell you that,” Blayne muttered.

Not in the mood to argue, Bo put his phone in his mouth—not hygienic but necessary—and lifted Blayne up. He raised her up and down a few times to get a good read on her weight, then placed her back down and finished texting Dr. Luntz that and the pharmacy information. Once done, he called into the pharmacy to give them a heads up and to make sure they could have the meds delivered right away. Everything handled, he sat on the floor beside the couch. Blayne was sleeping now, but she made small whimpering sounds and frowned deeply, which told him she was in pain. He touched the icepack and realized it was no longer cold. Hoping she had another one in her freezer, he picked up the pack and stood. That's when he took a good long look at the pit she had the nerve to call a home.

“How does she live like this?” he asked the air, and that's when he immediately decided she
couldn't
live like this.