Stunned silence filled the leisure room as Mark, and he was sure every other guy within hearing distance, pictured her naked breasts, nipples hard from the cold, covered in fake blood. Jesus, he was getting that heavy feeling again in his stomach.

It was Sam who finally broke the silence. “What was the name of that movie again?”

“Slasher Camp. I played Angel, the slutty best friend.” She twisted off the cap and dropped it into the bucket. “In a lot of horror movies, the slutty girl is a metaphor for an immoral society and must be killed. You can interchange the slutty girl with the pot-smoking boy, but it’s always the same message. Immoral choices must be punished, while the virginal, squeaky-clean lead kills the bad guy and gets to live.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I always drew the line at torture porn like Turistas or the Hostel films. There’s a huge difference between metaphorical stereotypes in society and sexual objectification.”

What? What the hell did that mean?

“I don’t watch those movies. They scare the hell out of me,” Frankie said, then snapped his fingers. “I got it. You look like the short girl in the PR department.” He raised both palms as if he was about to hold two melons in front of his chest, quickly thought better of it, and dropped them. “What’s her name?”

“Bo.” She walked around the table to Frankie. “Bo Ross. She’s my twin sister.”

“Jesus. Mini Pit.” Of course. It was so obvious, Mark wondered why he hadn’t connected the two.

She glanced at him. “Who?”

“Mini Pit,” Sam explained. “It’s short for Mini Pit Bull.”

“You call my sister Mini Pit?”

Sam shook his head. “Not to her face. We’re too damn afraid.”

She chuckled, and Mark was still amazed that he hadn’t made the connection. “Short. Bossy. Annoying as hell. I should have made the connection that first day.” The thought of two identically annoying, short, bossy-as-hell women kind of scared the crap out of him. The feeling in his stomach dissipated. Which was a good thing. A very good thing.

She looked over her shoulder at Mark as she handed the beer to Frankie. “It’s probably the hair that threw you.”

“That’s bad, but more than likely…” He paused to point to her wild skirt. “It’s the brain-numbing clothes you wear.”

She moved to the bucket and grabbed another beer. “If your brain is numb it’s more than likely the Vicodin.”

Sam laughed. He loved shit talk, no matter who was talking it. “He’s getting old. His memory isn’t great.”

“His memory is convenient.” She twisted the top and held the beer toward Sam.

“Thanks, Short Boss.”

She pulled the bottle back before he could grab it. “Did you just call me Short Boss or Short Bus?”

“Boss.” She shoved the beer toward him and he took it from her. “What are you doing later?”

“Are you hitting on my assistant?” Mark asked before she could respond. He didn’t like the idea of any of the guys hitting on Chelsea. Not because he had any interest in her, but because he was doing his best to discourage her from sticking around. If the guys liked her, she’d never leave.

“I’ve never known a scream queen.” Sam grinned and took a drink of his beer. Mark knew for a fact that Chelsea wasn’t Sam’s type. Sam liked tall, leggy women with big lips. Like Angelina Jolie. His preference was so well-known that everyone razzed him about dating Octomom.

“I’m going to church with my sister,” she said, her blue eyes shining with humor. “You’re welcome to come along.”

“I’ll pass.”

Vlad and Andre walked through the door from outside, oblivious of Chelsea. “If you go to ze strip clubz,” the big Russian was schooling the rookie, “ze Luztee Lady is a good one. Ze best.”

“The Lusty Lady is a dive,” Andre said. “I prefer the clubs in Canada. Cheetahs in Kelowna has totally nude dancing and the girls are hot. If you go, get a lap dance from Cinnamon. I don’t think that’s her real name, but she has better-”

“You guys haven’t met my assistant,” Mark interrupted before the two got into a debate over which nudie bar gave the best lap dances. Although everyone knew that it wasn’t Cheetahs. It was Scores in Las Vegas.

“Hey guys.” She looked up and smiled. “You must be Vlad.”

Vlad wasn’t unattractive. Just severe-looking. Women had been known to run in the other direction. Especially if he dropped his pants and showed them the impaler. Although to be fair, he didn’t do that much anymore.

Without moving his head, Vlad glanced at Mark before returning his gaze to Chelsea. “Yez.”

“Mr. Bressler mentioned that you weren’t drinking today.” She dug down in the ice and pulled out a bottle of Evian. She moved toward him and gazed up into his face. “So I brought you water.”

“Thanz.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned to Andre. “Can I get you a beer?”

Andre wasn’t tall like Vlad or the rest of the players, but he was massive and had a low center of gravity, like a cement pylon. Which came in handy when he needed to knock an opposing player off the puck or duke it out. “Ah-yeah. I guess.”

Mark didn’t know if the rookie enforcer was stunned or embarrassed. Probably both. For the past year or so, there’d never been a female in the house when the boys had gathered. They weren’t used to putting their best manners forward while they drank beer at Mark’s house.

“I watched you guys play the other night.” Chelsea moved to the bucket. “I’d never been to a hockey game before, and I know absolutely nothing about it, but you guys did great.”

“Yeah,” Mark said dryly. “They won the cup.”

She leaned forward a little, and her skirt slid up the backs of her smooth legs. She had the kind of legs he liked on a woman. If she was standing in front of him naked, with her knees touching, there was just enough room to slip his hand between her thighs.

She stood up straight and moved toward Andre, holding a beer. “Why did you hit that guy in the head the other night?”

“When?”

“Second period.”

Andre’s black brows lowered. “He had the puck,” he answered, as if that explained it all. And it did. She gave him the beer, and he said, “Thanks.”

Little Miss Sunshine smiled at the rookie. “You’re welcome. Does your chin hurt?”

He shook his head and returned her smile. “It was just a little love tap.”

She looked at Vlad and pointed to her own brow. “Is that a love tap?”

“Nah. Hurtz like hell.”

She laughed, and it occurred to Mark that she not only wasn’t running like hell, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by any of the other six big hockey players in the room. She grabbed a bottle of water and moved toward him. “Holler if you need anything,” she said, and handed him a bottle of Evian. He reached for it but she didn’t let go. His fingers brushed her hand and he almost pulled back. “My number is programmed into your cell. So you don’t have to come and find me.”

“What’s my ringtone?”

She smiled and let go of the water. “Any of you guys need anything else?” she asked instead of answering his question.

“Maybe nachos,” Andre answered.

She turned to the enforcer, her back facing Mark. “I don’t cook.”

“But you’re a girl.”

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

“That doesn’t mean I was born with a burning desire to brown meat and grate cheese.”

He hit redial on his phone, and Chelsea’s Black-Berry lit up a split second before the line about “messing with a son of a bitch” played from the vicinity of her waist. She reached for the cell, pushed a few buttons, then turned toward him.

He raised a brow and she explained, “I thought I’d just stick with the Guess Who. Kind of a ringtone theme.”

Sam laughed.

“Have fun guys,” she said, and practically ran out of the room and down the long hall.

The boys watched her go, and the room fell into silence. Of course Sam was the one to break it.

“She’s cute.”

Mark watched the white stripes on her skirt disappear from sight. Sure she was an attractive girl, but they didn’t know the real Chelsea.

“I like ze short womenz.”

“You like any womenz.”

Vlad shrugged his big Russian shoulders and pointed toward the doorway. “And bringz the beer too.”

“Damn. I need myself an assistant.” Sam raised his Corona to his lips and took a long drink. “Better than a wife. Less trouble than a girlfriend.”

Mark shook his head. “You just saw her good side. She’s pushy and annoying. She’s a mini pit bull.” He pointed his stiff middle finger at them. “Just like her twin sister. Remember that.”

At the thought of Bo Ross they all winced, except Andre. “I’ve always thought Mini Pit was cute. Kind of feisty.”

“I like ze feizty womenz.”

They room fell quiet for several moments. The guys all looked at one another as if they were waiting for something. Then Walker leaned forward and placed his forearms on his thighs. “Listen, Mark. We all need to know something.” He dangled the Corona from one hand and got to the real reason they’d all shown up on his doorstep. “Where were you the other night?” He turned his head and looked at Mark. “We thought you’d be there.”

He didn’t have to elaborate. Mark knew what night he meant.

“We all talked about it beforehand. If we won, Savage was going to immediately hand the cup to you because you were our captain long before him. He did a hell of a job filling your shoes after the accident. He was great and all the guys like and respect him, but he isn’t you. He could never be you, and to his credit, he never tried.” Walker looked at the other men in the room. He was the alternate captain. The second in charge when the captain wasn’t around. He was a good man and a leader, and there was a reason he wore the A on his jersey. “Playing without you wasn’t easy on anyone. We were worried about you, trying to get used to Savage, and battling for the cup. You were on this team for eight years. You built it and you led us to the playoffs. We didn’t win the cup because we had Savage. He’s a damn good hockey player and we were lucky to get him. We won because of the hard work we all put into it. The hard work that you put into it, and you should have been there the night we won. Why weren’t you?”