Page 35 of Cold as Ice

“Of course you can. You’re Malcolm McCoy. I told you, you can do anything. But writing something like this—what is it, exactly?”

“A narrative experience.”

“Exactly. What your prof means is that you need more ofyouin it. The business professors probably told you to leave out everything personal, right?”’

Mal stared at him blankly. “She wants me to get personal?”

“Are you feeling uncomfortable yet?” Elliott teased gently.

Mal made a face. “I don’t like this.”

“Good writing means you’re in sync with your own thoughts and feelings and beliefs. That they shine through every word you write.”

“I think I’m fucked then,” Mal said, giving a short bark of laughter.

Elliott didn’t even think. Just put down his pencil, and before he could reconsider, he got up from his side, and slid onto Mal’s side, nudging his hip with his own.

Ignoring the way the sensation raced along his skin.

“What are you doing?” Mal demanded. Putting a hand up so he couldn’t see the screen.

“I’m helping you continue your Malcolm McCoy unbroken streak of never giving up, ever,” Elliott said. When Mal still didn’t move his hand, he nudged him again. “Come on, let me read it.”

“What are you, some kind of writing expert now?”

Elliott shrugged. “No. Not an expert. But Iama lit major.”

Malcolm looked astounded. “You’re a lit major? How did I not know this?”

“Because you’re not actually a creeper?”Because you aren’t paying close enough attention to me. Unlike how closely I’m studying you.

“It’s not very good.Clearly.”

“Well, I’m shit at statistics, so we’re even, then.”

“It’s not the same thing. It doesn’t feel . . .statistics aren’tpersonal.”

“It felt pretty goddamn personal when Coach B called you and me into his office and asked you to tutor me so I wouldn’t fail.”

Mal just stared at him. Those blue eyes, so beautiful. So apprehensive.

Elliott wanted to wipe all that away.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Don’t you deserve me being nice to you?” Elliott retorted.

“I certainly don’t think I deserved you giving me all the shit in the universe,” Mal said wryly.

“There you go,” Elliott said. He took another risk, reaching out and taking Mal’s hand, gently moving it down. “Promise, this is a no-judgment zone.”

He didn’t usually touch him—Mal probably thought it was because they didn’t like each other—but it was for much more complex reasons than that. But here they were, pressed together, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and Mal’s callouses were brushing against Elliott’s.

Elliott let out a deep breath. Wondering how he could feel something so fucking acutely when it didn’t seem to affect Mal at all.

“Fine,” Mal said and shook his hand off, finally revealing his screen.

Reaching over him, Elliott hit the up arrow key, scrolling all the way to the top of the document.

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