Page 18 of Melting the Ice

For a long moment, Dean didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, that brain churning away. For a guy who didn’t say much, there was a lot going on in his head. Brody had learned that much about him, even in the handful of conversations they’d had since moving in together.

“That isn’t a lie,” he finally said.

“Then you’re gonna come?”

“Don’t know. Frat parties aren’t typically my kind of thing.”

“Mine either,” Brody said wryly. “Come with me and keep me company.”

Dean gestured down, at the pair of gray sweatpants he wore. “I’d have to get dressed.”

“Just throw some jeans on,” Brody suggested.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You think I can go to this frat party in a worn-out T-shirt with a hole under the armpit?”

Brody looked him over. The shirtwasclearly old, the fabric washed a hundred times and clinging tightly to his biceps and pectorals and stomach. He looked . . .well, if he’d been into that, it would’ve been a wet dream-worthy sight.

It was kind of wild how Dean didn’t realize how attractive he was. But it was clear he hadnoidea.

“I think you’re fine,” Brody said.

“Alright, well, if I’mfine,” Dean teased. He pushed himself off the couch and disappeared down the tiny hallway. A few minuteslater, he was back, a pair of jeans maybe as old as the T-shirt clinging to his thighs.

Brody’s mouth went dry and he looked away.

He couldn’t explain why Dean’s body was affecting him this way. He’d seen hundreds of guys naked in the showers over the years. Maybe more. And his brain had never caught on thoughts of them.

One of Dean’s big hands ran through his chestnut hair. “Am I presentable now?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

Dean nudged him as they headed out the door. “Maybe I’m not pretty like you, but I think I’m notthatbad looking.”

Brody nearly tripped down the stairs, and only at the last second, Dean caught him, one of those big hands wrapping its way around his waist and tugging him back.

Pulling him against his bigger body.

Brody’s breath went out in a harshwhoosh.

“You alright there?” Dean asked.

“I . . .uh . . .yeah.”

“Good,” Dean said and released him.

They made it down the stairs without any further difficulties and turned down Washington Avenue towards frat row.

As they walked, Brody tried to consider the problem—was it even a problem?—from a scientific angle. Asafeangle.

Maybe he’d have been better off showing up at the frat without Dean and dealing with Ramsey’s crap than he would be spending the evening with the guy.

It would probably have been the safer option. Because something kept teasing at the corners of his consciousness. Images of Dean, every time he’d seen him, flickering through his mind.

Dean blending up a protein shake in the morning, eyes sleepy and hair mussed and wearing only a low-hanging pair of athletic shorts, ripped abs on full display.

Dean with only a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping onto those broad shoulders.

Dean in the weight room, demonstrating a move to a simpering blond girl clearly angling for more than just a lesson, muscles bunching and relaxing as he went through the reps.

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