Kissing Kendall

“What the hell,” Ian yelled, holding a protective arm over his gut as he advanced toward her. “You better get the fuck out of here before the cops show up.”

“Did you follow me?” Brilliant question? No, but her brain was a little shell-shocked at the moment.

“Why in the hell would I do th—” The word died on his lips as recognition and something that looked a lot like disgust crossed his way-too-ruggedly-handsome face. He stopped walking and groaned, letting his head drop back as he mumbled curses at the ceiling. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You? Here? What are you, stalking me? Haven’t you fucked up my life enough?”

Shelby winced. It had been an accident, but the result was the same. She was the reason why everyone in Harbor City now knew that Ian’s best friend and fellow Ice Knights hockey player Alex Christensen was actually Ian’s secret half brother.

When it came out that Alex had known the truth for years without telling Ian, the two men had stopped speaking to each other. Now, the Ice Knights had been torn in two just as the playoffs were starting. It was an unmitigated mess.

Ian may not be a friendly neighborhood murderer, but he might just kill her—metaphorically. All the same, still looked like he wouldn’t mind tossing her out into the snow and leaving her to freeze in the night. And part of her couldn’t even blame him.

Ian Petrov had been in some weird situations with women before.

There was the date who showed up in head-to-toe Ice Knights gear and asked if he wanted to see the tattoo of his face on her ass. He’d declined.

One woman had pledged daily blowjobs in exchange for helping her hook up with stern brunch daddy Coach Peppers. Ian still had no idea what a stern brunch daddy was, but if it was a guy who walked around the locker room drinking coffee that was more sugar and milk than caffeine, the team coach would qualify.

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.