Fighting Dirty: Ice Kings #5 Read online

  Fighting Dirty

  Ice Kings, #5

  Stacey Lynn

  Fighting Dirty

  Ice Kings, #5

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  Stacey Lynn

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  Copyright © 2021 Stacey Lynn

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  Content Editing: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Design: Shanoff Designs

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  Fighting Dirty is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, trademarks, and incidents are used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reprinted, reproduced, or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review passages only.

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  This purchased material is for personal use only and NOT to be shared. Thank you so much for respecting the author’s wishes.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Jillian

  2. Klaus

  3. Jillian

  4. Klaus

  5. Jillian

  6. Klaus

  7. Jillian

  8. Jillian

  9. Klaus

  10. Klaus

  11. Jillian

  12. Jillian

  13. Klaus

  14. Jillian

  15. Klaus

  16. Jillian

  17. Klaus

  18. Jillian

  19. Jillian

  20. Jillian

  21. Klaus

  22. Jillian

  23. Klaus

  24. Jillian

  25. Klaus

  26. Jillian

  27. Klaus

  28. Jillian

  29. Jillian

  30. Klaus

  Epilogue

  The Time Around

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Stacey Lynn

  1

  Jillian

  “Have I mentioned how much I hate that lying, cheating, scumbag?”

  Across the table from me, my best friend Becca shoves a donut hole into her mouth. White powder puffs from her mouth as she speaks.

  “Because I do.”

  “Once or twice.” In reality, it’s been closer to a thousand times in the last nine months.

  Running my finger over the gold filigree of the invitation sitting on my counter, a thousand thoughts pummel me. Most of them having to do with my own humiliation.

  In hindsight, I’m glad I’m not marrying Roman Holmes next week, but inviting me to his wedding? It’s a slap in the face, which is why I have avoided opening the stupid envelope for so long. It’s sat on the corner of my kitchen counter, mocking me for the last month, but now I’ve run out of time to avoid the reality barreling down on me.

  The taste in my throat sours, ruining my appetite for what’s left of my Saturday morning donuts and mimosa brunch, a long-standing tradition Becca and I instituted right before finals week our junior year of college.

  I shove away the donuts. Damn Roman. He not only cheated on me and destroyed my trust in men, but he’s also now ruining my love of donuts. I might hate him for this more.

  “You’re right. He’s a scumbag.” I grab the envelope addressed to me and written in Julianna’s perfectly scripted calligraphy. I’m sure she started taking lessons as soon as he slid a three-carat diamond on her finger. It’s not like she has much else to do with her time.

  “This is all sorts of twisted and nasty,” Becca hums around another donut.

  I skewer her with a glare. “Can you not eat right now? What am I going to do?”

  “Set Julianna’s wedding dress on fire as she walks down the aisle?”

  “Tempting.” I’m surprised that’s what she offers up. It’s one of the tamer scenarios we’ve discussed since I heard of their engagement.

  “You don’t have to go. Screw them. And your parents for even thinking you’d go along with this bullshit.”

  I have no idea why she’s surprised. Ever since I caught Julianna and Roman in the act of sucking each other’s faces off when I showed up at his office unannounced, my parents have championed their wedding—my ex-fiancé to my now ex-best friend.

  I’d gone to have my monthly lunch with my dad and stopped by Roman’s office on the way out. He’s heir to Stearns & Holmes Shipping, a corporation my grandfather and his built together. My father and Roman’s are co-presidents of Stearns & Holmes Shipping, which handles ninety-five percent of container shipping from the Eastern Seaboard. Not exactly glamorous, but the Holmes and Stearns families have been connected since before South Carolina was a state. All the oldest sons are groomed to take the helm as soon as they finish their graduate studies, and Roman is no different. I’m pretty sure my parents loved our relationship for so long. Since they weren’t blessed with sons, us getting married would allow the two families to finally join together as one.

  Although, no one ever asked me what I wanted.

  However, up until that fateful day in his office, I’d thought Roman and I were going to forge our own path. He was going to put in his time at the family business gaining experience and then he was going to move to where I am in Charlotte, where we could live our own lives outside the purview of everyone else’s expectations.

  Little did I know Roman was playing me the entire time. That became incredibly clear the day I stopped by his office, only to find Julianna practically bent over his desk, their mouths fused together. They barely noticed my presence, or the plunk of my diamond ring smacking Roman in the back of the head.

  And now they’re the ones getting married.

  Our families are so closely intertwined there’s no way I can’t show up. Everyone in the upper echelon of Charleston will be there. My absence will be noted even more than my presence.

  There’s also no way I can go.

  Roman’s betrayal was just the tip of the iceberg. It was my parents’ full support of their relationship afterward. But mostly, it was Julianna, my friend I’d had since we were in the same preschool and went through everything together that hurt the worst.

  I fled back to Charlotte, North Carolina, to Becca, who let me cry in her arms for days. Then I picked myself up, threw myself into work at the marketing firm where I work, and swore off men forever.

  With a heavy sigh, I reach for a donut.

  Screw Roman and Julianna.

  They might have taken a lot from me and kicked my pride straight to the curb of our centuries-old and generational family home in the historical district of Charleston, but like hell they’re going to steal my love of donuts.

  “Seriously, Becca.” I look at her, blinking away the burn in my eyes. That stupid invitation has made me face everything I’ve spent nine months avoiding. “What do I do? I didn’t even RSVP to this ridiculous farce, but my mom’s email last week said she expects to see me there.” With a roll of my eyes, I take on my mother’s tone and squish up my face. “‘Family supports family, Jillian.’ Please. Because they supported me?”

  To say I’ve always been the black sheep of my family is a severe understatement. My father would probably have an aneurysm if he saw me sitting in my own kitchen, cut-off sweat shorts, unwashed hair flying all over the place from the knot at the top of my head, no makeup, a T-shirt that says DRINKS WELL WITH OTHERS in gold glitter. If he saw me stuffing my face with fat-inducing, cheap donuts from the corner gas station, he’d probably have a heart attack. My mother would no doubt comment on how the carbs are bad for my hips.

  She takes a sip of her mimosa and arches one perfectly microbladed brunette brow. “You have three options, as far as I can see.”

  I take a minuscule bite of the chocolate cream-filled donut before me, savoring the sugary sweet taste before I reach the cream center. “Those are?”

  “One, ignore them because screw them all. I can’t believe your parents have approved of this so quickly and completely ignored you. Although that would give your parents a hernia and you’d never hear the end of it. Two, you show up, cause a scene and like the first option, you let Roman and Julianna have the satisfaction of knowing you’re still pissed about this.” She points her finger at me. “And you know Roman would get some sort of sick thrill over it.”

  My lip curls at the thought. Roman getting any kind of thrill from me makes my stomach roll.

  “And my third?”

  “Get yourself a hot date, show up to the wedding with your head held high, and act like you don’t give a crap about any of them.”

  “And who should my hot date be, exactly? Just swipe right on the apps you made me download and press my luck?”

  To say I’ve had cold feet in getting involved with anyone new is an understatement. Plus, I’ve been crazy busy. Also, there’s the whole concept of meeting men online, getting to know each other via text and not even our voices that holds little appeal.

  Besides, there’s only one guy I’m interested in, in that way. Unfortunately, he’s made it clear where my place is in his life.

  The dreaded friend zone.

  Becca finishes her mimosa and reaches for the pitcher containing more. With a wicked grin that makes me regret I asked, she replies, “Call Klaus.”

  Speak of the devil.

  2

  Klaus

  The barbell I’m holding slams to the ground, shaking the bar from the hundreds of pounds of weight I’v
e deadlifted. Sweat makes my tank cling to my chest.

  Shoving my hands to my hips, breathless, I glare at my trainer across from me. “We done now?”

  Crank Matthews rolls his black eyes and grins, showing off one gold tooth at the side. “You’re a pussy.”

  “Screw you.”

  I know damn well that lift was my personal best. I’ve been working on my strength all off-season and I’m improving. Not quite the best yet, but I’ll get there even if I die trying.

  “Nice lift, man.” Sebastian Hendrix, friend and fellow teammate for the Carolina Ice Kings hockey team, holds out his gloved fist. We don’t usually workout together and he’s rarely at the team’s facility this early.

  I bump his fist. “Thanks. Don’t usually see you here.”

  “Gigi’s having designers come today to help her redo our living areas. Since that’s her domain and she’s changed her mind thirty times already I figure it’s safer if I’m here.”

  “Giving up the ghost?”

  “Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. His hair, usually resting at his shoulders in typical hockey player waves, has been cut, and the beard he sports all season is absent. “Think it was starting to bug Gigi. She insists she doesn’t want to move. Just wants to make it ours.”

  Sebastian’s ex-wife Madison lived with him in that home and liked everything stark white and impersonal. She left him eight months ago although the bastard held on to that information for a while before letting the team know. During that time, he started having a fling with the bartender where we like to hang out. Now, Gigi is pregnant with his kid and living with him.

  I was traded to the Ice Kings from St. Louis when he and Madison were already having problems so I’ve never seen the guy actually look happy until the last few months happened.

  “Not a bad idea. How’s she feeling?”

  “Good. I guess the second trimester is when they get an energy burst so she’s busy at the bar, planning her takeover.”

  I don’t know anything about pregnancies or trimesters so I grab weights and slide them onto the bar at the squat rack. “So you’re here avoiding your woman because you don’t want to talk about what… new couch colors?”

  He huffs and wipes his gloved hand over his forehead before lying down on the weight bench. “Something like that. Mostly I just want Gigi to feel like she has free control to do whatever she wants. But God, yeah… I’d really like to get rid of that white couch.”

  I grunt through my set, where we both barely speak until I slam the bar back to its hooks and Sebastian and I are both headed toward the showers.

  “How’s Jillian? Seen her lately?”

  “Not since the hospital event last week. But I will tonight.”

  “Nice.” He drawls out the word earning an immediate punch to his solar plexus.

  “We’re friends. That’s it,” I mutter, and unfortunately at that too. If I had my shot with Jillian Stearns, I’d jump so fast at the opportunity I’d probably scare the shit out of her.

  She’s made it clear since we met at the first signing I did with the team where she runs marketing on all of our promo gear that she isn’t interested. At first, I chalked it up to her being in love with Roman but even once their relationship blew up and ended last year, she’s never looked at me differently. I’ve been hoping she would give me some sign there could be something more in it for us.

  Outside giving me shit for my hockey skills, getting together to watch soccer—something we’re both fans of—and occasional early morning runs on the Sundays when I’m in town or in the off-season when I need to get my distance conditioning in, I’ve never once gotten any indication from her she’d be receptive to all the moves I want to make on her.

  It’s hard enough not to take her and shove my tongue down her throat every time she laughs that ridiculously loud and throaty laugh of hers. She’s independent, and totally unimpressed with any professional athlete since she works with us all the time. If anything, it’s a checkmark in my con column, although I’ve never had the guts to ask.

  That could screw up our friendship. I might want to know what she tastes and feels like in her most intimate places, but I’m not about to ruin what we already have if she doesn’t feel the same.

  I think of my grandma’s Lutefisk dish, something as a Swedish immigrant I’m supposed to love but absolutely despise, to get rid of the hard-on growing in my shorts.

  Jillian.

  Yeah. I like her. A whole hell of a lot.

  “So what are you two doing tonight then?” Sebastian asks once we’re in the showers. They’re separated by walls giving us privacy but at his question, my dick says hello at the reminder we get to see Jillian in a few hours.

  Damn him—both my dick and Sebastian. I’d just gotten the not-so-little guy under control.

  But when it comes to Jillian, my southern head has a mind of his own.

  “Dinner somewhere. She said she has something to talk to me about.”

  “Like ending this stupid friends-only thing you two have going?”

  “We are just friends.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  He’s given me shit about this since well before Jillian was single and available. That happened last November, nine months ago and since then, she’s shown absolutely no interest in me otherwise. Nothing has changed between us outside the one night she cried in my arms after she found Roman and Juliana together.

  Jillian’s friend, Becca, called me on day three of her crying jag, letting me know what happened. I went straight to her house where I held her for hours, plied her with her favorite wine, wishing I hadn’t had to get on a plane for ten days immediately after. All I’d wanted to do was stay with her. Or alternatively, drive down to Charleston and beat the shit out of Roman.

  But still, even as I think of all that, I remember how she’d sounded when she called me yesterday, seeing if we could hang out tonight.

  Almost… nervous?

  When it comes to me, what in the hell would Jillian have to be nervous about?

  I’m a sure thing, no matter what she needs or wants from me.

  How about I cook dinner instead? Don’t really feel like going out.

  Jillian offering to cook for me? Sign me up.

  There’s a space on her kitchen counter with a massive pile of cookbooks and recipes she’s printed from online food bloggers due to her incessant need to try new things. Despite the fact that she’s a vegetarian and I’m a heavy meat eater, I love her cooking. The woman can whip up a meal that belongs in five-star restaurants.

  I can be there in thirty. What can I bring?

  I need a quick shower and a change of clothes after another workout in my own home gym, this time a run on the treadmill and another hour on the Peloton. With pre-season coming up in only a couple of weeks, I can’t miss a workout and have taken to doubling up doing most of my cardio at home.

  Do you really need to ask?

  Red wine it is, I text back.

  When it comes to Jillian, the answer is always wine. Bad day? Here’s some wine. Celebrating? Here’s some wine. Need a night to chill out and rewatch six episodes of Vampire Diaries or Supernatural? Here’s some wine.

  I finish with a quick, See you soon, Jilly-Bean, already knowing the reaction she’ll have when she sees it.

  Cheeks pinked. An eye roll that could reach the heavens. She claims she hates it when I call her that.

  I adore seeing her blush too much to stop.

  All this means is that as I strip out of my clothes, chucking my sweaty shorts and boxers toward the hamper, but not quite in, and step into the shower, turning it on full blast, I’m thinking of Jillian.