Page 94 of Cold as Ice

“That bad?” Elliott tried to commiserate.

“He was up my fucking ass, which you know, ’cause you saw it.” Mal thumped his stick against the rubber padding.

“Yeah.”

He had been, and it had annoyed Elliott plenty, but nowhere near how much it was annoying Malcolm now.

“You’re gonna get more attention,” Zach soothed, from behind them. “You’re one of the best scoring lines in the conference. It’s gonna happen.”

“He playsdirty.” And yeah, he had been dealing Elliott some of that shit, little surreptitious punches and elbows and jabs with his stick. But clearly, he’d been giving Mal more. Or maybe Mal, with his rigid sense of honor, would hate it even more.

“Everyone plays dirty,” Ivan said under his breath, and Mal shot him a glare.

“Not like this,” Mal said. He sighed. “Maybe if I can monopolize his attention, one of you can slip a shot in.”

“Believe me, we’re trying,” Elliott said, grinding his teeth together.

He hadn’t been exactly happy about the situation before this, but Mal’s burning righteousness was infecting him. How hadthathappened?

The next time their line stepped on the ice and Elliott took the puck, that guy wasright fucking there, slamming Elliott into the boards, elbow practically in his throat, the refs apparently looking every direction other than where Elliott was currently being attacked.

Frustration boiled over.

Elliott pushed back with all his strength and took off like a shot, around the goal, skating fast and watching out of the corner of his eye as Mal flipped himself around, getting positioned.

He was fucking done being actedon. He was ready to do some acting of his own.

Mal seemed to get that he was riding right on the edge there, because he wove between Brody and Ramsey, getting even closer.

Elliott passed him the puck, and he grabbed it, before the defender could change direction. And then instead of taking the shot himself, he flicked it right over to Ramsey, who shot it in.

“Fuck yes!” Elliott shouted, pumping his fist as the team closed around Ramsey, congratulating him.

“That was fucking unreal,” Ivan said, as they worked their way back towards the bench. “I’m not even gonna ask if you practiced that, ’cause I know you didn’t. ButMal—”

“Mal is right here,” Mal said bluntly as he settled down next to Elliott.

“I just . . .” Ivan trailed off, shaking his head.

He didn’t need to say he’d played with Malcolm for years now, and he’d never seen Mal do that kind of thing. They were all thinking it.

“PFM,” Elliott said, exchanging a glance with Mal.

He’d calmed down some, but his blue eyes were still blazing with emotion.

Elliott couldn’t remember a time when he’d thought this man was frigid.

“Well, break me off some of that,” Ivan muttered.

“It’s yours, next time,” Elliott said, patting their line mate on his helmet.

“Decided to go after them, huh?” Mal said, as the game restarted.

“I was tired of it.”

Mal shot him a look.

“Okay. Iwastired of it. And also tired of you bitching about it.”

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