“Maybe we could have a dinner with the three of you.” The words rushed out. Another dinner would mean more time with Ian. An excuse to see him, spend time with him. Pathetic? Yeah, but desperate times and all. “I could include it in the final post for the series about you and Alex.”

He let out a short huff of breath. “Not even if it meant getting traded to the Rage.”

“What is going on, Ian?” Everything had seemed fine this morning. Beyond fine, really. Now? It was like he’d gone back behind that wall he used to shut people out. “Talk to me.”

“Why?” He pivoted in his seat, keeping his voice low. “For the clicks?”

She flinched. “That’s a low blow.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then waited a few beats while clenching his jaw closed so fiercely, she worried the team dentist was going to have a new client.

“Nothing with my dad,” he said. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

“I understand.” She reached out and gave his leg a quick squeeze, then drew back before anyone saw. “You’re still getting used to everything.”

It was hard for a person to find out that their family wasn’t exactly what they thought it was. She still remembered the drop in her stomach when she’d found out that the man she’d thought would never leave had. After that, everything had changed.

“Not every story has a happy ending, Shelby,” Ian said, his tone resigned. “Some things are best left alone.”

Her stomach sank. Was he just talking about his dad now, or was he trying to tell Shelby something more?

Ian fell asleep—or more likely pretended to—and she stared at the movie playing on her iPad screen while not taking in a single moment of the plot. So this was just what they’d said. A fling. As long as they weren’t in one of the Harbor City zip codes, the clothes could come off. The emotions, though, stayed covered. That was the deal. But fuck if she wasn’t starting to feel naked as hell right about now.

Shelby, what have you done?

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

The taste of salty fries and a chocolate shake still fresh the next day, Shelby walked the block and a half from the diner she and Roger had met at to catch up to the Ice Knights arena with an extra spring in her step. As she got closer to the staff entrance, a man in head-to-toe Cajun Rage gear stubbed out a cigarette and walked toward her.

“I thought you gave those up, Bill,” she said, giving the Cajun Rage’s vice president of communications a quick hug.

“It was just so I had an excuse to hang outside in hopes of running into you.”