Page 37 of Melting the Ice

No. No, he did not.

Angry frustration surged through Brody as he stared at the door.

Let Dean fucking hear him, just standing here in the hallway, not moving.

Let him hide and pretend that what happened the other night hadn’t happened at all. That they hadn’t been all over each other. That they hadn’t kissed like the world was going to end tomorrow. That they hadn’t gotten hard and come their brains out just from touching each other.

Brody’s blood quickened again, just thinking about it.

Though frankly, it felt like he’d barelystoppedthinking about it.

He glanced down at his half-hard cock tenting his gray sweatpants. He’d gotten off twice since the “experiment” and both times he hadn’t had a fucking hope or a prayer ofnotthinking about Dean as he wrapped a hand around his dick.

It hadn’t been as good. Not even close.

But he still knew what he’d be doing when his own door closed behind him.

Trying to recreate that fire that had surged through him.

He turned away, clearly heading to his room, but then Brody hesitated.

Whyshouldhe let Dean just keep hiding?

If he was going to drive Brody nuts, then he sure as fuck wanted to drive him nuts right back.

And after the way they’d come together on Friday, ithadto be some kind of fucking mutual.

Brody waited a moment, until his erection died down a bit, steeled his nerve and knocked.

For a long second, there was only silence.

Then he heard the creak of a chair and Dean’s footfalls as he walked across the room.

Finally, he opened the door.

“Hey,” Dean said. His voice was a study in neutrality and if Brody had thought Coach’s face tended towards blankness, then Dean’s could give him a run for his money.

“Hey,” Brody said back.

Before, when they’d just been hanging out—not friends but not really only roommates either—there’d always been this frisson ofsomethingin the air.

He hadn’t known what it was, then. But now, after they’d kissed, after they’d touched each other, now Brody knew.

It was sexual tension, crackling in the air between them. In the way Dean’s gaze dipped down, for a split-second, catching on Brody’s lips. In the way his biceps in that tight, worn T-shirt, flexed.

Goddamn. Brody remembered what all those muscles had felt like. They’d been fucking devastating.

“Did you . . .uh . . .need something?” Dean asked awkwardly.

“Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Brody paused. “You know, after the other night. Haven’t seen you since then.”

’Cause you’ve been freaking avoiding me.

“Oh yeah. Um. Sure. Of course. We’re good.”

“Good,” Brody said, raising his chin. Maybe he’d freaked out a little bit during the aftermath but he wasn’t the one freaking out now. He’d been the one to knock on Dean’s door, after all. Make him face him again.

“You need something else?” Dean didn’t say it rudely, but it was clear he wanted to be done with this conversation. And Brody wasn’t sure he could blame him for that.

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