Page 22 of Melting the Ice

“Hey, I might’ve been a jock, but I’m not a complete idiot,” Wes argued playfully.

Marcus smacked him lightly on the chest. “Nobody ever said you were. Just that jocks like you might expect someone . . .discerning like me . . .to handle the whole thing.”

“Did you?” Brody asked.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t let him. I made him work for it. I made him workfor me,” Marcus teased.

“He sure did.” And Wes didn’t look upset about it at all; he looked enthralled.

“To answer your question,” Dean said in a low voice, “yes, they’re always like this.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Marcus proclaimed.

“Oh, we all know how cute you think he is. You know how many nights he’s been caught sneaking into Wes’ room during away games?” Dean shot the pair a knowing look. “You arenotsubtle.”

“Not in the least,” Marcus agreed.

“Wes here is gonna get drafted and end up a starting QB in the NFL,” Dean said.

“And what about you?” Brody asked Marcus. “You look like you’re going places.”

“You know it. Law school. Wherever this lunk gets drafted to.”

“That’s impressive.” Brody was undeniably impressed. He spent so much time around the guys on the hockey team, most ofwhom were just happy to get good enough grades to stay on the team and graduate on time.

There were the students in his bio classes, of course, but it often felt like they were on a different planet than Brody. Certainly, even though Brody was smart and pulled in great test scores, they kept him apart. Talked about him like he was some kind of aberration they didn’t know how to categorize.

“It is,” Wes agreed.

“And you’re not worried at all about this?”

Wes and Marcus exchanged a long glance full of certainty and unconditional love. “Not at all,” they said, nearly at the same time.

“Come on,” Marcus said, winding a hand around Wes’ neck, “let’s go dance.”

Wes didn’t fight, just went, following him like his whole life was wrapped up in the man with the gorgeous brown skin and limpid dark eyes.

“Yes, theyreallyare like that all the time,” Dean said when they were out of earshot.

Brody finished his beer. Noticed that Dean had, too. “You want another?” he asked.

“Sure,” Dean said, “but I’ll come with you.”

“Aw, don’t want me to leave you alone. Worried you’re gonna get swarmed as soon as you’re alone?”

Surely Dean had noticed all the girls, in clusters and in packs, ringing the living room, eyeing him. Eyeing them.

“Of course not,” Dean blustered. But Brody knew.

“Maybe they think we’re here together,” Brody teased. “And it’s keeping them at arm’s length.”

“Whatever’s doing it, I’m happy about it,” Dean admitted, following him into the kitchen. Brody grabbed two beers from the cooler and wiped the condensation off with the hem of his T-shirt then flicked the tops off, handing one to Dean.

He didn’t have abs like Dean—didanyonehave abs like Dean?—but he didn’t miss Dean’s gaze snagging on the flash of bare stomach before he dropped the fabric back down.

He didn’t know what they were doing. They weren’t even friends, really, so how could they be anything more?

Nevermind that they’d both told each other they were straight.

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