Page 46 of Melting the Ice

“Fuck,” Brody exhaled sharply behind him as Dean set the bar down for the fourth time.

“I’m good to do some more,” Dean said.

Last year, there’d been two linebackers at the combine who’d hit thirty-one.

He intended to be able to do thirty-five by the time it was his turn.

“Are you sure?”

Dean kind of hated the skepticism in his voice.

“Yeah.” He needed to be sure.

“I wasn’t wrong; you’re crazy strong,” Brody said. “Or maybe just crazy.”

“I got shit to prove,” Dean said stubbornly and then after centering himself again, picked up the bar and ground out three more reps, his muscles shaking with the effort on the final one.

“Shit,” he said, when he finally managed to set the bar back on its rack. “I don’t think I can feel my arms anymore.”

“That was insane and impressive, and I’m real glad I didn’t have to actually take it from you,” Brody admitted. “I’m not sure I could’ve.”

“Sure you could have,” Dean disagreed. He wiped his face with the towel. Then wiped down the bench and the bar. “You’re strong, too, Brody.”

But Brody was side-eyeing him. “Not like you,” he said.

And even though he should be totally fucking worn out with the exercise he’d done tonight, the image flashed in his mind.

His arms, strong and sure, pinning Brody to the wall, mouth devouring his. Then because that wasn’t enough—it wasneverenough—him lifting him up, Brody’s muscular thighs wrapping around his waist.

Dean trembled. And not because of the effort he’d just put in.

“Ah, well, we need to be,” Dean stammered. He looked away, suddenly far too aware that at this late hour, they were the only ones here.

And with all the utilitarian decor and floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the equipment back onto themselves, the gym shouldn’t have felt private or intimate, but Dean realized suddenly that it felt likeboth.

“Right,” Brody agreed. “Hey, you wanna grab a shower and then a smoothie? Sammy’s is open late. We can hang out for a bit, too, if you have any homework left.”

Normally, Dean would’ve had no issues deflecting the invite. He did it often enough. But he found himself wanting to accept, even though it was probably a bad idea.

He didn’t need to spend more time with Brody Faulkner to realize that the other night probably hadn’t been a fluke as much as an inevitability. But they were trying to be friends, right?

As Dean was internally debating, Brody added, with one of those irrepressibly charming lopsided smiles that hehadto know were fucking lethal, “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends hang out, Dean.”

Dean hadn’t been able to say before this moment that theywerefriends. They hadn’t hung out that many times before the couch had happened, and then there was the couch. That had been very muchnota friendly kind of occurrence. Then after, Dean had gone out of his way to avoid Brody.

So no, he wouldn’t have counted them as friends. Even after tonight.

Of course, it had taken Wes at least a whole year to convince Dean that they were friends.

Maybe he was just too particular about the term.

“Yeah, they do,” Dean agreed. He almost said,but we’re not friends, necessarily, but he could at least see how Brody might find that offensive.

Especially since he’d so casually assumed it was true.

“So, you coming or not?”

“Sure,” Dean said. He picked up his shirt. Then his water bottle, guzzling half of it.

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