Page 10

Chapter Ten

“The Shameless Readers packed up for a field trip down to Richland Saturday. If I didn’t know better, I’d call them a cult. Where one goes, the others follow, Ms. Minerva at the helm. Watch out, Rinkside. You’re about to be invaded." Penni’s Puckleberry Tea

Boh

I didn’t expect to leave the apartment. Then Novy emerged from her room in a swirl of perfect curves and shiny caramel hair and like an idiot, I couldn’t look away. I limped toward the kitchen, close enough that I could see over the island to where she bent into the refrigerator. The tiniest pair of pink shorts cupped her ass, ruffles flapping in the wind, shouting “look right here!” A T-shirt at least two sizes too small inched up her back as she rummaged through the vegetable drawer.

Smooth, honey-colored skin dipped along the column of her spine, sweet and supple and more tempting than anything I’d ever seen. The tips of my fingers burned. I fisted the handles of my crutches and dragged my gaze over the rest of her.

Some sort of costume. Lots of pink and black and sparkles. The second I sucked my tongue back into my mouth, I’d figure out what the hell was happening.

When she moved to the entryway table, picked up her keys with a light jingle, I spoke the only words that made sense. “Wait for me.”

Because wherever she was going, I wanted in.

We rode the elevator down to the resident parking in silence. I should have offered her the use of my car since I’d invited myself along on whatever little adventure she had planned. I hadn’t grabbed my own keys, though, so folded myself into her old Honda once again. I didn’t fit in the compact car any better this time around than I had the day we’d left Brightside.

Despite the cramped quarters, though, it was probably a good idea to attend her weird ass competition. I couldn’t take another day of sitting at home, staring at the same walls. Too much space to think about the infinite ways I could lose the only thing that had ever meant a damn to me. All I’d ever had was hockey. Even as I followed the instructions passed out by the trainers and medical personnel, the restrictions grated. Taking it easy, doing their home exercises and hitting the building’s gym every day, but the end felt no closer.

Novy flipped the car stereo on and the chatter of a couple of DJs filled the car. Sounds bothered me less and less with each passing day, but I kept the custom ear plugs the occupational therapist had prescribed nearby. Just in case. The plugs allowed sounds in, but moderated pitch and volume. They worked some sort of magic that meant I could hear, but I didn’t end up with a massive headache, as long as I didn’t overdo it.

Novy kept the volume in the car low and despite the good I knew the stupid plugs were doing, they turned me into a damn invalid, so I didn’t dig them out of my pocket. I hadn’t heard actual DJs in years. When their conversation turned to the Renegades disaster of a playoff run, Novy pressed the button to change the station. I rolled my neck and relaxed back into my seat.

We made our way to the old Field House, Novy darting looks in my direction the whole drive. She didn’t get why I’d invited myself along. I didn’t either, though I hadn’t precisely lied . But I didn’t think she’d want to hear “Your ass in those shorts Pied Pipered me” as an explanation for my presence. I did what I’d done all week and ignored her. Pointless tactic, but I’d yet to come up with a better plan.

I followed our progress out the window, but somehow, my gaze kept drifting to the driver’s side. All week, she’d been in plain-ass khakis and uniform polos for her work, or yoga pants and T-shirts three sizes too big. Today’s outfit reminded me of the day we’d met at Brightside. Her noisy jacket over a shirt that left her soft belly exposed. Not much different than how she looked today.

Except for one important difference. I’d spent time sharing the same space with her now. Could recognize her scent in the apartment. Knew the subtle sounds of her getting ready in the morning. Felt the shift in the air in those moments when she first emerged from her room to start her day. I smelled the same fragrance now, warm and welcoming with a hint of sweet. Like the apricot orchards of my childhood with my Czech grandparents. But coming from her, it hit differently. Feminine, soft, desirable.

My bad leg cramped and I shifted to change positions just as we pulled into the parking lot of a squat older brick building. Novy found a spot between a newer model Ford truck and a bright white minivan. The sunlight bothered my head more than the noise, but even that was less than a week ago.

I wedged myself out of the car, hauled the crutches under my arms and dragged my ass toward the portico over the gun metal gray double doors. Pretty unimpressive location for a sporting event. Not that I was expecting an arena of chanting fans, but this place had cement planters overflowing with pink and purple flowers. The red-bricked building could have passed for a library or school, especially with the eclectic handful of people clogging up the entrance.

Novy rounded the back of the Honda, her equipment bag slung over her shoulder, and took off in a sexy strut toward the door. The crowd under the portico shifted at our approach, but still didn’t leave much room for a man my size to pass. I knocked against one of the cement planters dotting the path with enough force to rock it on its wobbly pedestal base.

An older woman standing nearby slanted me a narrow-eyed look from beneath her pewter eyebrows.

I ignored her and maneuvered closer to Novy. “Who puts flowers in a parking lot?”

Novy gave me the side-eye and picked up her pace to the doors. “Be cool, Boh. Don’t embarrass me.”

I barked out a laugh. Because sashaying across a parking lot up to a group of senior citizens, while wearing something out of my dirtiest dream wasn’t embarrassing in Novy’s world. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She smirked, her lips tugging to the side in a way that had my fingers tightening around the crutches.

“Just don’t freak out,” she said.

Most of the group loitering at the door had stopped talking and instead watched our approach with sharp eyes.

“Novy!” A woman with long gray hair waved, the blue and silver streaks in her hair swaying with her motions. A bright pink floral moo-moo swished around her legs as she intercepted my roommate. “You ready, girl? I just saw the other team and, lord have mercy, some of those women are as big as my grandsons! And they have a mighty mean look in their eyes.”

“If you Killbillies would just eat more of the food we set out during practices, you’d at least have some size to you.” This came from a man wearing a shirt emblazoned with a big pink, sequined flower and the word KILLBLOSSOM across the center.

“Now, Cillian,” Novy said. “I’m pretty sure the only thing we don’t eat is your collard greens quiche.”

“You’d think he’d notice by now that no one ever eats his collard greens quiche.” A tall, dark-haired woman spoke from her spot beside a flowerpot.

The man whirled to confront the woman, dull red flushing his face. “Collards are perfectly fine in a—”

“Now, Ms. Minerva,” Novy said, interrupting him. “You know size doesn’t matter. We’ve got grit and speed and more gumption than any team out here and you know it, too.”

The other man in the group snorted, loud enough he snagged everyone’s attention. “Grit and gumption?” he said with a roll of his beady little eyes. “You’re gonna need a lot more than that.”

Another older woman decked out in leather pants and a sparkling pink T-shirt stepped forward, wagging her head at Novy. “You say that every time, but these girls are scary. We don’t want another injury like what happened with Scooter Bash.”

“Scooter didn’t get hurt in a bout, though. She slid into a pole during practice,” Novy said, as she adjusted the bag over her shoulder for the millionth time. I leaned forward and pulled it from her arm. She blinked up at me in surprise, but I slung the thing over my own shoulder before leaning on my crutches again.

The one Novy called Ms. Minerva tipped forward, taking me in with a long, appraising look. “I’d have you introduce us to this fine specimen of a man, but I do believe I’ve seen him at JT’s annual Pendleton Spring Picnic. Do I have that about right?”

Minerva . Minerva Conroy . Recognition kicked in and every muscle along my back stretched taut. The matriarch of the Pendleton family in all but name. I should have recognized her the instant we reached the group. Ice prickled up my spine and I shot an angry look at Novy that had her eyes widening. But, dammit, she should have warned me a Pendleton would be here. I’d have sat my ass back on the leather sofa in my apartment, no matter the distraction my half-dressed roommate promised.

Ms. Minerva stepped closer, her hand extended. “Zacha, left wing, first line last year, if memory serves? Third in total points, I believe.”

“ Dobrej, ano, pani .” The Czech slid out before I could stop it. I clamped the crutch between my arm and side and reached out to accept her handshake. “I mean, yes, ma’am. Boh Zacha.”

Her fingers still gripping my hand like sharp little claws, the older woman turned her challenging gaze to Novy. “And when did you work hockey players into your love life?”

Hockey players? Plural? My nerves were strung tight at unexpectedly meeting up with a Pendleton, but a shot of rabid curiosity shoved the apprehension aside.

“Ms. Minerva!” Novy blurted out in surprise. “He is not in my love life!”

“Why not? He’s tall and handsome and such a gentleman, too. We all saw him take that bag for you.” The older woman slanted me another long look and finally relinquished her hold on my hand. “Or did more than his leg get injured? You poor thing, all those nice muscles going to waste? At least you can hold a bag, I guess. That’s more than a lot of men, I’m thinking.”

This time the whole group cackled like a bunch of teenagers, all eyes on me. More than one set of eyes lingered on the front of my trousers. I rolled my shoulders and shuffled closer to the door. Between being recognized and sized up like a prime cut of beef, I didn’t know if I should dive for cover or flex.

Novy held her hand up, pointer finger aimed at the Pendleton woman as though lecturing a five year old. “Ms. Minerva, I’m gonna tell Dahlia to keep you home next time!”

“What? I’m not supposed to notice you showing up with a man? Why, he reminds me of one of the characters from our books. A hockey romance, of course.”

The woman’s shrewd gaze studied my face for a long moment. Long enough, the back of my neck burned. But I’d never been one to back down from a challenge. I gave her a slow wink. “Of course.”

“Perfect match for you, Novy. Tall and handsome and helping with your derby gear, even when he’s on crutches. That’s some dexterity, there.” Leather Pants nodded enthusiastically. “Much better than that guy from your apartment building. Carrying on that time as though your Novocaine Nellie outfit embarrassed him. What was his name?”

Novy wiggled her way between her admirers to get back to my side. “Taylor’s a good match for someone, I’m sure.”

“That one looked like he wouldn’t be able to choose between his bubblegum collection and his tin of weed.”

The group fell into laughter again, including Novy. What the hell kind of guys did she usually spend time with?

“Y’all shut up, now. Time’s running out and we still need the scoop.” One of the younger women in the group addressed me. “So you must be on grouchy ol’ JT’s team, then?”

I just stopped a snort from escaping at her description of my boss. I dipped my chin. “The Renegades.”

“Right.” Her gaze darted between me and Novy before settling on Novy. “Scout drag you to another of her events? That how you met?”

Another event? I’d powered through plenty of events put on by the organization over the last few years, but I didn’t remember ever seeing Novy at a single one of them. Novy shifted, pink flagging the high curve of her cheekbones. I grinned down at her. Yeah, if I’d seen her, I’d have remembered her.

“Not exactly, Vida. Everyone, this is Boh,” Novy said with a wave in my direction, her expression waffling between laughter and discomfort. “We’re not dating. I’m his… dietician.”

For the first time in a long time, humor lightened the tension that kept me in a stranglehold. This mixed up group of people obviously knew her well enough to know her dating history and were thoroughly enjoying putting her on the spot. I could wish they weren’t using me to do it, but I damn sure liked the way her eyes sparkled and the pink didn’t stick to just her cheeks. The smooth skin of her chest flushed, her tits bouncing gently as she fidgeted under my scrutiny. I dragged my eyes back up to meet hers and smirked. “She’s my guardian, she means.”

She gasped, shaking her head even as her friends rolled with my revelation.

The leather pants-wearing woman swayed back on her heels, eyes sparkling. “Oh, sounds kinky. I like it.”

“Ms. Daisy, you’re awful!” But a small smile played at the corners of Novy’s full lips.

“I had a guardian once,” the woman said, a dreamy lilt to her voice. “Almost married him, too.”

“But instead you married Bob,” Ms. Minerva said with a theatrical sigh. “At least he’s good in the kitchen.”

“At least I know I’m gonna be fed, right?”

Novy and the crowd laughed again, but this time, Novy pushed forward, motioning me aside so she could yank open the door. “Thanks for coming to support us, guys, but I need to get inside and get my gear on. Catch up later!”

I waved as they called out their goodbyes and when one gave me a thumb’s up with an exaggerated wink, I couldn’t stifle my answering bark of laughter. But right before the door closed, someone muttered, “I just hope he doesn’t fuck up again the next time we make the playoffs.”