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 he held up a hand. “Whoa, I’m already nursing an injury—don’t shoot me with that thing again.”

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 drink 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 asshole dad with a wandering dick and his former best 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. Or stewing over the seemingly never-ending media coverage of the shoving match he and Christensen had gotten into and the fact that things were hostile in the locker room, to say the least. Basically, he had a lot of things that he would not be thinking about while getting blasted in the cabin Lucy had rented for him to lay low while the Harbor City sports press found other things to cover.

“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 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 up something like this. “Two, it was our team PR person, Lucy—”

“Kavanagh,” she finished for him.