Page 118 of Cold as Ice

“Calculus,for fun,” Elliott muttered.

“You should be glad I did, otherwise you wouldn’t have an in,” Mal pointed out.

“Believe me, Iam, just . . .I can’t wait to tell the sisters about this. They always think I go for the pretty face. Not that yours isn’t very, very pretty. Guess I hit the lottery, ’cause it turns out you’re notjusta pretty face.”

“When I do stupid shit like today, before practice, remember this moment,” Mal said dryly.

“Not sure I’ll be able to help myself,” Elliott said.

For a minute, Mal was quiet.

Elliott liked that too, about him. They didn’t always have to talk. He didn’t have to always beon. Mal was perfectly happy just lying like this, together, listening to each other’s quiet breath. Mal’s touch warm and reassuring on his back, his shoulders.

“Do you want me to come with you, to meet the vice chair?” Elliott wondered drowsily.

“How did you know I was just thinking that?”

“Sex,” Elliott said with certainty.

Mal chuckled. “Even great sex doesn’t give you the power to read my mind.”

“How would you know? You were a virgin before me,” Elliott joked.

Mal made a disgruntled noise that he’d used to pretend pissed him off, but now he realized he’dalwaysfound endearing and adorable.

“On one hand,” Mal said, changing the subject, “it makes sense for you to be there. On the other . . .”

“You’re worried he’s going to figure out why you’re begging for my life?”

Mal made that noise again. “Something like that.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t have skin in this,” Elliott said. “I want to be there. We’ll just . . .not look at each other, or something.”

“Or something,” Mal said wryly.

“It’ll be fine,” Elliott said, hoping that it would be.

Surely, they could pretend not to be in love for twenty minutes? They did it all the time.

“So, Malcolm, this is your . . .teammate . . . you told me about?” Dr. Bricker shot a fairly incredulous look over the rims of his glasses.

Ugh. Less than two minutes, and he’s already suspicious.

And what had they even done? Walked in together and Mal and then Elliott had shaken the guy’s hand. They’d sat down. That wasall.

Weren’t math professors supposed to have their heads stuck in theoretical problems? Not the real world?

“Yes, sir,” Mal said. “Elliott’s who I emailed you about. He’s taking Dr. Prosser’s statistics class.”

“Dr. Prosser?” Dr. Bricker sounded mildly intrigued, leaning back in his rickety chair, putting his hands behind his head.

“That’s right,” Elliott said, picking up the thread of the conversation. He’d come in here today determined to advocate for himself. Mal had been right; this was hisfuture. He couldn’t just take this sitting down. If he wanted it—and hegoddamn wanted it—he was going to need to fight for it.

“There are some . . .inconsistencies in the grading that I don’t think are necessarily fair—”

“Or right,” Mal added.

Elliott smacked his foot against Mal’s. He didn’t need to jump in like this. All righteous, like he was a knight on his steed, riding in to save Elliott’s life—or his long-gone chastity.

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