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Piper

“I know who you are, and soon the world will, too.”

The words glare up from my phone screen, throwing fuel on an already raging fire of stress. A brand-new comment on my anonymous Substack, where I’ve carefully hidden behind a pen name. Great. Another thing to worry about while I’m already facing a lawsuit for libel.

I grit my teeth, telling myself I won’t let this faceless troll rattle me. But my pulse still skitters. “Fantastic,” I mutter. “Because losing sponsors and getting sued wasn’t enough. Now I have a stalker, too.”

I flick my phone off, hurl it onto the passenger seat, and yank the keys from the ignition. The crunch of gravel under my tires is oddly soothing as I pull into Emma’s family ranch—my safe haven for at least one night.

Strings of tiny fairy lights dangle between the oak trees, creating a twinkling canopy. A massive bonfire crackles off in the distance, and for a fleeting second, the sight almost lulls me into believing all is calm in my world.

But then my phone buzzes again, that menacing threat still echoing in my mind. I force myself to square my shoulders. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve faced bigger demons—like cheating boyfriends and a deadbeat dad. I can handle one internet troll.

With a sigh, I grab the phone without checking it and toss it into my bag before climbing out of the car.

I make my way toward the bonfire, determined to drown my worries in whiskey for a few hours. Emma Ice invited me to her family’s “Blades, Boots, and Booze Bonfire,” held right here at the Ice Ranch & Resort. The Ices are basically hockey royalty around here—Emma’s got four brothers in the sport—so this party’s the kickoff to a full week of festival madness.

It’s hockey mania, ranch style, plus a million do-gooder charity things. Ordinarily, I’d give it a hard pass—being around men with inflated egos is hardly my idea of fun—but Emma’s my friend, and I need a distraction tonight.

Emma and my roommate, Madison, spot me before I’ve even rounded the barn, both wearing wide grins that immediately soften the tension in my shoulders. Emma’s ever-present three-legged dog, Pokey, trails at her heels, the mutt trotting up and nudging my thigh with his nose, his big brown eyes filled with nothing but love and devotion.

Emma’s rocking jean shorts and cowgirl boots—she somehow always manages that perfect country-cute vibe. Meanwhile, Madison sports skintight black jeans that highlight her long legs, paired with a cashmere sweater that clings in all the right places—rich, dark teal to set off her warm complexion. Everything about her ensemble screams money and style, yet she makes it come off as effortlessly casual.

But don’t let her runway-ready looks fool you. Maddy’s so genuinely kind and loyal that I don’t know what I’d do without her.

“Took you long enough,” Emma calls, hands on her hips. “We’re halfway through a bottle of who-knows-what.”

“How’re you, girly?” Madison asks, giving me a quick hug.

“My day was pure insanity ,” I reply. “You don’t want to know how many ways it sucked.”

Madison presses a plastic cup into my hand. I sniff it—whiskey with something fruity. I raise a brow. “You do remember that I don’t usually do sweet drinks, right?”

She shrugs, offering a warm smile. “Figured you could use anything to take the edge off.”

She’s not wrong. I chug a mouthful, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. Finally, something that feels good.

Emma loops an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to the roaring fire. “This is where the madness begins,” she grins. “Clinics, auctions, parties—it’s the whole Ice family circus on full display.”

I’m half-listening, half-checking my phone because it buzzes again. Another email from a sponsor, probably telling me to get lost. We regret to inform you…disassociate from your brand… I swallow back a curse, my eyes stinging with unshed frustration.

Shit.

“Perfect,” I hiss under my breath, jamming the phone into my back pocket. “Let’s just say I’m getting thoroughly hammered tonight.”

Emma and Madison exchange a look—one that says “Uh-oh, Piper’s about to raise hell”—but they don’t try to stop me. Probably know better by now than to stand in my way when I’m in one of these moods.

We sidestep a group of giggling college kids, making our way closer to the bonfire. The warm light throws dancing shadows across the barn walls, and the smell of burning wood mingles with the tang of whiskey in my cup. Despite myself, I let out a small sigh. The place is charming. It’s a shame that men always seem to find a way to ruin nice things.

"Look, there's Sadie," Emma says, forcing a polite smile as her cousin saunters over. With her spiked black hair, punk makeup, and black leather jacket, Sadie looks every bit the rebel she tries so hard to be.

I plaster on my own version of polite. Sadie Ice-Grant. Yes, Ice-Grant —because apparently one last name wasn't enough for the kids of Evelyn, Emma's aunt and self-proclaimed family royalty. I don't know the full story yet, but the hyphen screams inherited wealth, family drama, or both.

"Ice-Grant?" I'd mocked once when Emma explained it. "That sounds like a law firm, a yacht, or a Bond villain."

Emma had just rolled her eyes. "You don't know the half of it."

I've seen Sadie around campus a few times before—always surrounded by her minions in the fancy coffee shop where she holds court like some social media queen. She took the same media studies elective as me last semester, though she barely showed up. When she did, she'd spend the whole time on her phone, somehow still acing every test. The kind of effortless perfection that made me instantly suspicious.

Sadie’s cunning vibe radiates from her glossy lips to her designer boots. She greets Emma and Madison with air kisses, then turns to me.

“Piper,” she purrs, like she’s tasting something sour. “How lovely you showed up.”

“Sadie,” I return, just as sweet, though my tone is laced with cynicism. Emma’s already warned me about her two-faced nature, and I’ve had enough of men’s crap in my life to spot a manipulative woman from a mile away, too.

Sadie flicks her hair over one shoulder with practiced precision. The group collectively turns their attention to the guys milling around—a mix of ranch hands with their worn Stetsons and college hockey players sporting team hoodies, half of them built like they were chiseled out of stone.

"Mmm, that one's an eight," Sadie purrs, pointing with her glass. "Though those jeans are so last season."

"The blond by the band is cute," Madison offers.

"Please, a five at best," Sadie scoffs. "His shoulders are totally uneven."

I let out a bored sigh but can't help joining in. My snark is a reflex at this point. "And that one's a seven—no, scratch that, six if you factor in the man bun," I say, swirling my drink. "I mean, what is this, 2015?"

Madison snorts into her cocktail. "God, Piper, you're brutal."

"But accurate," Emma adds with a half-laugh, half-cringe. "Though maybe we shouldn't judge someone's whole existence on their hair choices?"

"Oh, girl," Sadie cuts in, her glossy lips curving into a predatory smile. "That's exactly what we should judge them on. Speaking of judgment, that cowboy by the bar? Solid nine. Those arms..." She looks like a cat who's found a mouse to toy with, and I have a sinking feeling I know exactly which mouse she's eyeing.

Emma's phone buzzes, and she frowns at the screen. "Oh shoot. Dad needs help at the drink station," she tells us. "Madison, come with?"

"Of course." Madison follows Emma, leaving me alone with the Ice family's resident snake. Perfect .

Then I spot Jake Ice, leaning casually against a fence post.

And my stomach free-falls.

God help me. I’ve met him before. Let’s just say we didn’t skip off into the sunset. He’s the kind of hockey player who drips confidence from every pore—cocky smirk, broad shoulders, a body built for speed and sin. Maybe if I wasn’t so jaded, I’d find that swoon-worthy. But my tolerance for “confident men” is at an all-time low.

Yet… my gaze lingers. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt that hugs broad shoulders and tapers down to a lean waist. My traitorous eyes drag over the tight stretch of black cotton across his chest, the way his arms flex as he tips his beer to his lips, the slow roll of his throat as he swallows. Then there are his eyes—icy blue, almost transparent. Emma once joked they were the family trademark, like a warning label stamped on all the Ice men. Fuck. I should look away, should remind myself that he’s exactly the kind of man I hate—but my body isn’t listening.

Heat licks up my spine, a slow, infuriating burn. My mouth goes dry as I recall the handful of run-ins we’ve had: we’d traded barbs, and each time I’d walked away simultaneously infuriated and… intrigued.

His eyes scan the crowd—then catch on me. Just for a second. A blink. But something in my chest stutters anyway. A flicker of something sharp and knowing in those ice-blue eyes.

I look away fast. Too fast.

But my whiskey-fueled imagination takes off.

Unbidden, unwanted, the image flickers—him stalking toward me, body crowding mine, backing me against the rough barn wall. His breath would be hot against my neck, teasing and smug, sending a traitorous shiver down my spine even as I told myself I hated it.

I can almost feel it—the scrape of stubble against my jaw, the press of hard muscle trapping me in place. His hand sliding between my thighs, forcing them apart like he owns me. Strong, possessive, like he already knows I’d melt if he touched me just right. I can almost hear his voice curling in my ear, low and dark: “You wanted this. Don’t pretend you don’t,” as his mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing skin, until he’s sucking my breast through my shirt and softly biting my nipple like he knows exactly how to break me.

My thighs clench, the sudden throb between them impossible to ignore. My skin burns beneath my clothes. I want to slap him. I want to moan for him. I want to do both at the same time.

But nah—he wouldn’t do that. He’s a golden retriever in a black T-shirt. All bark, no bite… right?

So why the hell am I shaking?

I snap out of it when Sadie elbows me. “You okay? You were staring like he was on the menu.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the flush on my cheeks. “He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like me. He’s probably used to puck bunnies who melt at the sight of his biceps.”

Sadie arches a brow. “Oh? Sounds like you’re underestimating my cousin. Or are you just scared?”

A hot coil of irritation flares in my chest. “I’m not scared of any man. Men are the worst —they’ll lie, cheat, or ghost you the minute something better comes along. If Jake is anything like my dad—or half the boyfriends my mom brought home—he’s all swagger and zero substance.”

Sadie just laughs, zero empathy in her eyes. “Maybe you should prove it, then.”

“Prove what?” I challenge.

She gives me a saccharine smile. “That you could snag Jake’s heart if you wanted.”

I snort, slamming the rest of my drink. “Sure. Because I’m dying to be a hockey player’s next fling.”

But the whiskey has me feeling bold, and that old competitive fire sparks to life. I can’t stand being called out, especially by some two-faced cousin who thrives on gossip.

Sadie presses on, “So you admit you can’t handle him?”

My spine stiffens. “I can handle any man. If I actually cared to try, he’d be begging me to be his girlfriend in no time.”

“Is that a challenge?” Sadie’s eyes gleam. “Because I dare you. Get Jake Ice to fall head over skates for you.”

The alcohol and my battered pride won’t let me back down. “I’m not interested in babysitting some cocky puck-chaser.”

“Right, sure,” Sadie drawls. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll fail. Then I understand.”

I clench my fists at my sides, ignoring the sting of old memories: my dad walking out, a few exes who ghosted me the second real life got complicated. I’m not letting this snake see me sweat.

“Fine,” I bite out. “You want a dare? I’m in. Though I’d rather eat nails than deal with him, I’ll do it just to shut you up.”

Sadie’s smirk widens. 'Speaking of shutting people up… I know your little secret. Your alter ego. Ring any bells, Penelope Darling?

My blood runs cold as panic rises in me. No one’s supposed to know. Penelope Darling is my anonymous persona, the one I use for my more…provocative sports gossip blog, the one that could get me in real trouble if my secret were to get out. My hands tighten around my empty cup, a thousand curse words swirling in my head.

Sadie lowers her voice. “You want to keep that secret? Make Jake fall for you. Succeed, and I’ll help find you new sponsors. Or else… I can’t promise your identity stays hidden.”

I’m so furious I could swing at her.

My best bet is to play it cool. “You’re bluffing.”

Sadie just shrugs. “You know I’m not. Deal?”

I stare her down, refusing to show fear. Finally, I lift my chin. “Deal.”

Her smirk widens. She steps back, raising her voice to a normal volume. “To Piper, who's about to pull off the impossible—making Jake Ice fall for her.” She lifts her cup, eyes glittering with amusement.

I grab my drink and tilt it toward her. “To Sadie—who’s about to eat her words and choke on them.”