Page 11 of Melting the Ice

And he wasreallyfucking good at that.

“Am I gonna get more details than just a single word?” Wes asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Clearly amused, and not annoyed, by Dean’s reticence. Three years of friendship and he was no doubt used to it by now.

“Yeah, he’s a hockey player. Name’s Brody. Just moved in two days ago. Don’t know him, so that’s all I’ve got to share.”

“And this is the guy Ramsey set you up with?”

Dean opened his mouth to argue with theset you up withaddition, even though yes, it was technically true. It just didn’t mean what Wes was implying, with his waggling eyebrows and knowing look. But before he could, Wes sighed.

“Yes, I know, he didn’tset you upwith him. Just facilitated a roommate arrangement.” Wes shot him a limpid smile. “That un-romantic enough for you?”

Wes just wanted everyone to be as happy as he was, with his longtime boyfriend.

Dean didn’t believe that kind of happiness wasn’t for him, necessarily, just that by the time he got around to romance and love and the white picket fence, he didn’t know if it would wanthimanymore.

He didn’t know anyone who honestly managed to have it all. Something always lost out, and Dean wasn’t going to let that be anything that mattered to him. Anything that he’d worked so goddamned hard for, all on his own.

“Yes,” Dean muttered. “Anyway, he seems like an okay enough guy. Quiet. Biology major, if you could believe it.”

“Really? He want to be a doctor?” Wes wondered.

“Says he was drafted. Can you believe hockey drafts them so young andthenthey go back to college? So weird. But I think he’s not sure. He’s a freaking biology major and his parents are both doctors.” Dean shook his head. Brody hadn’t said it, but he’d caught the clear hesitation on his face when they’d discussed their futures. Dean couldn’t imagine anyone having that possible future within their grasp and rejecting it. Of course, he alsocouldn’t imagine having not just one wealthy parent buttwo, and never worrying about where his next meal was coming from or if he could scrape together rent money this month or if he was going to have enough money for football fees that year.

Going through life unconcerned about what was possible.

Brodywasn’ta bad guy, but Dean didn’t understand him at all. In fact, he’d needed to shove down a flare of jealous resentment half a dozen times since he’d moved in.

It wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t Brody’s fault that Dean’s dad had taken off when he was a newborn, or that his mom was a waitress who had never really wanted him in the first place. Or that there’d never been enough money to go around.

Maybe he’d have been a hockey player, too, if he’d been able to afford the costs. There’d been a rink in town, and a team, and the coach had made overtures, but money was too tight, and so instead, he’d played football, which was cheaper. He’d clawed his way up with his sheer size and the raw talents he’d honed through too many two-a-day practices into skills that could translate into a new life for him.

He was only a season and a half away from that new life, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up now.

“You work too hard,” Wes said, worry flashing across his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna suggest I start skipping classes now, like half the team does,” Dean retorted, keeping his tone light and casual.

“I’m not,” Wes argued. “But you’re just so . . .hyper-focused. It’s not good for you. You need to get out. See people. Do things.”

“I do all of that.”

“No, you worked all summer. When’s the last person you dated—”

“Wes,” Dean interrupted with a warning. Tossed the football back. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I’m just saying, you can’t meet anyone if you never go anywhere. And don’t tell me there’ll be plenty of time for that later. There’s time for that now.”

“So you say,” Dean said.

“Come on,” Wes said, changing the subject, tugging on his arm. “Practice’s starting, and I know how fucking serious you are about practice.”

It wasn’t just him, Dean grumbled to himself, as he jogged over to where the defense was gathering. Wes worked hard, too. He was getting scouted just the same as Dean was. There’d been half the NFL at their first two games of the year, and it didn’t look like that would be changing any.

Dean was on track to set some records in their conference for tackles and sacks, and Wes had never thrown the ball better. Overall, the Evergreens were pretty good this year, though Dean wasn’t delusional enough to think they could challenge for a national championship. No, if he wanted a ring, he was going to have to get it once he turned pro.

And he had every intention of doing just that.

Dean unlocked the door and shut it behind him with a swift tap of his foot.

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