Page 40 of Melting the Ice

But not when Ian was using themagainsthim.

“So there’s nothing I can do?”

“Find some hobbies? Learn to smile on the sideline?”

“They should be happy I’m not having a fucking meltdown on the sideline,” Dean grumbled.

Ian smirked. “They wouldn’t like that either. Trust me on this one.”

No, and he’d know better than anyone. Ian was famously with Carter Maxwell, a receiver in the NFL who had once been famous for those sideline meltdowns. He’d been even more famous for the methods he’d used to combat them: partyinghard and fucking even harder, with anyone who’d have him. And since Carter Maxwell looked like aGQmodel come to life, all golden hair and charming smile and ripped abs, there’d been a long,longline of takers.

But after Ian had come into his life, all that had stopped.

“I can smile. Idosmile,” Dean argued. “I just . . .I’m focused on the field. That’s what they want, isn’t it?”

It felt like every time he recorded another achievement, the nebulous powers-that-be moved the fucking goal posts, ensuring that he’d never be exactly what they wanted.

Guaranteeing that he’d stay Dean Scott, broke and from the wrong side of the tracks, with the boozy mom and the absent dad.

“Listen, Dean, nobody ever said this was right.Orfair.” Ian sighed. “I’m going to do what I can to get out what I do know of you, which is that you’re maybe the most determined guy I’ve ever met. The hardest working. That counts for something. But you gotta do something for me, too.”

“What? Anything, I’ll do anything.”

“Relax a little, okay? Don’t just smile now, smile on the sideline. Enjoy what you’ve accomplished. Youshould, because it’s a serious achievement to even have made it this far.” Ian’s voice was wry. He didn’t call Dean on his desperate plea. He could have, but he didn’t. Another tick in the column ofheistheright agent for you.

“I can do that.”

“Get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Whichever. Or even a friend. Hang out with them. There’s something besides just football and school. I know you’re friends with Wes, but I’m thinking finding something outside football might be more reassuring.”

Dean thought about Brody, but only for a split second. Then he dismissed him. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t even a friend. He wasn’t . . .well, he wasn’tanything. Between Brody’s panicover what they’d done and Dean’s commitment to his future goals, they’d both made sure of that.

But hecouldtell Ian about Brody . . .

No.

No, he couldn’t. What would be the point?

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dean said dryly.Don’t mention Brody, just don’t do it, it’s not anything . . .you’re not anything.“I . . .uh . . .I have a new roommate this year. Good guy. Plays hockey. Does that count? Yeah, he doesn’t play football, but he’s on the hockey team.”

Why had he gone and brought him up?

“Hey, he’s not in your normal path, that matters. Tell me about him,” Ian’s eyes lit up with approving pleasure.

He didn’t want to talk about Brody, while also being literally unable to keep his name out of his mouth. It was a conundrum that Dean didn’t fucking understand.

We kissed. It was hot.

“I . . .uh . . .he’s a hockey player, like I said.” What else did he know about Brody that wasn’t part of what had happened on that goddamn couch? “He’s a bio major. Super smart. Parents are doctors. He’s goin’ places.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, but that was all. Because if he said more, he might keep word vomiting and thatcouldn’thappen.

Him, word vomiting.Who most people had to freaking persuade to talk.

“Anything else? He’s just your roommate who plays hockey who’s a bio major?” Ian teased him gently.

“I guess . . .Brody’s sort of a friend. A friendly acquaintance.”

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