Page 107 of Melting the Ice

The only guy on the field who mattered.

“Are you checking out my boyfriend?” Brody teased.

“Fucking finally,” Ramsey teased right back, grinning.

“He’s not yet, we still need to talk, but . . .” Brody gazed down at him. “Yeah, I’d like that, I think. If we could figure out how to make it work.”

“You’re fucking brilliant and he’s no slouch himself, despite his major. You’ll get there.”

“Did you just say something supportive?”

“I say plenty of supportive shit,” Ramsey retorted, but he was still smiling.

“Next, you’re gonna be taking credit for all this,” Brody said.

Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” Brody said, smacking him in the chest.

“I don’t know. I kinda think I’m sort of responsible for you two. If I hadn’t bowed out, you’d be miserable, going through this bullshit alone.”

“I wouldn’t have been alone,” Brody argued, but he knew what Ramsey was saying. Dean did make him feel less alone. He didn’t want to go through this crisis at all, but the only thing that made it even remotely bearable was Dean.

Dean’s support.

Dean’s smile, gentle and bright.

Dean’s touch, his expression full of awe.

Dean when he called him pretty boy. He wasn’t just saying he was pretty, he was saying a million other things, too, and Brody could feel each and every one.

“Yeah, you’re so fucking gone,” Ramsey retorted fondly.

“Shut up and watch the football game,” Brody said.

“You mean, shut up and watch your boyfriend play some fucking killer football.”

Brody wanted to tell him he was full of shit, butwell, that was the truth, wasn’t it?

“Great game,” Wes said, clapping Dean on the back. “I’d say you killed it, but you kinda do that every week.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “You too.”

“Eh, I barely need to go out there and throw the ball around when the defense is playing like it is.”

“We can’t win if you don’t score,” Dean argued.

“Yeah, but you make it a hell of a lot easier.” Wes paused. “Take some fucking credit, you’ve earned it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said noncommittally. He’d been worried about this game. He hadn’t told Wes, though maybe in an alternateuniverse he might’ve. Instead, he’d told Brody. And now, with the game over, he just wanted to get back to the apartment and tell him all about it.

How he’d faced down those double and triple teams and still owned their asses.

How he’d beaten the senior offensive tackle who was poised to be drafted in the first round, who was considered one of the best tackles in the whole country.

He’d done it, and the whole time, in the back of his mind, had been Brody.

Brody smiling. Brody laughing. Brody gasping as Dean wrung every last ounce of pleasure from his gorgeous body.

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