Page 10 of Cold as Ice

“No. Just trying to be a damn good hockey player.” And hewas. It bothered him more than he liked to admit that Elliott’s free and easy play, all instinct and no preparation, made him doubt if that was true, sometimes.

His dad had always told him if he was going to play games for a living, he’d better be damn good at it.

“You’d be better if you’d stop worrying about doing it by the book every goddamn time and let your instincts guide you occasionally,” Elliott muttered.

“So we can all be random and do whatever the fuck we feel like? I don’t think so. This is anorganized sport,Jones. Play like it.”

Elliott flipped him off and Coach Blackburn sent them a warning look before calling out the next set of drills.

By the time practice ended, Malcolm was exhausted—too exhausted even to respond to Elliott’s blatant stare as he stripped down for his shower.

He was just about finished, enjoying even the weak stream of lukewarm water, when Elliott stepped in front of him.

Mal worked hard to not look down. To never, ever let his gaze drift below Elliott’s chest, even when he was pretty sure Elliott lookedhisfill of Mal’s body.

“What do you want?” Mal demanded. “To insult me some more? To call me a stodgy old man?”

Elliott shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile. “If the label fits . . .”

Mal knew he could be too serious, though it wasn’t like he had the bandwidth or even the ability to change. He was twenty-two and too set in his ways, though frankly that had happened long before this.

Maybe he’d never had a chance to be that carefree guy, even if he’d wanted to be.

Which he didnot.

You’re happy just the way you are.

Even if Elliott is an idiot and doesn’t like you.

“You’d think after all this time you’d at least get creative with your insults,” Malcolm retorted, flipping the water off and grabbing his towel.

“Creative,” Elliott scoffed. “Like you’d ever know whatcreativeis.”

Malcolm’s skin burned as Elliott’s gaze drifted down his chest, like he was tracing the path of every single rivulet of water.

“Did you need something?”

Elliott’s gaze didn’t return to Mal’s face quickly. He took his damn ass time.

Mal knew his body was fit. He’d always considered it a tool. To help him skate better and faster and longer than anyone else.

But in the last few years, he’d begun to wonder whatelseit could be used for.

And Elliott definitely didn’t factor into that wondering.

Nope. Not even a little. Not even if Elliott had made it clear he’d knowallthe ways it could be used.

“Coach wants to see you. Wants to see both of us,” Elliott added.

Mal felt a terrible foreboding. Yes, he and Elliott bickered. Loudly. At length. Their center, Ivan, spent a lot of his time refereeing them. But they were five and one this year. Coach Nichols, who’d left at the end of last season for a more prestigious job at an east coast school, had just let them fight it out, though the fightinghadbeen more minimal last year. If only because they hadn’t had a reason to interact as much.

But now with them on the same line, it was a different story entirely.

Was Coach Blackburn going to read them the riot act?

Shame crawled up Mal’s spine.

“Fine,” Mal snapped. The self-reproach echoing through him made his tone even harsher than normal.

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