Ice Knights

When a hockey player with a major PR problem finds himself on a bad date with a redhead, he has to tough it out for five dates without flaking-or falling in love.

One night and my life completely jumped the tracks. Actually, a pack of expired condoms did that-the rest of the night was pretty amazing. Open bar at a friend's wedding. Bad dancing all around. Stupid trivia bets with my fellow Ice Knights hockey teammates. And Tess Gardner. The factoid-blurting, fandom-T-shirt-wearing, no-I-don't-want-a-relationship-with-you woman makes me forget for one night that I'm a man with a routine and my future all mapped out. Still, it sucked she left our room without giving me her number. Fast forward to when she tracks me down and tells me I'm going to be a daddy. Jaw meet floor. Now I've insisted that she and our little peach pit move in with me after her apartment floods. She agrees as long as there's no funny business, no shotgun weddings, and no more nights spent naked together. Sounds easy enough. I was prepared for the late-night runs for more pickles and peanut butter, but I wasn't prepared for Tess. She's like a glitter rainbow sparkling in the middle of my all-neutrals house, messing up my rigid schedule and turning my world upside down. What the hell do we do next?

I never meant to say a word, not one single word. But I did. And now, because of my blog, everyone knows that Ice Knights hockey star Ian Petrov's best friend and fellow player is actually his half-brother-hello, hockey Hall of Famer dad who couldn't keep his jeans zipped. That wouldn't be such a big deal if Ian knew. He didn't, and boy howdy is he pissed. And who is he most mad at? Oh sure, he's upset with his dad and former best friend/brother from another mother, but most of his ire is with me. It's definitely a case of hating the messenger. And what could make it worse? How about the two of us being trapped together in a remote cabin after a massive blizzard. Neither of us can leave. Just us, the snow, his resentment, and OMG sexual tension so thick it would take a snowplow to break through it. I've got to get out of here before I do something even dumber than I've already done and kiss the sexy snarly grump with his misplaced anger and perfect pecs. That would be the worst, the absolute worst. That's why I'm not going to do it. Nope. Really. So why can't I stop imagining what it would be like?