She raised her eyebrows. “You were thinking of my feelings tonight when you abducted me in front of everyone?”

“Of all the ways you could have left the arena tonight, do you honestly think that wasn’t the best-case scenario?”

“I guess…” She shifted in the booth, avoiding my eyes. “But you were trying to rattle Luke. Don’t act like you were doing me a favor.”

Rattled didn’t even begin to describe it. I would have paid good money to capture a photo of Morrison’s face when I threw my arm around her shoulders. It was the perfect mixture of rage, disbelief, and jealousy. As much as she was protesting right now, there was no way she didn’t enjoy that as much as I had.

“I’d say it’s a win-win, wouldn’t you agree?” While technically, Bailey wasn’t his business anymore, I was well versed in the inner workings of the male mind, and to Morrison, she absolutely was. That meant there was a 100 percent chance that he was losing his shit right now. The smug as fuck smile I flashed him pretty much guaranteed that.

Morrison wasn’t a direct threat on the ice—he didn’t even engage in fights when he was challenged, let alone start them. But he would send his minions to do his bidding, which meant I would probably need to look out for Bailey’s brother and a few of the forwards for a while.

There was a decent chance of a full-on line brawl with Callingwood in the future because of what I’d done.

Dammit. I had enough fires erupting in my own life, most of them self-ignited. Now I’d thrown kindling onto the perpetually smoldering feud between the Falcons and the Bulldogs.

Coach Miller was going to have my head.

“As much as I may hate him right now,” she said, “I am still firmly Team Bulldog.”

I shrugged. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Part of me did admire her sense of loyalty, however misguided it was.

* * *

When Bailey left the table to use the bathroom, I checked my texts. Ignoring most of them, I wrote Dallas back.

Dallas: Where the fuck are you?

Dallas: You ditched us.

Chase: Something came up.

Dallas: You mean someone.

Chase: Exactly.

* * *

The server came by with our bill, leaving the black leather folio on the end of the table. Bailey lifted her hand like she was going to make a grab for it.

I leaned over and yanked it out of her reach before she could. “Don’t even try.”

“You can’t pay for me,” she said, blond brows knitted. “This isn’t a date.”

“I’m well aware. And I’m still not letting you pay.”

“I don’t know whether I should thank you or throttle you.” Bailey sighed, slipping on her jacket. “Does that mean I owe you now?”