Page 12 of Cold as Ice

Fifteen months specifically. Ever since Mal dismissed you like you were just another guy.

“Elliott, you know I didn’t want to have this conversation,” Coach B said, settling into his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. “I hoped we wouldn’t have to.”

Elliott had hoped so, too.

But it turned out that grades weren’t reallyupto him. Ironically, even when he tried, even when he tried to turn the backslide around, it hadn’t helped.

Maybe statistics just wasn’t his thing.

Okay. Itreallywasn’t his thing.

“Me too, sir,” Elliott said.

“Whatisthis about?” Malcolm asked.

“Elliott didn’t tell you?” Coach looked surprised, and of course, Mal’s accusatory gaze swung in his direction. Those dark blue eyes were full of demanding questions.

“I’m failing statistics.”

Turned out it was easier to say it than to sit back and listen to Coach B say it.

Malcolm frowned. “Don’t you study? Did you blow off all your classes again? You can’t fucking skip classes, Jones. You know that you can’t do it and pass and when—”

“That’s enough.” Coach B’s voice was mild but he raised a hand and cut Mal off mid-lecture.

Elliott would be relieved, but he had a feeling he was going to get it from Coach regardless. Just delivered in slightly nicer packaging.

“But—”

“Malcolm. I didn’t call you for a lecture,” Coach B said, still mild. “I called you in here because I thought you could actually help Elliott.”

“Help?”

“What?”

They said it at almost the same time. Then their gazes met in the space between them. Mal looked horrified, and Elliott had a feeling his expression was similar.

“Malcolm has excellent grades. It’s in his best interest to keep you on the team. On your line, to be specific.”

“Are you sure that’s true, sir?” Elliott asked skeptically.

Because he didn’t think Malcolm McCoy would spare a second or a second glance if he got kicked off the team. He’d only be relieved that the pebble in his shoe was finally gone.

“I’m notthatbad,” Malcolm said dryly.

“You’d throw a parade if I got kicked off this team,” Elliott retorted. Then added, “Oh wait, a parade would befunso maybe not a parade. A funeral procession, maybe, with a nice sedate dirge accompanying it?”

Mal’s eyes flashed hard. “If you know whatdirgeis, and you know how to use it in a sentence, correctly, why the fuck are you failing statistics?”

“Because I like to read but I fucking hate math, okay?”

“Zach,” Coach said, his voice a plea. “Separate these two, please.”

Zach chuckled under his breath, then pinned them both with a hard look. “Kids. Behave.”

Mal opened his mouth but Zach was too quick. “I know you’re too old to be behaving like this, McCoy.”

It was true. Malcolm was a twenty-two-year-old senior. Aman.A grown ass man you’d like to fuck you into next year, still, Elliott’s uncooperative brain—or his dick—added.

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