Page 114 of Cold as Ice

And maybe under other circumstances, Mal could’ve focused on that. Enjoyed it, for sure. But right now?

With Elliott’s future under fire? With what was looking like his own fucking happiness possibly up in the air?

It glanced right off Mal.

“I didn’t say theyweren’t. I only said you couldn’t go around outing people without their permission.” He hoped the lookheshotEllwould make it clear that this was a really, really bad time for Elliott to decide healsowanted to be honest.

“Does he look bothered?” Elliott demanded.

“Children,” Brody intervened, sounding over the whole conversation.

“Oh, so you’re finally going to say something to these two, huh? Where you been all year?” Ivan said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve been here,” Brody muttered, “but I thought they might work it out on their own without interference.”

“We’re not fighting,” Mal said. Which was true. They weren’t. Not anymore. “We’re fine.” They’d be fine, anyway, the moment Mal could find a second to drag Elliott off and tell him to not give away the whole game.

“Uh-huh,” Brody said.

“Maybe you should fuck it out,” Ramsey said.

Fear coalesced into a tight, hard, nauseating ball in Mal’s chest.

He had a feeling Ramsey knew the truth. And Ramsey was Ramsey, so he wouldnotbe above letting that truth slip out. Especially right now.

“They should not,” Brody said under his breath.

Well, Brody was wrong, but then, that wouldn’t be the first time that was true, either.

“Agreed,” Zach added.

Mal looked up, deer in the headlights. He hadn’t even realized their assistant coach had just walked in. Players gossiping, that was bad enough. But a coach?

Elliott looked amused and sly, like he was about to blow their minds apart by saying they already had, too late, everyone would just have to deal with it, and Mal panicked.

He straight-up, one hundred and ten percent, lost his goddamn mind and panicked.

“Don’t worry, I have good taste. I wouldn’t ever,” Mal said.

He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. He’d fucked it up. What he’d really meant to say was—well, he didn’t even know what he’d meant to say. But not that.

To Mal’s utter shock, though, Elliott didn’t look offended or hurt or even fucking bothered. Here he was, eating his heart out because he’d announced to this whole goddamn team that he wouldn’t touch Elliott because he had good taste, when he fuckinglovedhim.

And Elliott was apparently unbothered by this fact.

Mal didn’t know who he was more frustrated with: himself, for saying it, or Elliott, for not giving a shit.

“I think you’ve got more likenontaste, myself,” Elliott said.

If you knew that Mal was a virgin—at least before he’d practically begged Elliott to touch him—that comment made even more sense.

Elliott’s eyes met Mal’s and they were dancing with amusement and mischief. He was actually fuckingenjoyingthis.

Mal wanted to scream.

Cry.

Fall to his knees and beg his forgiveness.

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