Page 80 of Iced Out

“That’s…quite a different version from what you have in mind.”

A solemn nod is his response, and it’s then when I finally get what he’s saying.

My parents have always been supportive of me and my coming out about my sexuality. It’s who I am, not something I chose for myself. But I’d have to be blind or stupid to not see their vision of my life with the wife and two-point-five kids and house with a picket fence going out the window when I told them I’m attracted to guys. And I’m sure it was difficult for them to swallow at first.

But never once did they tell me what I want for myself is wrong. Never.

“You want them to see you for who you really are? Then you make them. At every turn, you take the version of you they want and you toss it out the window to get left in the dust. Because there’s nothing more important than being the personyouwant to be.”

He whispers, “I could say the same about you, you know, Mr. I Have To Follow My Legacy.”

I smirk. “Yeah, but we’re not talking about me, are we?”

That gets him to at least crack a smile, and I find myself glad to lift even an ounce of the heaviness weighing on him. Something I never thought I’d be doing when it comes to him.

Hell, if anyone would have told me I’d grow to be fond of Quinton de Haas, let alonelikehim, I would have called them a fucking liar on the spot. Yet somehow, the walls I’ve built to keep guys like him out of my life are crumbling down, brick by brick.

I know I don’t have time for the fun, flirty heartbreaker with a heart of gold, or whatever crap people write about in romance novels to make women swoon. It’s not what my time at Leighton is for. I’m here for hockey, to pass my classes and get a degree. Maybe even search for a job if I don’t get any feelers from an NHL team—though Dad and Coach’s old agent, Louis Spaulding, has already been harping on me about a contract.

All this to say, I have far more important shit to get a handle on over my dating life.

Not that Quinton and I are dating by any means, even if it might feel like it right now. Because here I am, doing shit I’d be doing with a boyfriend—ice skating and Ferris wheel rides and deep, meaningful conversations—when all we are is fuck buddies.

Somewhere between the night in the frat house bathroom and right now, the lines got blurred. For me, at least. Because what we’re doing doesn’t make sense in my head anymore.

I’m helpless to stop it though.

“Where’d you just go on me?” he asks, cutting into my thoughts.

Busted.“Nowhere.”

The look on his face tells me he’s skeptical. “Oak, you might not know this about yourself…but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Just…it’s a pretty great view. That’s all.”

His eyes move back to the skyline as we swing up for our third and final time. “It is. Say what you want about my parents, but I was lucky to grow up down here.” Lifting his arm, he points to one of the high rises a few blocks away. “Right there. Penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago. More than most kids could ever dream of having, right?”

Nodding in agreement, I squeeze his hand. “So why does it feel like there’s abutlingering in your head?”

His head shakes. “Notbut.I never wanted for anything. Not when it came to all the things necessary for me to survive. I had a roof over my head and was always fed—usually some five-course meal our chef would make—and made it to my fancy prep school on time every day, thanks to my personal driver.” He pauses, then repeats, “I never wanted for anything.”

Except, from the way he says it, there’s one thing he did want. Desperately, it seems.

Love.

And it breaks my fucking heart to pieces.

Twenty-Two

Quinton

“Where are we?” Oakley asks as I pull into the parking garage of the high-rise I grew up in. Turning into the spot reserved for my vehicle, I kill the engine and look over at him.

“You ask a lot of questions. You know that?”

He shoots me one of his death glares. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Tell Me Something Real.”

I let out a sharp laugh, his point valid. But I still leave his question unanswered, instead popping the trunk and pushing the driver’s door open. Oakley follows me to the back of the car where I grab both our bags.

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