Page 44 of Melting the Ice

“’Course,” Brody said, and he reached out a hand to help Dean up.

Dean took it before he could think better of it. Before he realized that this was the first time they’d touched since the couch.

Brody’s hand was big and calloused. Strong. Sensation raced up his arm, and Dean ignored it, coming to his feet, trying to tell himself it was just remnants of his workout, even though he’d been focusing on his abs, not on his arms.

He squeezed his fingers into a fist and then released them, once then twice then a third time as he and Brody walked over to the bench press station.

Unsurprisingly, the weight was set to two hundred and twenty-five pounds.

“Ugh,” Brody said as he gestured towards the weights, beginning to slide them off, “why is italwaysset to this whenever I come in?”

He pulled off fifty pounds, leaving the bar at a very respectable one-seventy-five.

Dean barked out another laugh as he moved behind it. “You don’t know?”

“No?” Brody sat down on the bench and then leaned back, settling his back against it.

“Two-twenty-five is the weight we have to bench press at the NFL combine.”

“So if you just bench two-twenty-five you’re good?”

“No, no. You do as many reps as you can at that weight.”

“Oh. Huh. Well. Our strength and conditioning guy is always telling us we’ve got to be strong, but agile. So less weight, more reps.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not judging your one-seventy-five,” Dean joked.

Maybe at a different time and with a different person he might’ve. But he already knew Brody more than pulled his weight. That he was strong. It was impossible to look at his beautifully cut chest and arms and down lower, to his flat stomach, his abs rippling as he positioned himself underneath the bar, and think he didn’t put a lot of work in here at the gym.

“Oh, thanks,” Brody teased right back. “I’m flattered.”

Brody had to know how gorgeous he was. Nothing too big or bulky, just fluid muscle, emphasizing the lines of his body, not hiding them.

“You should be,” Dean said. Maybe they were trying to be only friendly now—an unspoken agreement between them to return to how they’d been beforethat time on the couch—but friends didn’t hide the truth.

“Aw, you’re such a softy underneath all thathard work, hard bodymantra, Scott.”

Dean’s heart quickened at Brody’s words, but instead of letting himself feel it, he chided himself tofocus.

Even one-seventy-five wasn’t chump weight, and Brody wasn’t going to hurt himself, not on Dean’s watch.

“You ready?” Dean asked. Not sure how to deal with Brody’s admission that he had a hard body. Maybe it was just another truth. Or maybe it was something more. So he ignored it.

“Yeah,” Brody said, getting set. He had great form, and even though it was second nature for Dean to always check for it when he was spotting in the gym, he didn’t have a single comment to make about Brody’s.

He lifted the bar, arms flexing in a way that Dean didn’t want to admit was distracting—butwas—and began his reps, breathing out and in steadily as he thrust the bar upward.

Five reps, and he set the bar back on the rack.

“Good,” Dean said, even though it was probably useless, ’cause surely Brody knew how good he was.

So fucking good you can’t get enough.

“Thanks,” Brody said shortly. He wiped his face with a towel and tossed it back on the floor.

Some guys waited a freaking eternity between reps, but Brody wasn’t one of those, and respect for his hard work bloomed in Dean’s chest.

Brody settled back and began the next rep set.

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