Bear Meets Girl (Pride #7)(38)

Crush grunted and Cella looked up at him. “What?”
“Are those African wild dogs?”
Cella sighed, looking over at the dance floor. It was filled to capacity with completely sober wild dogs, howling, barking, and dancing to whatever eighties crap they were forcing the rest of the tent attendees to listen to.
“Yeah. I don’t really know why they’re here. I can’t believe any cats invited them. They’re not close to bears, and wolves can barely tolerate them.”
“I’ve discovered that if there’s a good party somewhere, wild dogs will find it and take over.”
“It used to be just one pack from out on the Island. Now there’s like seven packs who’ve attended the last two years. I will say, my mom thinks it’s great. The wild dogs love to get married and my mom networks at these things.” 
“Smart lady.”
A hard fist rammed into Cella’s back.
“Hey.”
Yep. Hard and unyielding. “Why are you here?” Cella asked Dee-Ann.
“It’s my day off. My mate says, ‘Let’s go out. Dress warmly.’ Next thing I know, I’m trapped in the middle of nowhere New Jersey with cats, bears, wild dogs, and Blayne.”
“You know Blayne loves you.”
“Shut up.” Smith nodded at Crush. “How y’all doin’?”
“We’re fine,” Crush replied.
“You two are a ‘we’ now?”
“She was only talking to you,” Cella explained.
“Okay.” He studied Cella. “What?”
She motioned behind him and Cella watched Crush look over his shoulder and jump. Not that she blamed him; Novikov stood right behind him—breathing.
“Oh ... hi.”
“Hi.”
Crush glanced at Cella and Smith, then back at Novikov. “Do you want something?”
“You ever play football?”
“American or Australian rules?”
“For this discussion, American.”
“Yeah. I have.”
Novikov thought a moment. “Have you played Australian rules football?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.”
At that point, Cella and Smith locked gazes, watching each other to see who would start laughing first.
“So you wanna play football now? American football?”
“Okay. But I thought you’d be playing hockey with the guys outside.”
“That was my plan, but apparently my hockey skills are too frightening for some loser lion.”
The lion male sauntered up to Novikov and Smith’s eyes crossed, Cella covering her mouth to stop from laughing out loud.
“Why don’t,” Mitch O’Neill Shaw sneered, “you just admit that you fear my football skills? Just say it, Bro!”
“If you call me ‘bro’ again, I’m biting off your face.”
Crushek stared at Mitch for several seconds until he finally pointed his finger at him and said way louder than seemed necessary, “I sold you crack cocaine once.”
And everyone in that tent froze, slowly turning to look at the two males talking to each other.
Mitch, mate to Smith’s wolf cousin, Sissy Mae, scowled at Cella’s bear, making her wish she’d kept her gun on her. Then he snapped his fingers, scowl disappearing, and crowed, “And I sold you meth!”
“Hey,” both idiots, er, males said, laughing.
“I thought you were dead,” Crushek volunteered.
“They tried. Put a bounty on my head, shot me, forced me to recover in motherfuckin’ Tennessee.” Mitch glanced at Smith, his laughter dying off. “No offense, Dee-Ann.”
“Whatever,” the She-wolf grumbled.
“Anyway, eventually my mother got involved and ... well, you can imagine how it went from there. How about you?”
“Moved to the Brooklyn division.”
“Hey. That’s a nice deal.”
“Yeah. I guess. Had to cut my hair, though.”
“Are you two girls done?” Novikov snapped.
“Wait a minute,” Mitch complained. “You’re not playing for Novikov, are you?”
“He asked me first.”
“Bro, come on! Cops working together.”
“Can’t. It’s a moral thing.”
“Are you still going on about being moral?”
“It’s a lifestyle choice.”“Are we doing this or what?” Novikov growled.
Crush faced her. “Are you cool with that?”
Startled, Cella looked around for who he could be talking to. When she didn’t find anyone, she replied, “Huh?”
“You invited me and I don’t want to desert you.”
“Awwwwwwwww,” Cella heard from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder to find a small pack of She-dogs standing there, watching. One of them, the black one married to Smith’s cousin Smitty, gestured at Crush and mouthed, He is soooo sweet. Then she added, Marry him.
While Cella debated if she could snap the little dog’s neck before Smith got in the way, another voice yelled for her from outside the tent.
Deciding the She-dog wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her, Cella walked across the tent and looked outside.
“Marly Callahan,” she called back. “What can I do ya for, lass?”
“A friendly challenge,” Marly offered. “You and me ... in the ring.”
Malones and Callahans cheered and bets were yelled to family bookies.
“Wait a minute,” Smith quietly cut in. “Callahan? Didn’t we just save her brother?”
“Exactly. Now she’s honoring me with a proper fight.”
“All right.”
Crush tapped her shoulder. “Should I assume I’m not deserting you?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go on.” She waved him away. “I’ll see you after your game.”
“Yeah, well... good luck.”
“You, too.”
Once he was gone, Smith asked, “So which one of you is falling faster?”
“Shut the fuck up. And you’re my cutman.”
Smith shrugged, reaching for the bowie knife she had holstered to her jeans. Cella caught her hand, growling as she scowled at her. “I mean, if I need you to do that, you idiot.”
“Malone, look at you sweet-talkin’ me.”
“All right,” Novikov finally admitted. “Maybe I underestimated him.”
“I’d heard he was good enough to play pro.”
“How does that help me?”
“It actually doesn’t.” Crush looked over at the other team. “It also doesn’t help that your teammates hate you so much, they’re playing for the Shaw brothers. Even MacRyrie ... he’s going after you like you’re covered in honey.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It wouldn’t be bad if we had a better team.”
“They are trying. Loyal fans.”
They both looked over at the panting, exhausted wild dog males who’d volunteered to play. When they saw Nov-kov staring at them, they smiled and waved—still panting. 
“At least we have our own cheerleaders,” Crush offered.
“Yeah. Blayne and the Wild Dog-ettes.”
“I must say, your woman has a lot of energy.”
“She’s had eight Shirley Temples. At this point, she’s just out of control.” Novikov sighed. “I hate losing.”
“Me, too.”
“You have any ideas?”
“Nope.”
“Mr. Crushek?”
Crush smiled down at Meghan and Josie. “Aren’t you watching your mom fight?”
“No. No, thanks. Really rather not.”
Crush and Novikov laughed.
“Understood,” Crush said.
“I see you guys are losing,” Meghan observed—or stated the obvious, whichever.
“Yes, we are.”
“Is it true those are O’Neill lions?” Josie asked.
“The one doing the moonwalk ... that’s Mitch O’Neill. His half-brother, the one doing the rump shaker, is Brendon Shaw.”
“An O’Neill is an O’Neill, Mr. Crushek.”
“Not sure what that means.”
“That’s all right.” Meghan smiled. “Can you hold them off for a couple of minutes?”
“Sure.”
The two girls walked off and Novikov asked, “That’s really Malone’s daughter, huh?”
“You never met her before?”
“I have ... but I never really believed it.”
“Why not? They look alike.”
“And that’s about it.”
“Hi, Gramps.”
Meghan grinned up at her grandfather. The great Butch Malone.
“Hello, my love,” he said with a warm smile. “Having a good time?”
“I’m having a great time.”
“What about you, young Josie?”
“I always have a good time at the Ice Party, Uncle B.”
“Good. Good. Still can’t watch your ma fight, though, huh?”
“I’d rather not. If she’s not getting pummeled, she’s pummeling.” Unfortunately, while walking over, Meghan had managed to get there just as Marly Callahan landed a right cross to her mother’s jaw, sending the woman who’d given birth to Meghan flipping back and almost out of the ring, the ropes the only things that managed to keep her in.
“It’s a mutual pummeling right now,” her grandfather assured her. As if that helped somehow.
“Great,” Meghan lied.
Butch leaned down a bit. “So what do you think of your ma’s new beau?”
“We like him.” They really did, she and Josie. There was something about him. Something just ... honest. Her mother needed that in her life. More than she realized.