Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,56
your soul and breaks your mind.”
“I was just going to blame my period,” Streep interjected. “Talk about my cramping. Then double over, with lots of sobbing.”
“While I would quickly move to help Streep and rush her to the bathroom, begging everyone for a tampon as we ran.” Nelle looked around and called out, “Anyone have a tampon? Anyone? Dear God, she needs a tampon!”
Everyone stared at Mads but all she did was shrug and softly say, “I would have just walked away. I always walk away when I don’t want to answer something.”
Coach lowered her clipboard, sighed. “Listen, I want to get into the finals. But that means we have to destroy every team in the playoffs. Can’t do that if you five start flaking on me.”
“When have we ever—”
“Don’t even, MacKilligan. Just remember those schedules and get your asses to games and practice on time. Understand?”
“Yes, mistress of power!” they sounded off . . . just to annoy her.
With a frustrated sigh and a hard whack to the back of Max’s head, Coach walked away.
“Why do you always hit me?” Max demanded.
“Because your head is the hardest!” Coach yelled back.
To the untrained eye, Coach appeared fed up and done with them, but Max knew better. They’d been torturing the She-wolf for years and she adored them for it. Because it was their honey badger attitude that made them such great competitors on the court. Hell, Coach had picked and groomed them because they were pain-in-the-ass badgers. She used to say that finding five badgers in the school was a gift from God. At least for her and the girls’ basketball team. For everyone else, the five of them were just a nightmare that couldn’t graduate fast enough.
“I’m starving,” Nelle announced. “Who’s up to feed?”
“Let’s go back to Manhattan for food,” Streep begged. “Some place fancy with excellent service.”
Nelle smirked. “I guess I’m paying?”
“That’s not necessary . . . unless you just want to.”
“There’s just no shame, is there?” Mads asked. “You just have no shame.”
“Shame is for the weak.”
Tock pointed her finger at Streep. “You’re getting McDonald’s and you’re going to fucking like it!”
“No, no,” Nelle said, chuckling. “We’ll hit the Van Holtz Steakhouse on Fifth. We’ll introduce Zé to a shifter’s idea of fine dining.”
Max nodded. “Oh, wow. Good idea. Cool.”
But her teammates knew her too well.
“You forgot he existed, didn’t you?” Mads asked.
“Of course not!”
“Don’t lie to us.”
“He simply slipped my mind,” she admitted.
After clucking at her, Streep asked, “Did you even remember that we were going to look up Zé’s background at the Katzenhaus Library?” Nope. She hadn’t remembered that. At all.
“Of course I did.”
Mads shook her head. “You really are a bad liar.”
“I’m not. Look at my excellent eye contact. This is skill, bitch.”
“So did you find out anything?” Nelle asked Tock.
“Fucking cats wouldn’t let us in. And they were really mean about it. Show ’em, Streep.”
Streep lifted her tank top to reveal the brutal claw marks that slashed across her belly. A full-human would have needed stitches and possibly a blood transfusion—as well as a decent therapist—but Streep was already healing up. A good thing, too, since Coach would not have cared if Streep’s throat had been torn out. “You don’t miss practice!”
“So we didn’t get anything. But,” Tock added, “I have a few contacts that may be able to help. I’ve got calls out. When I hear back, I’ll let you know.”
“Great.”
“But I’ll make sure to remind you first since you’ll forget all about poor Zé again.”
Max flashed a fang. “I will not forget him.”
“I bet she won’t,” Nelle said, grinning. “She was lusting for him earlier.”
“Because he no longer smelled of Dutch?” Streep guessed.
“Exactly! Now she just smells—”
“His musk!”
“Yes!”
“What is it with you two and musk?” Max asked. “Because you’re starting to gross me out with that word.”
“Musk or no musk,” Tock suggested, “you better think about making your move before it’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
She pointed and they all turned. In the audience seats, two of their teammates—both cheetahs—were sitting on either side of Vargas. And they were talking to him.
Talking!
Max narrowed her gaze on the two bitches and started over there to slap the shit out of them—merely on principle—but Nelle grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back.
“That is not the way to handle it.”
“Look at ’em. Talking to him. Whores.”
“Wow,” Mads snorted. “You went misogynistic fast.”
“Christ, you’re right.” Max put her hands to her head. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You like him,” Nelle reasoned. “That’s all. There’s no