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

15. Savannah

15

Savannah

A few days later…

I’m walking toward the barn, and the air smells like hay, leather, and something distinctly… cow-ish. Lovely. Welcome to rural paradise, Savannah.

As I round the corner, I freeze. My brain short-circuits. There they are—two shirtless, glistening-with-sweat versions of Blake. Standing side by side, tossing hay bales like some ranch-themed cologne commercial.

What the fuck?

I duck behind a post, peeking out like a spy in a bad action movie. My heart thuds as I try to figure out if I’m just imagining things. Their jeans hang low on their hips—seriously, did they plan this?—and their bare chests glisten under the sun, showing off identical muscles that clearly don’t skip chest day.

Then they start talking, and my brain has to work overtime to keep up.

I stare, transfixed, as their banter bounces back and forth like a well-practiced tennis match.

"Hey, neat freak, you missed a spot," the Blake on the left calls out, his voice a smooth, teasing drawl. He tosses a handful of hay toward the other one. "Your perfectly organized little world must be crumbling right now."

The other Blake—not neat freak, apparently—rolls his eyes, brushing hay off his chest with precise, controlled movements. "Some of us like to do things properly, you caveman. Not that you'd understand the concept of organization if it hit you in that thick skull."

"Properly," Caveman repeats, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment, his abs flexing as he leans against his pitchfork. "You mean boring. Like watching paint dry in alphabetical order boring. Or like that time you color-coded Mom's spice rack and labeled everything with your little label maker."

Neat Freak doesn't miss a beat, his lips curling into a knowing smirk that makes my stomach do a little flip. "At least I didn't almost break my neck trying to impress a girl in high school. Though maybe a concussion would've improved your personality."

Caveman laughs, the sound low and easy, like he doesn't have a care in the world. His eyes spark with mischief as he runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "She wasn't just any girl. She was a cheerleader. And unlike you, I actually got her number—while wearing a neck brace, I might add. Which is more action than you got that entire year, Mr. 'I'm too busy organizing my pencils by lead density.'" He flexes dramatically, clearly proud of this dubious achievement.

"That's rich coming from someone who once tried to alphabetize his bruises," Neat Freak shoots back, his smirk widening. "And if I remember correctly, that cheerleader ended up dating the basketball captain two days later."

Oh. My. Goodness. Are they roasting each other while shirtless and sweaty? My brain can’t process this. It’s too much. Even their voices are similar—deep and rich, but one has a slightly raspier edge. I could listen all day, but no one would blame me if I passed out from sheer sensory overload.

But wait — 'Mom's spice rack'?

So they're brothers—which can only mean…

One of them is Blaze.

Holy fucking shit.

So they're not just brothers, but identical twins. But how is that possible? The Blaze I saw in my office and the Blake I saw at Christmas were not identical. I mean, they had a family resemblance, as all the Ice siblings do, but this? This is carbon copy shit.

How?

Ok, Savannah, think. Think, think, think.

My brain stumbles over the memory of Blaze. He never took his shades off and was all disheveled. Plus, I didn't care to look at that jerk carefully—I was focused on not letting him squash me. But the blond streaks? That guy can't be this guy, can he?

Crap. That must be it. He got rid of the highlights. Was that his rebellious phase, and now he’s over it?

I lean against the post, trying to piece this puzzle together. So which one is who?

I squint. There’s got to be something that sets them apart. A scar? A mole? Maybe one of them has a weird belly button? Nope. Nothing.

Then Caveman turns and my eyes catch something—ink. A tattoo just under his bicep. A series of coordinates, bold and black. My gaze shifts to Neat Freak—clean skin. No tattoo.

So Caveman is tattoo guy.

Then it was Caveman that I—

“Blaze!” A voice rings out from the barn. It’s Emma, jogging toward them with a clipboard in hand. She’s all business, even as she waves one twin toward her.

Caveman turns and responds immediately. “What’s up, baby girl?” He strides over to her, his tone casual, as if my entire world isn’t currently flipping upside down.

Holy fucking shit.

Blaze. Blaze. My heart drops to my stomach as the pieces fall into place.

Blaze. Not Blake. Not sweet, steady, makes-you-feel-safe Blake. Blaze, the brooding, infuriating, rugged, dangerous Blaze. The guy I swore I couldn’t stand. He's the guy I kissed by the pool.

The guy I… oh, hell.

Heat rushes to my cheeks as the memories flood in. That fuck by the creek. The way his hands felt on me. The way he looked at me like I was the only woman on the planet. That wasn’t Blake. That was Blaze. I slept with Blaze.

I feel like the floor just gave out beneath me. My knees go weak, and I grip the post for balance, trying to keep myself from crumpling into a heap of mortification. Did he know I thought he was Blake? Did he let me believe that? Or was it my mistake?

Did I ever call him by name? I can’t remember.

But if I did, why didn't he say he was not Blake?

And then there’s the fake engagement. Who am I fake-fucking-engaged to? Did I just sign up to pretend to marry the wrong twin? I might scream.

I peek back out, needing to steady myself, only to find Blaze crouched next to Emma, helping her move a heavy bucket of feed. He’s grinning, that boyish, crooked smile that makes him look younger, softer. He’s teasing her about her clipboard, calling her “Boss Lady,” and she’s rolling her eyes at him like she’s heard it all before.

It’s… sweet. Unexpectedly sweet. The Blaze I know is intense, all heat and fire. But this Blaze? This Blaze is playful, gentle, almost nurturing. And it’s doing things to my already scrambled brain.

I bite my lip, trying to process it all. This man—this complicated, infuriating, impossible man—is so much more than I thought he was. And now I don’t know what to do with any of it.

Does this mean I've lost my chance with Blake?

Do I even want it now?

My chest tightens, and I know I need to get out of here before someone notices me.

My heart pounds as I quietly back away from my hiding spot and retreat to my room, my mind racing with questions.