Page 34 of Cold as Ice

Mal wouldn’t meet his eyes. Picked up his sandwich and finished the rest of it in four or five big bites. “It’s fine,” he said evasively. “Finish your food. I’ve got other homework to do tonight, not just help your sorry ass out.”

Elliott got it. This was as much as Mal was willing to say—fornow, anyway.

But he’d said more than he had a feeling anybody else knew.

“Well, that makes sense then.”

Mal’s brows drew together. “What makes sense?”

“That you want to be in the front office, ultimately. That you’re taking all these classes, to make that happen,” Elliott said.You’ve been told the whole fucking time that just playing isn’t good enough, not for a McCoy.

Mal shot him a look, hot around the edges. Elliott wanted to say it didn’t singe him, that he didn’t want to lean in and feel even more of that heat.

“Or maybe I really want to do that,” Malcolm said.

“I think whatever you end up wanting to do, you should do it,” Elliott said. “You’re definitely fucking capable.”

Mal’s gaze softened. “What? No lectures about being serious and focusing? No snarky retorts about how fucking boring I am?”

“I mean, youare.” Elliott winced. Because it was true. Or sort of true. Elliott couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like, if he did let go, even for a minute. “You could use a little more—or alotmore—fun in your life, but as long as you’re happy, that’s the most important thing.”

“Thanks,” Mal said sarcastically. “I think there was actually a compliment in there, somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Elliott said.

“Buying me dinnerandgiving me compliments?” Mal shook his head. “Not sure I know what to do with this new Elliott.”

“He’s grateful you’re bailing his anti-math ass out,” Elliott said.

It was a little more than that—but it was that, too.

“Well, finish those problems and then we’ll start the next part,” Malcolm said.

Before, Elliott might’ve pushed him more. Might’ve shot him a bitchy remark. Just because. Or okay, notjustbecause. Because he’d enjoyed the way Malcolm’s blue eyes flashed, loved the way that for just that second Mal’s attention was solely on him.

But it was also on him now. No snarky comments necessary.

So now, he just bent down to his work.

Malcolm pulled his laptop out, and for the next few minutes, there was nothing but the scratch of Elliott’s pencil against the paper and Mal’s rhythmic typing.

But then Mal made a sound under his breath. Then another.

When he grunted, Elliott looked up. “Everything okay?”

Mal made a face. “I’m taking this writing class. I thought it would be good to have, for. . .for, well,later.”

“For when you take over the NHL with your superior intellect and preparation?” Elliott asked with faux seriousness.

“Something like that,” Mal muttered. “But we’re working on this paper, and the professor keeps making comments on my first draft. Like . . .Needs more detail. Needs more personal connection.And this last one?I’d like you to work on finding your voice.Ihavea voice.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow. Pleased, despite trying hard not to show it too obviously, that Mal had confided in himagain. “Do you, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you normally write? Business papers?”

“Yeah. For economics and math, sometimes. Not a lot of papers. But Icanwrite.”

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