Page 23 of Iced Out

And that only led my instincts in the exact wrong direction. The one where the obsessive need to prove him wrong took over, feeding this stupid competitiveness I have with him. Building inside me more and more until I just...snapped.

Or blew, considering the circumstance.

I don’t know whether I’m proud of the way I got him to lose his mind with my mouth or if I’m terrified about what this means going forward in this so-called rivalry we have. Because I can only imagine that licking him like a lollipop will make things much, much worse between us.

I round the corner of the house and take off at a jog down a couple blocks, making a beeline for my Indian Scout. Not bothering to throw my helmet on, I bring the bike’s engine roaring to life and hightail it toward my apartment.

Normally the wind whipping around me while I ride is enough to cool any building anger or tension within me, but nothing is enough to get me out of my head right now. Not for more than a minute or two at a time. All my brain seems to want to do is replay what happened in the bathroom.

My dick twitches at the thought of tasting him again, and I’m floored by the realization I wasn’t kidding when I offered a repeat. I mean, sure, it was said as a taunt—half the things I say to him are—but I’d do it again without thinking twice.

And I’m not even into dudes.

Right?

After pulling into the garage at my apartment, I burst through the front door, so caught up in my tormented thought process, I don’t even notice Hayes sitting on the couch in our living room.

“Jesus, where’s the fire, Q?”

The sound of my roommate’s voice momentarily causes me to halt in my path toward my bedroom, and I turn to him. “What?

His dark brows hitch up, and he motions to me with his chin. “You seem a little out of sorts. Everything good?”

Hayes knows me better than pretty much anyone in the world.

We’ve been friends a long time, an entire decade between our time at Centre Prep and here. I’d tag along on vacations with him to the beach or the mountains, seeing as my parents never took us anywhere during the holidays. We’d stay up at all hours of the night, binge watch horror movies or trash talk to each other while playing video games. Hell, I even helped him sneak out of his parents’ house so he could get laid for the first time.

If all that doesn’t make him my best friend, I don’t know what would.

So this is something I should be able to trust him with, right? To talk about with him while I try to get my head on straight?

Or not-so-straight?

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I decide to keep this to myself. For now, at least. There’s no use in telling Hayes I got on my knees for the one guy in the world I can’t stand and blew him—to completion—when I doubt it’ll ever happen again.

With Oakley, or with anyone else.

“I’m good, yeah. Sorry. Just realized it’s late, and I need to get some shut eye so I don’t play like garbage again tomorrow night.”

His blue eyes—more royal blue compared to my icy ones—narrow on me, searching for my lie. But thankfully, if he finds it, he chooses not to call me out.

“Okay. I’ll still be out here for a while, as long as that’s cool.”

I nod, seeing as he’s such a quiet roommate, he might as well be a mouse, and start for my room again. As I’ve reached the door, he hollers for me again.

“Hey, Q?” When I turn, I find him looking at me from over the back of the couch. “Don’t be so hard on yourself about the game tonight. You’re fucking good at what you do, no matter what anyone says.”

Hayes doesn’t know a ton about hockey, even if he is my best friend. He’s got just enough knowledge to come to games whenever he’s not busy being the wicked smart, always studying, lives-in-the-library nerd he usually is. And I say those things with all the love in the world.

But the knowledge he lacks when it comes to hockey, he makes up for with knowingme. My life, my history, my family. Hell,Hayesis my family more than the two people who brought me into this world.

Which is why, when he says anything like that, I know I should take it at face value.

“Thanks, man,” I tell him. “Have a good night.”

Once I’m locked inside my room, I strip down to my underwear and slide between my sheets, ready for this day to be over. But while my body is exhausted, my brain is wired. Under normal circumstances and it being the night before a game, I’d be able to crash immediately once my head hit the pillow. Yet tonight, the only thing I can do is stare at the goddamn ceiling and contemplate what made me lose all sense of reason the second Oakley said,“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I love to prove him wrong and make him eat his words, all in the name of this damn rivalry he won’t let go of. But blowing him has to be taking it a step or eighty-four further than normal.

---