Page 56 of Iced Out

Quinton

Break started last week, but the hockey schedule kept us on campus until a couple days before Christmas, per usual. Not that I mind, since going home for the holidays isn’t something I’m ever excited for.

Christmas at the de Haas house is more like another one of Dad’s board meetings. Plenty of business executives present, and there’s usually more talk about work than any fun holiday or vacation plans. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time we had a Christmas with just the three of us, or if it ever happened at all.

Needless to say, it’s not my favorite holiday. But I did get a smidge into the Christmas cheer when it comes to Oakley. Only because it was an opportunity I just couldn’t pass up. Or more, a gift I couldn’t not buy for him.

The only issue now is I’ve been waiting for him to get over to my apartment to give the damn thing to him. He said he’d be over soon, but that was almost an hour—

A knock on the door has me bolting from where I was sitting on the couch, my anticipation almost immediately turning into anxiety. Which is new for me.

Ever since I woke up with my arm slung over Oakley’s stomach in our hotel room the morning of our second Cornwall game, I’ve had a lot of anxiety when it comes to him, and that was over a week ago.

Opening the door reveals Oakley on the other side, dressed in a knit beanie and winter coat with bits of snow on the shoulders.

“Hey,” I say, opening the door further for him to come inside. “I didn’t realize it was snowing.”

“Yeah, a storm’s blowing in and the roads are already a mess.” He removes his jacket and hat, pieces of his hair sticking up haphazardly, and the urge to run my fingers through it ignites inside me. “Gonna make for a fun drive over to my parents today. Even if it is just forty minutes.”

The thought is immediately on my tongue; he should just stay here with me. Go tonight or tomorrow morning once the storm passes and the plows go through. Hayes is already gone for the holidays, so we’d have the place to ourselves. Completely uninterrupted.

Except…it’s against the rules.

But maybe with it being the holidays, he might make an exception. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I open my mouth to mention it.

But then he plops down onto the couch and gives me a curious look, cutting the words off before they even form on my tongue.

“What’s up? You said you needed me to come over.”

“Yeah,” I say, crossing the distance to where he is. I drop down beside him and grab his gift off the coffee table, handing it over to him. His brows furrow, and he takes it carefully. Like there might be a live grenade wrapped inside or something.

“What’s this?” he asks, turning the box wrapped in festive Christmas paper over in his hands. Done as a favor by Hayes because I can’t wrap for shit, and weirdly enough, he happens to be a damn professional at it.

I blink at him and cock my head. “Most people would call it a present, Oakley.”

“I understand it’s a present. But what I don’t understand is why you’re giving one to me.”

Sometimes I think he’s the most obtuse person I know. This is one of those moments.

“The decorations and ridiculous amount of terrible music playing since freaking Halloween didn’t give it away?”

“The snark’s not appreciated, de Haas,” he snaps right back, flipping it in his hand once more and setting it across his thighs.

“Neither is your ungratefulness, but you don’t see me—”

He aims a glare my way, one capable of scaring Lucifer shitless, and I shut right up.

“Answer the question, Quinton,” he says in a low tone. “Because I didn’t get you anything, since normally it’s reserved for...dating and shit. Or friends, which we’re barely classified as.”

His analysis of the situation makes me feel paper-thin. Completely transparent, and even a bit vulnerable, splayed out before him.

“I know that. But it’s not a big deal, okay? I just thought of you when I saw—”

A grin takes over his face, erasing all seriousness from moments before. “You thought of me, huh?”

Oh, Jesus.“Yeah, I—”

“Well, in that case…” He trails off, holding the box to his ear and shaking it. “Is it a sex toy? Glow-in-the-dark lube? A silicone cast dildo kit?”

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