Page 42 of Melting the Ice

The sports teams at Portland U rotated use of the gym, each having their own scheduled time, but Tuesday night was always open, for anyone who wanted to use it.

Usually Dean avoided open gym because he hated having to share with a bunch of egotistical jocks who were sure thattheyknew best.

But he’d gone tonight, because Coach had taken it easy on them, this first practice after the bye week, and he’d felt too much crawling under his skin.

Too muchsomething.

So he’d stopped by the gym, hoping that exhaustion might silence that feeling and also that he might continue to avoid Brody until he’d dealt with the former.

Until he’d managed to stop craving him, in this weird, painfully obsessive way that was totally unlike him.

Dean stared at Brody’s figure. Remembering, in way too complete detail, exactly how his back had felt when Dean had slipped his fingers under his T-shirt.

How his breath had shuddered as he’d come apart.

The way his lips searched for Dean’s. Had wanted to keep kissing him, even as he came.

According to everyone else, you’re probably not being all that weird or obsessive.

Normal people probably wanted each other all the time and did something about it and then moved on, but Dean had long acknowledged that his singular drive had ruined normal for him, maybe even forever.

Of course that didn’t explain Brody, but then anyone who was playing NCAA hockey and also getting a degree in biology probably wasn’t normal either.

Maybe that was why he’d actually connected to the guy. Dean’s weirdness had called out to Brody’s weirdness.

Not for the first time, he wanted to call up Ramsey and tell him to fuck off. Interfering piece of shit.

Brody finished his set and looked up, sweat making the ripples of his back muscles shine under the fluorescent gym lights, and their gazes met in the mirror.

You’re caught.

“Hey,” Brody said, turning around to face Dean. His voice was normal, expression the same.

Probably nothing like how Dean looked, deer in the headlights at the vision of Brody’s bare chest. The trail of golden brown hair that led down to the waistband of his shorts, hanging low on his hips.

One tug, and he’d get an eyeful of what he hadn’t been lucky enough to see on Friday night.

Fucking snap out of it, man.

“Uh, hey,” Dean said awkwardly.

“Don’t usually see you here on a Tuesday,” Brody said.

It was totally normal, totally friendly small talk.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He did not say,And you won’t ever again, now that I know you come here on Tuesday nights.

Brody ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Not that you . . .uh . . .don’t look like you spend plenty of time here.”

At least he’d saidlookinstead offeel. Because during their hookup, Brody’s hands had been all over his body, like he’d been glorying in the firmness of it.

Like he couldn’t get enough.

But he’d definitely gotten enough. That much had been clear right after it had ended.

Dean reminded himself of that particular fact. How anxious the aftermath had made him. How much he did not need this fucking drama in his life.

Relaxation, Ian had said.

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