One woman had pledged daily blow jobs 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 the death grip she had on that stun gun of hers.

“I’m calling the cops,” he said, turning on the lamp by the bed.

“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. She was going to have to figure out how to increase her clout another way.

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 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.”