Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

12. Savannah

12

Savannah

"Are you sure you're okay going back to the ranch on your own?" Aubrey asks, her hand resting on her belly.

"I'll just grab an Uber—" I stop mid-sentence, reality hitting me. "Wait. Please tell me Cedar Creek has joined the twenty-first century and there are Ubers here? Because I'm not exactly dressed for a covered wagon situation."

"No," Aubrey laughs. "But we do have exactly one taxi service. Welcome to small town charm.""

"One taxi service? How charmingly retro," I drawl, already googling Cedar Creek Taxi. "Next you'll tell me people still leave their doors unlocked and bring casseroles to new neighbors."

"Yes, and we all wave at each other from our porches, isn't that nice?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Actually, small-town life isn’t all bad, I tell myself as I step out of Aubrey’s SUV.

Sure, it’s quaint, quiet, and smells faintly of hay everywhere, but I’m here for the coffee shop Aubrey mentioned—one that serves something other than watered-down diner sludge.

My heels click against the pavement as I walk down the street, my fingers flying across the screen. A client has about ten too many questions for a straightforward settlement, and if I don’t answer now, my inbox will be a war zone by the time I’m done caffeinating.

As I type out a response, something hard and warm collides with me, sending my phone flying out of my hand. I stumble back a step, muttering a curse under my breath.

“Whoa, easy there.” A deep, smooth voice halts my internal monologue of irritation.

I look up—and holy hell.

The man standing in front of me is tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly gorgeous. His sharp jawline is dusted with just the right amount of stubble, his hair is perfectly tousled, and his lips curl into a smile that screams trouble.

“Well,” I say, recovering quickly and brushing nonexistent dust off my blazer. “I don’t usually take kindly to random dudes slamming into me on the street, but I might make an exception for you.”

He laughs, low and easy, the sound wrapping around me like a warm breeze. “Glad I made the cut. You okay?”

“I’ll live,” I say, already noticing the way his crisp white shirt fits a little too well. “But you owe me a new phone if it’s broken.”

He bends down, picks up my phone from the sidewalk, and hands it to me. “Looks intact. Guess I’m off the hook.”

I take it from him, our fingers brushing just enough to send a little zing of awareness through me.

“For now.”

“Name’s Dane. Dane Davidson. I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What gave me away? The heels or the fact that I didn’t shout ‘howdy’ when I got out of the car?”

He chuckles. “Something like that. Welcome to Cedar Creek, big city girl. You here visiting, or are you thinking about trading skyscrapers for stables?”

“Just visiting,” I say. “Though I have to admit, the scenery is better than expected.”

“Scenery, huh?” His grin turns a little cocky. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” I shoot back, tilting my head. “But don’t let it go to your head. I’m just passing through.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Then let me show you around before you pass through too quickly. Dinner? Say, tomorrow?”

My eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his directness. It's refreshing, actually, compared to the games some men play. Blake's face flashes in my mind—his piercing blue eyes and that kiss by the pool. But he didn't even follow up on his dinner invitation, like we'd agreed, and of course I wasn't going to mention it. Now that I think about it, he seemed more interested in hooking up than making actual plans.

I shake the thought away. If he wanted something more than a one-off thing, he would have set a proper date. I'm not about to sit around waiting for a man who can't follow through on a simple dinner invitation. If Blake can't figure out his life that's his problem, not mine.

“Dinner?” I repeat, crossing my arms.

“And your number,” Dane adds smoothly. “You know, in case you want to back out. That way, I can talk you into it.”

The confidence in his tone makes me laugh. “Well, you’ve got the charm part down. I’ll give you that.”

“Is that a yes?” he asks, his smile widening.

I pause, considering him for a moment. He’s confident, charming, and ridiculously attractive. And maybe a distraction is exactly what I need right now.

“Fine,” I say, slipping my phone back into my bag. “But if you bore me, I’m leaving before dessert.”

“Fair enough,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to me. “Put your number in. I’ll text you the time and place. Or I can pick you up if you want.”

I take his phone, punch in my number, and hand it back. “Don’t make me regret this,” I say with a smirk.

“You won’t.”

With one last grin, Dane walks away, leaving me standing there, a little flustered and a lot intrigued.

The coffee shop is just around the corner, and I’m still buzzing.

But as I turn the corner, the sharp screech of tires cuts through the air. I glance up just in time to see a motorcycle skidding out of control, barreling straight toward me.

My feet refuse to move. It’s like my brain short-circuits, leaving me frozen in place as the bike hurtles closer.

“Hey!” someone shouts, and suddenly I’m yanked backward, strong arms wrapping around me as the motorcycle veers past, missing me by inches.

I stumble into the chest of my rescuer, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Easy,” Dane’s voice rumbles close to my ear, grounding me. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I blink up at him, my legs shaky and my breath coming in quick gasps. “That was—”

“Too close,” he finishes, his hands steady on my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper. “No. Just... shaken.”

“Understandable,” he says, his tone calm and reassuring. “Let’s get you off the street.”

He guides me to the sidewalk, keeping a steadying hand on my back. The world feels a little off-kilter, but his presence is grounding.

I let out a shaky laugh, the sound a little hysterical. “You know, nearly getting mowed over by a motorcycle’s not exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Then let me fix that,” he says, his tone softer now. “Let’s get some coffee now—on me. You’ve definitely earned it.”

I glance up at him, his face inches from mine, and for a moment, everything else fades.

He’s leaning in, his gaze dropping to my lips, and I know he’s about to kiss me.

And I don’t move.

But before his lips can meet mine, another voice cuts through the moment, low and steady.

***

“Thanks for helping out my fiancée, Dane.”

My head snaps toward the voice, my heart stuttering. And there, standing just a few feet away, is none other than Blake, his eyes dark with possessive intensity, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Dane straightens, his hand dropping from my back. “Fiancée?” he asks.

Blake steps forward, slinging an arm around my shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah, my fiancée," he repeats, staking his claim with every word. "Appreciate you keeping her safe," the warning clear in his tone.

I barely register what he’s saying, my mind still spinning from the near miss—and now this sudden claim. The words “my fiancée” echo in my head, but I can’t quite make sense of them.

I blink up at Blake, my mind spinning. Fiancée? What in the ever-loving hell is he talking about?

Dane doesn't move immediately, his gaze flickering between Blake's dominant stance and my stunned expression, clearly waiting for me to confirm or deny the claim. He's caught between wanting to challenge Blake and recognizing exactly who he's dealing with.

And honestly, I’d love to say something—anything—but my brain is still stuck somewhere between motorcycle death scare and fiancée bombshell .

“Didn’t mean to step on any toes, Ice,” Dane says finally, his tone polite but tinged with something sharper. “Just doing what anyone would’ve done.”

Blake nods, his expression unreadable. "Still, thanks. And you know I remember who I owe what."

"Got it. Me too. And in this case, I'll make sure I collect," Dane says, his tone matching Blake's edge for edge.

Blake doesn’t react, his cool demeanor unshaken as he steers me toward the coffee shop.

“C’mon, Princess. Let’s get you out of the street.”

I follow him, my legs moving automatically while my mind tries to catch up. Behind us, I hear the faint click of a camera shutter, but I’m too disoriented to care.

We’ve barely taken three steps when a voice calls out, “Ice! Is that your fiancée?”

I glance over my shoulder to see a paparazzo stepping out from behind a parked car, his camera trained on us like a heat-seeking missile.

“You angry at the Destroyers for the suspension?” he presses, snapping more photos. “When’s the wedding? Will it be here in Cedar Creek?”

Blake doesn’t miss a beat. “You heard me,” he says, his tone steady, even proud. “My fiancée, Savannah Hart, owner of Pinnacle PR.”

The paparazzo grins, snapping a few more photos before disappearing down the street, presumably to find Wi-Fi and destroy my life.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now as we approach his truck.

“Fine,” I mumble, still processing.

“Are you sure?” he presses, stopping to look at me. His gaze is intense, searching my face for any signs of injury. “You’re shaking.”

I glance down at my hands, surprised to find he’s right. “I’m just—” I hesitate, swallowing hard. “That was close, you know? Too close.”

“I know,” he says, his voice dropping. “You scared the hell out of me, Savannah.”

Something about the way he says my name, like it’s fragile and precious, makes my chest tighten. But before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my bag.

I pull it out, my breath catching as I read the message:

We’re a team. Don’t forget. I can keep you safe.

The words blur on the screen as my pulse pounds in my ears.

“Savannah?” Blake’s voice cuts through the fog, his hand brushing my arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, shoving the phone back into my bag. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he opens the passenger door of his truck, gesturing for me to get in.

***

By the time we get back to the ranch, the adrenaline has worn off, leaving behind a simmering anger I can’t quite contain. “Fiancée?” I snap as soon as we step into the lobby of the Airbnb. “Are you out of your mind?”

Blake turns to face me, his expression calm but guarded. “It worked, didn’t it? Are you telling me now you're afraid of taking risks? Cuz I'm not."

“Worked?” I echo, my voice climbing. “What exactly was the plan? Claim me like I’m some prize to keep Mr. Smooth over there at bay?”

“Dane?” he asks, his brows lifting slightly. “Is that what this is about?” He scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Dane can’t give you what I can.”

"No, this is about you ," I shoot back, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You had no right to say that. You don't own me, Mr. Cocky."

He crosses his arms, his jaw tightening. "But would you want me to?"

The question hits me like a physical blow, heat rushing to my cheeks. "What the hell was that back there?" I deflect, trying to ignore how his words affect me.”

“I was protecting you,” he says simply.

“Protecting me?” I let out a sharp laugh, the sound almost hysterical. “From what? A decent guy asking me out?”

“From whoever’s out there trying to hurt you,” he snaps, his voice rising for the first time.

His words hit me like a slap, and for a moment, I can’t speak.

“What are you talking about?” I ask finally, my voice quieter now.

“You think I didn’t see the look on your face when you checked your phone?” he says, stepping closer. “You’re scared, Savannah. And you’re not telling me why.”

I take a step back, shaking my head. “This isn’t about me. This is about you being some overbearing, controlling—”

“Enough,” he interrupts, his voice low and firm. “You can be mad at me all you want, but don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

I glare at him, my chest heaving as the anger and fear battle for dominance. “What is it, then? Enlighten me.”

“It’s me doing what I have to do to keep you safe,” he says, his tone softening. “And I’m not sorry for that.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. And damn it, I hate that I can’t come up with a good argument against them.

Instead, I spin on my heel and storm through the lobby, heading straight to my room, my heart pounding for reasons I don’t fully understand. Blake might think he’s doing the right thing, but I’m not ready to let him decide what’s best for me. Not yet.