Page 63 of Iced Out

I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and certainly not one coming from Quinton. He’s still my rival, even if we’ve become this weird friends-adjacent thing since we started following through on his superstition theory.

“What were you thinking?”

“A race. First one to complete a lap around the rink wins.”

I glance around, noting there’s far too many people and not nearly enough room for us to get as competitive as we are. We could easily turn a corner and plow a little kid over, and that’s the last thing I want to start the new year with.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His brow raises. “You scared to lose?”

“No, I—”

“Oh, you definitely are,” he says, continuing to taunt me.

“There’s too many people, and I’m not looking to ruin anyone else’s time by being some psychotic—”

“God, you’re such a stick in the mud sometimes,” he cuts in, humor dancing in those ice blue eyes. “Live a little. Smile. Laugh. The world isn’t gonna end if you do, I promise.”

I know it won’t. That’s half the problem, though. Because Quinton has this air about him, making it almost impossible tonotsmile or laugh in his presence. He’s like…fucking sunshine sometimes. Or whatever other bullshit people wax poetic about. Which is hilarious considering he looks like every father’s worst nightmare with the ink and the leather and theI don’t give a fuckattitude he usually has plastered around him like a shield.

But he’s shown me another piece of himself I doubt many others have seen. The part that, despite his persona,doesgive a fuck. About a lot of things. About people.

Maybe even about me.

And maybe that’s why I agree to yet another one of his cockamamie ideas.

Letting out a long sigh, I mutter, “And what does the winner get from this little display of masculinity?”

Dimples pop some more. “Winner can decide.”

“Those are some high stakes.”

He licks his lips. “Then don’t lose.”

Too bad for Quinton, losing isn’t in my nature. A fact I prove when I win our little race by a landslide, skating past our makeshift finish line a good two seconds before him. He’s caught up by a group of little kids who serve as the perfect roadblock, but still, victory is victory. And when I get one over Quinton, it always tastes that much sweeter.

“Damn kids,” he mutters as we skate off toward the side, getting out of the way for everyone else passing by. “I would’ve won if it weren’t for them getting in the way.”

“Whatever helps you sleep tonight knowing I’m better than you, both on the ice and between the sheets.”

He leans back against the railing in front of me, a sly little smirk sits on his lips. “I’m still winning the day, though. You know that, right?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re having fun.”

I don’t even bother trying to lie, instead shrugging in confirmation. “I’m having fun.”

His smile is instant. “Why does it feel like you’re surprised? I’m pretty much the master at having fun.”

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. “It’s more like I was expecting you to annoy me eighty percent of the day and end up wishing I never asked you to meet up.”

There’s a slight nod before he raises his brow. “But…”

“Like I said,” I mutter. “I’m having fun. So, I guess…thanks for agreeing to hang out.”

He grins more. “Eh, you’re not so bad. Most of the time, at least.”

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