She sighed, sending the puff of her short wavy hair up from her forehead. “Yes.”
“Perfect.” He walked over to the fireplace and set the metal screen down on the two bricks that had already been in the fireplace. “Maybe if you’re eating, you can’t spread all the secrets you’ve ever heard about me.”
You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?
This time she grunted, and it didn’t take much skill to translate it as a snarly little fuck you, especially since when he looked over his shoulder, he caught her flipping him off. Oh God, this was almost as good as busting his teammates’ chops in the locker room. It was just the sort of thing he’d been missing since all hell had broken loose—well, one of them. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy a little trash-talking fun. He wasn’t about to ruin his mood by thinking about his now-dead friendship with Christensen.
Before his brain could pounce on that thought and inspect it obsessively from every possible angle until he was three seconds away from chucking out his entire hockey career to go live in the woods, Shelby let her comforter drop. He tightened his grip on the cast-iron pan before he dropped it on his toe and found himself out of the lineup even longer.
Ian had never been a guy with a type. Every woman had something about her that was sexy and intriguing and grabbed him by the balls, demanding his admiration. Seeing Shelby, though, in the soft light being thrown by the huge-ass fireplace and all the candles he’d dug up did something else. It made his gut flop and his toes sweat just like before a big game when everything was on the line and the stakes had never been higher. It made no fucking sense. The woman had fucked up his life. That she hadn’t done it on purpose didn’t matter. Intent didn’t eliminate responsibility.
It was going to be a long few days before a snowplow got to them.
…
Belly full from a perfectly cooked steak and warm baked apples, Shelby started shuffling the cards she’d found in the drawer of the wooden coffee table with a scene of deer in the meadow carved into its polished finish. Across from her, Ian was sucking down the last of the orange juice, seltzer, and one scoop of rainbow sherbet that had been her go-to treat drink since she’d gotten out of rehab. Thank God the Airbnb people had stocked the fridge and pantry. At least they wouldn’t starve. Maybe it was because the hangry had abated, but they hadn’t sniped at each other since dinner had started, and Ian had only grunted twice.
And with hours to go until bedtime, the books on her tablet weren’t going to do her any good, since she’d forgotten to charge before the power went out. Beyond anything else, not having access to her latest read when she only had four chapters left to go and everything was chaos was pretty much the definition of sucking big-time.
“You gonna deal or just shuffle for the rest of the night?” Ian asked as he adjusted the pile of pillows he was sitting on, then adjusted them again and again.
Shelby bit down on her lower lip as she watched him be all snarly with the pillows, stifling the giggle desperate to escape. It shouldn’t be funny, but it was. He was like the princess and the pea over there.
Once he finally settled, she finished shuffling and put the cards in the middle of the table. “Did you decide what game you want to play?”
For the first time since he’d marched into her room like an avenging ghost, he smiled, and it transformed his entire face and was like catching a glimpse of a happy oasis in a desert of grump. “Slap Jack.”
She snorted. “Yeah right.”
“What?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the uh-huh-that’s-right look on his face showing that he knew exactly how good his arms looked at the moment. “It’s fun and fast.”
“Your thumb.” She pointed at his hand. “The one that you had surgery on? The one that’s the reason why you aren’t playing right now even though the team needs you?”
He shrugged. “I’ll use my other hand.”
“That doesn’t seem like the best idea.”
He grunted—of course—which she most definitely wasn’t beginning to find amusing. She was just getting used to it so it annoyed her less, that was all. And the butterflies bouncing around in her stomach? It had to be steak-related. Who could afford a thick, juicy piece of meat that size on her salary? And yes, she was talking about the steak and not the man, thank you very much.
She cut the deck in half, sliding one stack over to him and keeping one for herself. “You’re going down, Petrov.”
“Not gonna happen. I have professional-grade reflexes.”
That might be true, but she had three-fourths of the deck within minutes. If he had been someone else, she just might be thinking that he was hesitating so he didn’t smack her hand into a pancake—but this was Ian Petrov. He’d growled at her earlier today. Literally growled. Plus, if he even made eye contact with her, he was scowling half a heartbeat later. That whole don’t-hate-the-messenger thing was definitely not part of his personal philosophy. So the game continued as the fire crackled and the wind howled outside. King of hearts. Two of spades. Nine of spades. Four of diamonds. Jack of—
Shelby slammed her hand down on the pile a fraction of a second too late, landing on Ian’s hand with a resounding thwack. His eyes went wide and he sucked in a quick breath before looking down. He’d used the hand with his injured thumb.
“Oh hell, I’m sorry.” She shot up from where she sat crosslegged and nearly collapsed back down as invisible pins and needles jabbed at her because she’d sat in the circulation-destroying position for so long. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said
