Page 58 of Iced Out

An eye roll is aimed at me. “We’ll have to see how well they work before we can call them an upgrade.” He pauses, then adds, “But…thank you.”

The temptation to blast this moment to smithereens—ruining any emotion still lingering between us—hits me like a ton of bricks. But for once, I choose not to give into the self-destructive part of my nature and just smile.

“You’re welcome, Oak.”

He holds up the eggplant pair for me to read. “And at least you can finally admit I give the best blow jobs.”

I wrinkle my nose up at the sentiment. “Absolutely not. They were just funny, so I got them.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, not at all believing me, while setting the box back on the coffee table.

His eyes heat as he crawls toward me, forcing me to lean until my back hits the leather seat cushions of the couch. Dipping his head toward my neck, he peppers kiss after kiss to my throat before rocking his hips into mine.

I’m hard instantly.

His lips trail up to my ear, and he nips at the lobe. “Maybe I need to take some time and remind you before our next game.”

God, I want that. I want to say fuck the rules and do it right now, actually. But it’s not what we agreed to. Sure, I could bring up altering the rules, like I was ready to before. After all, he’s become far more physically affectionate with me as of late.

But something inside me…can’t be the one to broach the topic. Not anymore.

Maybe because I’m wanting more than the steamy hook-ups and stolen moments neither of us want to end.

I want more moments like today. Seeing a different side of him—one more open and vulnerable with his emotions—only creates a hunger for more. I’m yearning for more pieces and layers of him I never knew existed, still waiting for me to discover, unwrap, and learn.

And it’s terrifying, wanting that.

But what scares me more is how much I want him to see those parts of me too.

Christmas passes quickly in typical de Haas fashion.

An obscene amount of cash stuffed in a generic Christmas card, not even signed by either of my parents, was left on the table for me Christmas morning. They were both already gone or busy by the time I made it down there; Dad at work, Mom overseeing our staff in preparing for when the caterers arrived. Then the opulently decorated house was filled with loads of people, all gathered in our massive living room, none of which were family. And as promised, most of Christmas dinner was spent talking business. Mostly about this new deal made with some Key whatever Holdings company out of New York.

I don’t think I said more than five words the entire time, unless it was to Marta, who used to be my au pair, but my parents kept her on the staff as a cleaning lady after I was old enough to take care of myself.

When I go up to my room to escape, I find a small package and card waiting on my bed. Inside is a note from Marta, along with a keychain of a little hockey player she had personalized with Leighton’s school colors, my last name, and the number 19 on the back.

I hastily added it to my BMW keys, trying to keep the knot in my throat from growing any larger as I did, and after thanking her, I spent most of my time in my room to avoid any conversation with my father.

Who, at Christmas dinner, announced I’d be working under him next year. Something I don’t remember agreeing to, but then again, it’s never stopped him before.

When I brought this up with him after everyone had left, it turned into what might be our biggest blowout yet. Resulting in him threatening to cut me off. And if there’s anything I know about my father, it’s that no threat coming from him is idle.

This was my final warning.

Locking myself away in my ivory tower seemed like the only logical thing to do afterward, if only to escape reality down the mindless rabbit hole of TikTok.

It’s close to midnight and I’m in my third hour of doing just that when a text notification pops up at the top of my screen.

Oakley: Merry Christmas.

I haven’t heard from him since he left my apartment a couple days ago, and I’ve been doing my best not to think about what it might mean. Especially since he left us both hard up and aching when he pulled his body off mine and drove home to his parents.

I didn’t ask him to stay, and from the way seeing his name on my phone screen makes me grin like an idiot, it’s probably a good thing.

I’m falling into this a little deeper than I should allow myself to.

Me: Same to you.

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