Page 54 of Cold as Ice

Elliott was beginning to learn that when Mal wanted to focus—or when he felt like heshouldfocus—there was no dissuading him. No distracting him.

Now was one of those times. Elliott could tell now when that switch flipped. He watched as Mal impatiently pushed his hair back as he leaned over the table, eyes skimming over the paper.

Honestly, he was glad for it. With Dr. Prosser apparently abandoning him because she just didn’t expect any better from a hockey player, he only had Mal left to save him from this particular disaster.

“Do you see here?” Mal said, pulling a pencil out of his backpack and pointing to the paper. Elliott craned his neck to read partially upside down.

“No?”

“Ugh, just a sec,” Mal said, and then suddenly he was sliding out of the booth, one big hip pushing Elliott over on his side.

It was a lot to suddenly havehisbubble invaded by Malcolm McCoy.

He’d done ittohim, sure. But he’d anticipated doing it. Braced for it.

This time, he hadn’t been ready.

Mal was big and warm and so fucking close, gazing over at him with those soulful blue eyes. “Do you see it now?”

Ugh, no. But you sure fuckingfeelit.

Elliott forced himself to look down on the paper and focus on something else besides his dick throbbing in his pants. “I . . .uh . . .”

“Ell,” Mal said, and he actually sounded amused now. “Are you even trying?”

Normally that question might feel like an accusation falling from Mal’s mouth, but now when Elliott looked up, he realized that Malcolm was actually fuckingsmiling.

“That’s not fair,” Elliott muttered.

“Was it fair whenyoudid it tome?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Elliott laughed then.

“Okay, seriously. Focus. At least look at the paper.”

But Elliott didn’t want to. He wanted to stay pressed up against Mal. Wanted to keep basking in the banked fire in his eyes.

Still, he made himself focus. If he didn’t, he was afraid that all this might end, abruptly, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Looked at the quiz, and as Mal explained, Elliott began to think something wasn’t quite right.

Was it easy with no blood in his brain? No, it was not. But he did it anyway.

“That’s how I did it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Mal looked as confused as Elliott felt.

“I mean . . .Ididit that way. Exactly the way you explained.”

Mal pursed his lips. “Then how do you explain this?” He tapped his pencil where Elliott’s answer was listed there, in typed black and white.

“I don’t know,” Elliott admitted.

“Well . . .let’s go over the rest of these,” Mal said.

They did, and out of the three questions he’d missed, only one of them felt legitimate.

“I can’t explain this.” Mal hesitated. “Is there any chance you have dyslexia?”

Elliott shook his head.

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