Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

your attitude?” I asked. “Can’t see how it’ll make it any worse, but occasionally I’m surprised.”
    He held open the door for me. “Does caffeine put civil tongue in your mouth?”
    “It hasn’t yet.” I winked as I wheeled in past him and headed straight for the line.
    “I can hope it starts today.”
    “Sure. If you want.” I shrugged.
    Neither of us said anything else as we waited for our turn in line. When I got to the front, I ordered a venti skinny caramel latte and gave them my name. Instead of paying, I angled my head in Nazarenko’s direction.
    “Espresso,” he bit off. “Double shot.” Then he glanced down at me. “No, make it triple.”
    “And you can put Captain McGrumpy Pants on his cup,” I added. Then I left him to pay and found us a table in the corner, well away from the mom and her kids near the door. I didn’t trust either of us to keep a civil tongue, as he’d put it, so we would be much better off keeping out of the kids’ hearing.
    He waited to join me until our drinks were ready, carrying them both over. He set mine in front of me before taking a seat. Once he set his cup on the table, I saw that the barista had followed my directions. There was no hiding my smile.
    “You enjoy poking at me,” he said. “Sparking my temper.”
    I met his eyes. “Poking the bear was always one of my favorite sports. Used to do it all the time with my brother.”
    “Lots of practice. Lucky to be alive.”
    “And practice makes perfect. Something you should keep in mind if you intend to play another sled hockey game. You were awful out there.”
    He rolled his eyes, but I didn’t miss the life in them. Whether he liked it or not, I was getting a rise out of him. He was enjoying this back-and-forth as much as I was.
    “Why you Americans always have to be different from rest of the world? Everyone else says sledge. Uses metric system. Makes more sense.”
    “Why do you Russians always have to be macho assholes?”
    “Why you can’t be feminine? Act like a lady?”
    “I’ve never been very feminine, and I don’t have any intention of changing that for you or anyone else. I’m athletic. I work out. I play with guys, and I’m not going to apologize for it.”
    “Could at least not talk like sailor.”
    “Oh, so are you going to watch your mouth around me? I doubt it.”
    “Men cuss, they’re just men. Women cuss, it’s—”
    “Unladylike,” I cut in. “Yeah. I know. And I don’t fucking care.” I took a sip of my latte, never taking my eyes off him. “So what’s the deal with your beard?” I demanded again. “You never had one before the accident.”
    “How would you know?”
    “I remember when it happened. I was seventeen. I’d been watching you since you first came into the league. You always had a baby face and a big smile. Now you have that ugly beard and your hair’s too long. What are you hiding?”
    “Why should I tell you?”
    “Maybe you don’t need to tell me, but you should tell someone.”
    “Nothing to tell,” he said. Then he drank his entire triple shot of espresso in a single swallow.
    “You wish that were vodka?” I asked, watching his grimace.
    “Don’t drink vodka. Not anymore.”
    “Not since the wreck?”
    He stared at me, those dark eyes trying to bore holes through me. It was like he wanted to see if he could break me, make me blink first. I refused to back down or look away.
    “I drank after wreck. Tried to forget.”
    “So why’d you quit drinking?”
    “Didn’t work. Couldn’t forget. Realized I needed to remember.”
    “Is that what the beard is about? Trying to remember?”
    “ Nyet .” He sounded more exasperated with me than ever, the word coming out like a dog’s bark, and he clenched one hand into a fist. His right hand, which had something tattooed on the back of it in Cyrillic. He had a lot more ink than just that, too. His arms, back, ribs, legs, hell, even his neck had black ink permanently etched into it. He