Page 46 of Cold as Ice

“But it’s a good idea.”

Elliott flashed him a grin, full of heat, and it blasted right through Mal.

Shit.

Patting him on the arm, Elliott gave him one last lingering look and took off.

They went through the drill two more times. Once more with Finn. Then with the backup goalie, Nick.

Mal was feeling good, focused tight, right in the zone, as they walked off the ice. Didn’t realize anything was really wrong, until he’d nearly got his gear stripped off.

Then he realized one of his straps had twisted when he’d put it on earlier and the hard knot had rubbed him, leaving a bright red mark.

Or heassumedit was bright red, because it was just out of sight, between his hip and his torso, nearly on the top curve of his ass.

He rubbed it absently as he showered and realized he must still be rubbing it when he tugged his underwear on after.

It was annoyingly right on the line, and as he sat down, pulling his socks on, the elastic waistband rubbed it wrong.

He must’ve made a face, and well, he wasn’t all that surprised that Elliott was watching, because he asked in a low voice, “You alright there, man?”

“Uh, yeah. Just a spot that chafed, that’s all.”

But before he could stop him—tell him again it was nothing—Elliott was skirting around Brody, who was very clearly trying to look elsewhere, and he was kneeling down close. Checking it out. If he shifted his gaze, he’d get an eyeful of Mal’s cock. Covered, yes, but perking up, thinking that maybe this mightfinallybe the time that someone other than Mal touched it.

No. No. No.

Then Elliott’s fingertips grazed the spot. Mal nearly gasped, and not because it hurt. “You nearly broke the skin,” Elliott said softly. “You should get it patched up.”

“I . . .uh . . .it’s no big deal,” he said.

“But it could be,” Elliott said. There was his touch again, soft and careful, right along the waistband of his briefs.

Mal couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath.

“Could be a real problem, since it’s right here. Could irritate it all the time. Could get infected, even,” Elliott said.

It would be so easy to just tell him,yeah, I’ll go see the trainers. Get it taken care of.

But he didn’t.

Later, he wouldn’t know if he’d said otherwise on purpose, because if he did, heknewwhat would happen. But if he didn’t know for sure, it was only because he wouldn’t let himself ponder the question.

“It’s fine. No big deal,” he repeated.

And on cue, Elliott reached out and took his arm and tugged him towards the training rooms. Didn’t call for one of the guys who took such good care of them. Instead, he gestured towards an empty bench and went over to one of the sets of drawers, full of medical supplies.

He hadn’t had time to put more than underwear on, either, and his boxer briefs were tight, a bright green, and hugged his hips and his ass like . . .

Mal swallowed hard.

Always, before this, he’d look away. Not let himself look his fill.

Because it felt wrong, but also because it felt like playing with fire.

If you’re not going to touch, you shouldn’t look.

And he’d never had any intention of touching.

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