Page 27 of Cold as Ice

Malcolm averted his eyes. He told himself it was out of respect that he didn’t look—and certainly he’dneverbeen as blatant about it as Elliott himself—but he was beginning to wonder if it was actually something else.

He didn’t know why Elliott snapped at him, other than the obvious. Or why he’d stopped.

But he was worried he was starting to understand why he sometimes started it.

Why he antagonized the guy, when everyone else’s bullshit had always slid off his shoulders, effortlessly.

Jane hadn’t been the only one to suggest it was because he secretly wanted Elliott and didn’t believe he could have him.

But Jane’s theories, no matter how wild, were more difficult to ignore when that throb of desire that had lit in his belly seemed to just pulse harder the more he was around the guy.

He’d just gotten back from the shower and pulled a T-shirt and his boxer briefs on when a hand fell onto his shoulder.

Mal looked over and was surprised to see Elliott there.

He pulled his hand back, almost immediately, and Malcolm was reminded why they didn’t touch all that frequently, despite that this team was generally a pretty touchy-feely bunch.

He always felt every single bit of every single touch, deep down, in a place he wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

But it existed, and he was feeling it, inevitably, now.

“What?” Mal barked, some of his edginess no doubt a result of that unfulfilled desire—not just his frustration with the guy in general.

“You fucking baited me,” Elliott said under his breath.

The team was beginning to slowly filter out of the locker room. There were only a handful of guys left. Mal pulled on sweatpants, then his sneakers. Ignoring the insidious voice that said it was easier to deal with Elliott when he had more layers of armor on.

“You needed it,” Mal reminded him. “You came out in the first period like you were out for a Sunday stroll, not a hockey game.”

“I was biding my time,” Elliott argued.

“I did what needed to be done.” Mal hesitated. “About tutoring—”

“You gonna give me what I need there too?” Elliott interrupted with one of those sly grins that Mal told himself firmly that he didnotlike.

Oh, I wish you’d give me exactly what I need.

Mal pushed that thought away, hard.

“I’m going to help you pass statistics,” he said coldly. “Keeping you on this team and on the fucking ice.”

“God, youarean asshole,” Elliott said. But his voice didn’t sound particularly angry. More amused. Affectionate. Like he liked knowing exactly what the score was. And bickering with each other was the score.

“Being focused and serious about what we’re doing here doesn’t make me an asshole.”

But hecouldbe an asshole about it. Didn’t know how else tobe, based on the examples he’d been shown, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see it, sometimes.

Jane told him sometimes that he was too unforgiving, that he had nogive, and it wasn’t like Malcolm didn’t know that. He did. But he’d been created, more than raised, by a tough, no-nonsense father. His dad had never met a gray area he didn’t hate, and if Malcolm was the same? Well. That happened.

“The way you bludgeon all of us with it does,” Elliott muttered. But then, to Mal’s shock he added, “When are we meeting next?”

Malcolm had certainly had no intention of quitting the tutoring. Not when Elliott’s contributions to the Evergreens were annoyingly vital, but also because he’d given his word to Coach Blackburn.

Another thing his dad had always imparted was that your word was solid. Ironclad. And that was something Mal was never going to apologize for.

“We can do it tomorrow,” Mal said. “Tomorrow night. After the game?”

Their game was slightly earlier, a five PM puck drop instead of seven, in deference to the weekend.

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