Page 101 of Cold as Ice

But it turned out that pinball wasverydifferent and harder than he’d imagined.

He flicked the bottom paddle a second too late and his first ball went right down into the bowels of the machine.

“Just your first try, that’s all,” Mal told himself under his breath. He looked over, watched as Elliott seemingly controlled his play effortlessly.

But he does this all the time.

Mal shot the second ball. This one lasted even less time than the first one.

“Damn it,” Mal ground out. Didn’t bother getting himself prepped for the third shot, just hit the button and hoped that maybe instinct would take over, and he’d miraculously be good.

But just like when he’d been fifteen and trying to adjust to his new taller frame, figuring out how to put the puck in the net again, instinct wasn’t as helpful as it should have been.

Back then, he’d ended up doing constant drills, on and off the ice. Re-honing his skills.

Mal reminded himself that if he took his time, he’d figure this out. He was smart. He was good at these kind of things. He’d get there if he approached with a deliberate, cautious attitude.

Three quarters and nine balls later, Mal muttered an oath and pushed away from the machine.

Even masked, Kylo Ren felt like he was laughing at his complete ineptitude.

“What’s wrong?” Elliott asked as he sauntered over.

“This machine sucks,” Mal said.I suck.

“Aw,” Elliott said, patting him on the arm. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s that bad,” Mal said, ignoring the voice in his head that insisted that you didn’t show your insecurities or your total fucking incompetence during a date. During a date, you were supposed to be impressive.

“Here, let me help you,” Elliott cajoled. “Come on. Try it again.”

Mal shot him a dubious look but slid in another quarter, and when he took his spot in front of the machine, Elliott moved right behind him, his touch light on Mal’s hands.

“Pinball’s a little like hockey, but also not,” Elliott murmured.

He was at least a few inches shorter than Mal, but he felt huge behind him. Hot and firm. Mal’s brain scrambled, and he struggled to flick the ball with his paddles, even with Elliott’s touch reminding him to move them.

“Mostly not,” Mal said wryly as he missed the ball and the game made asorry, better luck next timenoise.

Mal kind of hated that noise, at this point.

“You’ve got this,” Elliott said encouragingly. “Here . . .let me.” Now his touch wasn’t quite as gentle, fingers closing over Mal’s fingers and moving them when they needed to be moved.

“There, yeah, that’s better,” Elliott said.

Mal realized that Ell was moving faster than he’d thought he needed to. “You gotta realize,” he added, “that you’ve got another layer in between you and the stick. It’s not as quick as you are.”

“So I’ve got to be quicker,” Mal realized.

Elliott hummed his agreement under his breath. “You got it.”

Mal played two more balls with Elliott pressed up behind him, and it took all his self-control to stay focused on the play in front of him, but focus was something he’d always been good at.

The only one who’d ever frayed it was Elliott. And they’d spent enough time on the ice together that he wasmostlygood at tuning him out now.

Of course, when he tuned him out usually, Elliott’s body wasn’t plastered against Mal’s own, his breath warm on Mal’s neck, murmuring encouragements and praise in that sexy-soft voice of his.

“There. You got it. Not a high score, but still really respectable,” Elliott said as Mal finally missed a last ditch shot to save his final ball.

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