Page 25 of Cold as Ice

Finally, Mal broke. Grabbed his arm. Elliott ignored the thrill that shook him at his touch, even through God knew how many layers of padding and cloth. “No. No. God. No.” Mal shook his head, like he could barely believe he’d made the accusation. “I just . . .what is up with you? Why are you not taking the shot?”

“I . . .I don’t know,” Elliott confessed. He hadn’tfeltany different. Only calmer. Less like he was playing to piss Malcolm off. The first game they’d played together on the same line, late last year after an injury to the normal right winger, he’d scored two goals and played fearlessly, pushing hard as if he wanted to prove to the guy that he belonged. So he’d stop looking down his nose at him.

But of course that hadn’t happened. Mal had kept doing it. Kept lecturing him. Kept being a patronizing ass. Now, Elliott could look back and see that this was just how Mal was. Of course even after that realization, it hadn’t helped himlikeit.

Mal’s attitude, even if he couldn’t help it, still pissed Elliott off.

“Are you hurt? Is there a problem?” Mal demanded to know.

“I . . .” The only problem—the onlydifference—was that he’d made the decision pre-game not to be pissed off.

Not to let Malcolm get to him any longer.

He’d gone out there on the ice without that chip on his shoulder.

Hadthatmade the difference?

“For fuck’s sake,” Malcolm muttered. He gripped his arm harder, making Elliott realize he’d never let go of it. They’d drifted closer together as they’d argued, Mal’s body practically blanketing Elliott’s, the heat of him inescapable.

Elliott’s pulse accelerated.

“I was trying not to be angry at you. You know, like always. You piss me off practically by breathing,” Elliott finally admitted.

Mal looked floored. “That’s why you . . .” He took a short, deep breath. “Don’t answer that question. Just . . .”

“Justwhat,” Elliott retorted.

“Just . . .fucking get your head in the game. I don’t care what it takes. You’re making us look bad. Our whole fucking line. I hate it.”

Elliott felt that familiar fire catch inside him. “You mean I’m makingyoulook bad.”

Mal paused, so briefly that Elliott almost missed it. But he was looking for it. Knew what Mal was doing now. “Yeah. Yeah, you are. Get it fucking together, Jones.”

He had a choice. He could ignore it. Or he could let that admonition eat away at him the way he always did.

In the end, it was inevitable. They couldn’t benothing. They werethis.

Elliott let the frustration he’d been holding back wash over him.

Didn’t try to fight it. Embraced it, instead.

He shoved Mal back. “Fuck you,” he said, “you could take the shot.”

“Maybe I will,” Malcolm countered. “Maybe I’ll take the shotsyouwon’t.”

“I dare you to fucking try,” Elliott said, elbowing him back even farther. “I dare you to fuckingtry.”

Satisfaction ghosted over Mal’s features.

Elliott knew he’d been played but he let that annoyance fuel him even further.

Malcolm wanted to piss him off? Well, he’d be good and pissed off then.

It had been a calculated risk.

Mal still couldn’t believe that Elliott’s weird first period play had been because he’d been . . .well,notangry at him?

Trying to pretend like everything was fine?

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