Page 126 of Ice Dance Hockey

Me and you against the world.

“And I’m going to be yours. Rhett … I want to. Tonight. Will you claim me with that big dick of yours?”

His watery eyes darken with need. “Are you sure? We don’t ever have to.”

I slap him across the face. It’s like a fruit fly slapping into a windshield and he doesn’t even flinch, but it still makes a point. “Stop that. I fucking want to, and I want it to be you, asshole.”

He smiles like the devil he is. “I’m going to make you regret slapping me in the face, darling dear.”

“Looking forward to it, baby.”

* * *

Yeah, so, sex later. Stepping onto the battlefield with his family? That’s now.

No one’s said a word in ten minutes. I can’t tell if Rhett’s mom is upset with him too or uninterested in whatever she thinks we’re doing. Maxwell made his position clear when he wouldn’t allow us to wear our leather jackets at the table. And that was fine. Even without them, we’re far less formal than the rest of the Elkington bunch.

Rhett is hot as sin in a T-shirt and tight blue jeans. Especially with his hair slightly unkempt. Yeah, okay, my thoughts are way too fucking dirty for this.Food, Logan. Nothing sexy about steamed asparagus.I spear a hard green stalk. Well, shit. Asparagus is fucking dirty too.

“So, uh, hockey,” I say in a terrible attempt to make small talk. These people are hockey fanatics. It’s gotta go somewhere.

Maverick smirks. He does a lot of that. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m in for with your brother as my coach? Is it true he doesn’t let his players out past eleven on nights before a game?”

“I don’t know, but that sounds like Merc. Here, I’ll text Jack and ask him.”

“No phones at the table,” Maxwell says. He’s a hypocrite because he’s allowed his phone at the table. He claims he could have a mayor emergency, but I think he just likes lording over us. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve corrupted my son? Do you have to corrupt my dinner table too? Look at him.”

I’m looking all right. There’s a bulge in Rhett’s crotch, which means he’s looking at me, too.

Rhett is unbreakable. You’d never know he was upset earlier. His smile holds all the power it usually does, with the ease of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world, spread through his barrel-sized body.

“He has corrupted me, Pops, and I’m not sorry.” He sips his wine. “But the divorce, it’s final?”

“Yes, my dear,” Jane pipes up. “We won’t announce it until after your father’s term is over—he’s not running again—but we want to move on.”

“Right, the people you’re seeing. Either of you care to elaborate?” Rhett asks.

“My beau is a cute young thing,” Mama Elkington says.

Know what? Good for her. She should have someone other than Maxwell doucheface and if she wants a young thing, go her.

“How old is this young thing, Mother?” Maverick asks.

“He’s thirty-two. Young to me. Did you know I’m fifty, Logan dear? It’s almost a twenty-year age gap. I feel alive again.”

“I didn’t ma’am. You don’t look a day past thirty-five.” She doesn’t. Her fancy skin treatments are a fountain of youth. “What about you, sir?” I ask, wanting to stir the pot a little. “Got a cute young thing?”

I expect steam to blow out of his ears. Instead, he’s quiet, biting his lip. Is he … fuck, is he shy? He draws a circle next to his plate, using his pointer finger. Shit. He might like this person a lot.

“He’s … it’s … well I don’t have to answer to you, do I?”

It’s too late. I’ve got everything I need to know from him. It’s a he, and he’s fucking smitten.

“You don’t, sir.” I eat more phallic-shaped asparagus.

We don’t get a lecture about storming out this morning, and the disdain for our state of dress is about the only thing we have to put up with. Perhaps it’s the trade for the bombshell they dropped on Rhett.

Dinner is a stilted, tension-filled affair, but it’s over quickly, with everyone making excuses as to why they need to be elsewhere instead of with the family on this “family” vacation.

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