Page 7 of Grumpy Puck

Not willing to admit out loud that he has a good point, I start actually running, and Michael picks up his own pace until we’re sprinting down the corridors and leaping down the stairs two at a time.

Despite the haste, just as we get to the doors that are our destination, something dings, and the stupid things lock right in front of our noses.

“Fucking fuckers.”Michael slams a fist into the door—to no avail.He then starts talking in tongues, or rather one specific tongue that sounds familiar to what’s spoken in Cold War-era movies.

“Are you cursing in Russian?”I guess.

He stops his soliloquy.“What other language would a guy with the last name Medvedev curse in?”

I roll my eyes.“I didn’t even know your last name.”

“Oh.”He takes a breath and exhales slowly, then extends his hand.“I’m Michael Medvedev.”

I know it would be smart—albeit rude—to ignore the proffered hand.However, something possesses me to shake it.

Wow.His grip is firm, and his palm is deliciously callused.And warm.And strong.

The zing to my clit is even stronger this time—for which I blame my lack of panties.

With effort, I let go of his hand and pull myself together.“I’m Calliope Klaunbut,” I say, pronouncing my last name as “claw-un-boot.”“And, as I said before, it isnota pleasure to meet you.”

“The lack of pleasure is still mutual.”He turns back toward the door and slams his fist into it again.

“Try your head,” I suggest.

He whirls on me.“Why are you so fucking calm?Don’t you realize we’re stuck here?”

“What do you expect me to do?”

He looks me up and down.“Worry about catching a cold or hypothermia?”

Actually, despite my lack of clothes, I feel hot… and bothered, but I’m not going to tell him that.“Is there a supply closet or something here where I can get more clothes?”I ask instead.

“One second.”He turns toward the door and beats on it so fiercely I half expect it to crack open.

But no.The heavy door takes the abuse in stride.

Michael turns back to me, looking like a bear who’s failed to catch a delicious salmon.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I say, not sure why I’m trying to reassure the asshole, “that looks like it’s built to withstand a hurricane.”

He grunts something unintelligible in response before turning on his heel and storming off in the direction we came from.

Wolfgang and I exchange a glance.

Meine Liebe, do you think he’ll brie back?

With a shrug, I follow the bear—and have to resort to running yet again to keep up.Which is why when Michael stops suddenly on the second floor, I run smack into him.

It’s like hitting a wall of pure, sexy muscle.

“In here.”He gestures at the door in front of us.

I check the sign above it.“The team’s locker room?”

“They aren’t in there.”He opens the door and holds it expectantly.

Oh, well.

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