by Avery Flynn
His favorite, though, was Clarissa, who had brought both her parents and her little sister along on their date. He’d had a blast at the amusement park with them, but a second date hadn’t been a priority for either of them.
Never—not one single time—though, had he ever been stun gunned in his rented AirBNB by the woman who’d ruined his life with her big mouth and who’d managed not just to figure out where he was staying for the next two weeks but to get there early. He had to admit that before he’d Googled her, he’d never pictured the woman behind Harbor City’s favorite hockey blog, The Biscuit, to have a Jessica Jones tough-chick look, but now it was made all the more jarring by her high-pitched pipsqueak voice.
“Look, I can give you a head start,” he said, turning on the lamp by the bed. “But I’m calling the cops.”
“To turn yourself in?” She crossed her arms and snorted in disbelief. “Perfect.”
Shelby Blanton—yeah, he’d made it a point to find out her name after what she’d done—was deranged. Sure, she was hot, but definitely one crazy bitch if she thought showing up at his rental cabin was the way to get an exclusive interview or to make an apology for what she’d done. Standing his ground, he did a quick appraisal. Her dark hair was short and wavy, with one side of her scalp shaved down to such a short length, it would have made a Marine recruit envious. She couldn’t be more than five foot six, but even in her one-piece black thermal underwear, she managed to look tough. Maybe it was the tattoos or the nose ring—wait, it was definitely the eyes, big and dark and all but shooting laser beams of fury at him.
“Why would I call the cops on myself?” Ian asked, rubbing his abs that still ached from the quick jolt from her stun gun. Fuck, he was wearing a leather jacket and a thick sweater, and it still hurt like hell. If she’d actually managed to get him for longer, his ass would be down on the ground. He probably would have pissed himself just to add to the humiliation of being held at stun-gunpoint in his own rental.
“This is my cabin,” she said.
“Nice try, but I have a signed contract for this place.” Check and mate.
“Big whoop, so do I, but mine is legit.”
He reached for his phone and she leveled that mean little flashlight on steroids at him again.
His gut tensed, which made his stomach hurt even more, and held up a hand. “Whoa, I’m already nursing an injury—don’t shoot me with that thing again.”
Getting his ass kicked by a stun-gun-wielding emo Goldilocks who sounded like a ten-year-old while standing in the middle of the AirBNB he’d rented specifically because it was in a communications black hole was not something he wanted to have happen. Once Shelby gave him a curt nod, he pulled his phone out and brought up the email confirmation of the booking.
“See?” He turned the phone so the screen faced his attacker.
She rolled her eyes but eventually looked at it. He doubted it was an accident that she kept her stun gun at the ready even as she stayed out of arm’s reach. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d showed up uninvited and armed at his cabin when all he’d wanted was to be alone and drinking a bottle of scotch, he might have been attracted. He wasn’t going to think about that now, though.
Nor would he be dwelling on his dickhead dad with a wandering dick and former friend who’d spent years lying to him. Or contemplating how several of his teammates didn’t see what the big deal was. Or bemoaning the fact that he was off the ice for two weeks because he’d fallen over his own damn feet at a team dinner, gone down like a klutz without any athletic ability, and had messed up his thumb enough to need surgery.
“This is bullshit,” the woman declared, but she lowered her stun gun. “I have the same confirmation.” She stomped past him to the nightstand and picked up her phone. A quick scroll later, she shoved it in his face. “See?”
A fast scan confirmed it was an exact copy of his confirmation from the rental management company for the cabin. “How’d you get this?”
“A sort of friend arranged it for me.” She tossed her phone onto the bed but held on to the stun gun even though it was held loose in her grip. “Who pranked you with this confirmation?”
“One, it’s not a prank.” The only person he knew who would find this kind of joke hilarious was Christensen, and they might share half their DNA but that was it. They weren’t friends anymore, let alone the kind who would set something like this up. “Two, it was our team PR person Lucy—”
“Kavanagh,” she finished for him.
No. Lucy wouldn’t. Okay, she might have helped set up his teammate Stuckey and his now-live-in girlfriend, Zara, plus Ice Knight right winger Phillips and Tess had met and hooked up at Lucy’s wedding, but she wouldn’t do something like this—not with him, not now, and definitely not with Shelby Blanton. It had to be a mistake.
“Just look at this.” She grabbed her phone off the bed and brought up the email that had accompanied her confirmation, and there it was in black and white.
* * *
Shelby,
I know just the place. Peaceful with gorgeous views. It’s already booked. Plenty of space because the cabin is huge so you can have enough “me time” as you need without being totally alone, which you really don’t want to do, considering. It’s just what you need. This is actually perfect. Two solitary birds, one fabulous rental cabin. You in?
Lucy
* * *
“I thought it was a joke,” she said. “Why would I think it was a bird?”
The muscle in his jaw went into hyperactive twitching mode. “Because we’re both a pair of dodos for not seeing this coming.” So much for not messing with a man when he was down. “She did this on purpose.”
Shelby paled. “Why would she do that?”
“Have you met Lucy?” He shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around this mess. “She’s all about controlling the situation and the spin. No doubt she thinks this will fix things.”
“I can’t stay here.” Shelby backpedaled a few steps, clutching her phone and the stun gun to her chest.
Ian didn’t need to look at his phone to confirm that it was way too late for that. When he’d pulled off the highway and onto the mile-long dirt road to the cabin, the guy on the local radio had just announced it was ten o’clock and warned everyone to get home before the snow got any worse. Anyway, the cabin was miles away from anything even slightly resembling a town.
“Yeah, good luck with that. It’s already snowing sideways out; you don’t want to be driving in the dark in that,” he said because he had enough shit to deal with without worrying about her stuck in a snowbank because he kicked her out. “You can have this room. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Shelby screwed up her mouth like she’d just sucked on a lemon and glared at him as if he controlled the weather or the Ice Knights’ PR queen Lucy Kavanagh. Finally, she let out a very unhappy huff. “Fine.”
Okay, one battle won. He’d take it. God knew he needed it.
He started toward the door, giving her—and her stun gun—a wide birth. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep. I’d hate for you to go spilling any more life-ruining secrets.”
He could have sworn he heard her mumble something along the lines of “fuck you, asshole; it was an accident” as she slammed the door shut in his face. He definitely heard the lock being turned. He couldn’t blame her. The whole situation was a mess. First thing tomorrow, he’d find another cabin to sit and drink scotch in and growl at anyone who dared to cross his path. He’d rather go find a frozen hedge maze to wander until he turned into an icicle than to stay here with her. Glancing at the window, he saw the snow piling up fast on the drive. As long as it stopped by dawn, he’d be out of here before breakfast.
It was a great plan, and when he woke up the next morning to bright sunshine spilling in through the huge window looking out onto the front drive, he let out a contented sigh. This was what he’d wanted, fucking serenity now. Then he made the mistake of getting up from bed, walking
over to the window, and glancing out.
There wasn’t a driveway anymore. The road back down the mountain to the highway was gone. Everything was covered in enough snow to obliterate any hope of an escape.
The unmistakable, might-just-break-glass pitch of Shelby’s voice forced its way past his closed door. “Have you seen all the stupid snow? Neither of us is going anywhere.”
The sound jabbed him right in the eardrum and he winced.
His life was so fucked right now that he couldn’t even manage to be alone so he could contemplate the dark pit of his existence while nursing a scotch and his misery. Instead, he was trapped here—with the woman who’d turned his life into a hellscape.
Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
* * *
About Avery Flynn
* * *
USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their ahem other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs. Also, if you figure out how to send Oreos through the Internet, she’ll be your best friend for life. Sign up for her newsletter and visit her website for more book news!
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Katee Robert for inviting me to be a part of her super fun, super secret project. What a blast this has been. Thank you!!! More thank yous to Robin Covington, Piper J. Drake, and Stacey Kennedy for letting me join your singles cruise. I couldn’t have brought Aubrey to life without the help of editor Angela James and the copy editing skills of Melinda Utendorf. Y’all are goddesses, thank you. As always, the biggest thank you goes to you readers. Without you, I’d just be the weirdo with stories running around in her head.
xoxo,
Avery