Page 37 of Iced Out

I don’t ask it as a question, because it’s not one. It’s simply the truth, and it’s written clear as day on his face. In the hesitancy in his eyes, the way his lips curl down into a frown.

Whatever tension, sexual or otherwise, radiating off him in waves earlier, is gone now, leaving behind…whatever the hell this is.

Regret, maybe?

But regret for what? For cutting this thing short? Or for even letting it get as far as it has? Either way, I don’t need to know.

“Look, I—”

“Just save it.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep from flipping a lid on him. “I really don’t wanna hear it.”

He doesn’t listen, though. Of course. Because this is fucking Oakley, and heaven forbid he listens to a damn thing I say.

“It’s better this way. For everyone involved.”

“Nah, Oak. The only person this is better for is you. Because you don’t have to break any of your stupid fucking rules.” The anger’s blazing at full force now, and instead of backing off, I feed the flames. “That’s what it is, right? What it’s all gonna come back to? Your incessant need to control the situation?”

His eyes harden, going from melted chocolate to cold, hard stone.

“Fuck you, Quinton.”

“That was the plan.” I shrug, scoffing. “Then you decided to bitch out.”

The comment lights a fire under his ass too, and soon he’s right in front of me, in my face, and pissed to hell.

“It’s not bitching out; it’s called thinking something through. Weighing consequences.” He seethes, baring his teeth at me. “Something I know you don’t do very well, Mr. Throw Fists First.”

A quick shove against his chest has him stepping back a few paces, giving me some much-needed distance. Because yeah, the nickname he gave me is more than accurate. My short temper has gotten me into shit more times than I can count, and yeah, it’s because I hit first and think later.

But this isn’t some bullshit call on the ice or a dirty hit I’m retaliating against.

It’s so much more than any of that.

And him insinuating this is remotely close is fucking bullshit.

“How can you say I haven’t thought this through?” I shout, tossing my arms out. “You think I just up and decided to go gay for a little bit? See if I like the grass on this side of the pasture instead? Figured it might be fun to bat for the same team for a while? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?” My fingers rake through my hair haphazardly. “Jesus Christ, I think I’ve thought about what this means more than I thought about what college to go to or what I want to major in, which was a path in life basically decidedfor me.”

His lips form a tight line as he measures my words and their value. Like he has the right to determine if they’re the truth or not. Again, a bunch of bullshit, but after a few seconds, he concedes.

“Maybe, but have you thought about what happens when this doesn’t go according to your perfect little plan?” He steps back into my space, and I swear he’s asking me to deck him. “Because plenty of things can go wrong here. Like, what if you hate having another guy touch you? What if you realize you’re not into it? What if people find out?” he asks, listing off the questions at a rapid-fire pace while ticking off his fingers. “What if we have no chemistry?”

I could laugh at the last one, but him using that as a point is only pissing me off more.

“Not possible,” I growl out, my tone low and angry. “And you know it’s not. Because you’ve felt it, just like I have. In the hotel room when you agreed to this. Outside the locker room where I couldfeelwhat I did to you. And let’s not forget the night that started this whole mess to begin with.”

His face is a mask, unreadable when he cuts me deeper still. “I wish I could forget.”

It’s not even a blow to my ego, his words. It’s more like he’s cutting me at the knees before ever giving this a chance.

Because, even though I rationalized this entire plan to make it about hockey andfor the good of the team,it’s not just about that. Doing this—us messing around together—was also for all the things I could learn about myself. My sexual preferences, being one of them.

And it fucking sucks, seeing the answers to your questions at the end of a path standing right in front of you, but you can’t take it.

“I don’t doubt it, seeing as you can’t really stand the sight of me. But since that’s not the way the world works, you decide to pull this shit instead.” My lip curls back into a sneer. “Out of spite, no less. Because pretending it didn’t happen and like this doesn’t exist is better than admitting you liked it. Or worse, that you might actually like m—”

I don’t have a chance to finish my thought before the unthinkable happens, and Oakley grabs the back of my neck, slamming his mouth to mine.

A mixture of surprise and excitement courses through me, and it takes a moment for his kiss to register in my frustrated, lust-fogged brain. And once it does?

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