Free Crazy Thing Called Love by Molly O'Keefe Page A

assists and twenty shots on net. You were more than just that fight.”
    “But the fight was pretty awesome.”
    She touched his face, the bruises and swelling, the cut at his lip. “I hate watching you get hit.”
    “Just doing my job.” He took Vincent’s line and tried to smile, but his lip stung so much that he stopped.
    “Oh, honey, let’s take you home.”
    “Hey, no … actually, Vincent asked me to go out with him and some of the guys.”
    “Oh.” She blinked and then mustered a smile, his beautiful girl. “You should totally go. Celebrate.”
    “Come with.”
    “Billy, I’m twenty—”
    “No one will care if you come in with a bunch of Pit Bulls. And it’s Montreal, I don’t think they care about that here. Come on, it will be fun. Vincent said something about steaks.”
    Her eyes lit up at the mention of steak. His little carnivore would do just about anything for a good steak.
    “Let’s go!” she cried, her happiness making her buoyant. She curled her hand around his arm and they headed out the door, into what felt like a brand new life.
    The taxi dropped them off in front of a building sandwiched on either side by what could only be strip clubs. The letters
XXX
meant the same thing in French. He checked the address on the card. They were in the right place.
    “Billy,” she said, staring up at the building. “This is the red light district.”
    “Yeah, I bet the guys come here because there’s no press and they don’t get hassled.” Or something.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Let’s just check it out.” He knew she didn’t want to be here, just like he knew she’d roll with it if he pretended not to understand that. She was good like that.
    “You really want to go in there?”
    “I got invited, Maddy. I said I’d come. I’ll bet there are other wives here. You’ll be able to make some friends.”
    It took her a second but she finally agreed.
    They walked up the stairs to an old brick and stone building that didn’t have a name on it. If it weren’t for the red light above the door, you wouldn’t even think it was a club. You wouldn’t even think anyone was there.
    His skin prickled at the thought. It was so exclusive it practically didn’t exist. How cool was that?
    A giant man with no neck opened the door for them, the sound of music pouring out all around them. But not that cheesy dance stuff—which gave him hope that there wouldn’t be naked women dancing inside.
    “Who are you?” the giant asked, his voice so low the ground practically shook. It took Billy a second to wade through the man’s French-Canadian accent to understand what he meant.
    “I’m … ah … I’m Billy Wilkins.”
    The guy stared at him, tilting his head to look at the scar, and then his dark face split into a grin. “Nice game tonight. Hell of a fight.” He clapped Billy on the shoulder, ushering him inside. But then he held up a hand, stopping Maddy.
    “She’s with me,” Billy said.
    “I’m his wife,” she clarified and the bouncer glanced between them and then shook his head, chuckling like he knew a punch line they didn’t.
    “Go right ahead,” he said and Billy stepped into a dark alcove shuttered by thick curtains. Music thumped and boomed in the small space. When Maddy reached his side, he pulled back the dark fabric.
    Instantly, his heart plummeted.
    There wasn’t any stripping, per se. But the girls were wearing practically nothing and were curled up on the laps of his teammates, looking like they would take off what little they had on without much asking.
    All the guys sat in low, leather chairs, a big table between them, covered in food.
    “There’s your steak,” he said, brightly, hoping she might be blinded by the steak and not see the girls.
    “Billy?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
    A beautiful woman wearing a blue dress that hugged every curve and hollow of her body came up to them. He didn’t look, he honestly didn’t. He kept his eyes on the woman’s.