But before she could say another word, a shout interrupted them.
“I see them! They're over there!”someone from in front of Zickell's yelled. The rowdy crowd turned and began to sprint down the ice-covered sidewalk.
A taxi cab rolled up, spraying a gray slush of melted snow as it stopped. “Right on time!” Radar yelled as he flung the door open and hopped in.
Lance held the door open for Paige. “Get in, babe. We can talk in the cab.”
“Babe?” she grumbled as she reluctantly slid into the cab.
Chapter 9
Paige
Lance slammed the door shut and bolted the taxi door lock just as the band of bar-fighters arrived. The drunken crazies pounded the cab windows with their hands and shouted profanities. Lance's friend barked out an address to the cabbie. The driver stomped on the gas, tires spinning, snow and ice spraying the angry crowd. The crowd pelted the cab with snowballs as they sped off.
Paige watched out the rear windshield as the snowballs fell short of their target. The threat was over. Now she was squeezed safely, if notuncomfortably, in the back seat of a cab.
“What in the hell was that?” Paige murmured. Squished between the two giant men, she fought to free her elbows.
“A lot closer than it needed to be,” the friend answered, shooting Lance an unhappy stare. “So this is the girl, huh?”
He's been talking about me?Paige wondered. Still, she didn't like that guy's gruff attitude.
“And who ishe?” she asked, giving Lance's friend a dirty look.
“He's one of my teammates.”
Gruff guy put out his hand. “I'm Radar.”
“Paige,” she said icily, and the two shook hands.
“Sorry to be a dick, Paige. But my job is to keep your boyfriend here out of trouble. Usually, that means trouble on the ice … not at the goddamnbar.”
“He sucker punched me. Wasn't my fault. You saw that,” Lance said.
“And he's not my boyfriend,” Paige said.
Radar rolled his eyes. “Whatever you two are. With all due respect, Paige, I don't really know anything about you.”
Guess he didn't talk about methatmuch,Paige thought, although the reality check wasn't entirely unwelcome.
Radar continued. “All I know is, we nearly got mauled by that crowd because Lance had to wait for you.”
“Mauled? Really?” Lance laughed. “Those guys were a joke. Their buddy swings first, ends up getting rocked, and then they all want to act like tough guys. If you hadn't rushed us out of there—”
“They outnumbered us twenty to one, Lance.”
“Yeah, but did youseethose guys? Bunch of noodle-armed hipsters. We could've easily handled them.”
Radar and Paige bothgroaned. She knew it was a long shot, but she'd still held out hope that Lancemightbe the guy she saw on her Dad's cell phone footage; a sweet and caring athlete who turned to mush when he saw a cute baby in the crowd. Because that was somewhat promising, right?
Instead, he was a stereotypical jock. A tough-talking meat head. The kind of guy who got into bar fights.
Desperate to bring Lance down a peg or two, she searched through her purse for a napkin. She found one and passed it to Lance without a word.
“What's this for?” he asked, confused.
“You're bleeding pretty bad there, Rambo. One of those skinny hipsters must've got you pretty good with his noodle-arms.”
