Page 14 of On Thin Ice

“Not bad,” I said, bracing my hands on my hips. “Could maybe use a rainbow doormat now that I’m staying here, though.” I turned and gave him a slow, playful grin.

Guys like Ethan never quite knew what to do with me. And yeah, sometimes I leaned into that. The rainbows, the unicorns, the glitter lip gloss I sometimes wore, or the dark, smoky eyeliner when I really wanted to throw people off. I was a six-foot-one, two hundred pound hockey player built like a brick shithouse with a jawline that looked like it had been chiseled out of stone. No one was going to shove me into a locker or call me a slur to my face—not anymore.

So if I wanted to paint my nails or crack a joke about being a princess, I did it. Loudly. And maybe part of me liked watching people, especially the quiet, judgmental ones, try to puzzle me out. Liked reminding them that queerness didn’t look one way, didn’t act one way. That it could look like this—like me.

And yeah, maybe that was a little petty.

But maybe it was also power.

Ethan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience as he nudged the door shut behind him, tossed his keys into a bowl on a long table, and turned to face me. “I have a couple of ground rules.”

I plunked my ass down on the edge of one of the mid-century modern chairs, spreading my knees and throwing one arm over the back. “Hit me.”

“First of all, my bedroom is off-limits. I never want to catch you in there for any reason.”

My head jerked back, a disbelieving laugh catching in my throat before I swallowed it down. “Seriously?”

I pushed to my feet, and Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure if I was about to throw a punch or a tantrum.

I wasn’t going to do either. I just needed to move, shake off the way his words made me feel like a piece of shit.

I paced a few steps, then turned to face him, my arms crossed. “Afraid I’m going to tiptoe into your room in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with you? Jesus, man.” The words came out exactly as sharp as I intended.

My jaw tightened as I watched him watching me—his face unreadable at first, then slowly shifting, his arms dropping to his sides.

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Shit. That’s not—” He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, looking painfully awkward suddenly. “That’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch.

He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, not meeting my eyes. “It’s my space. It’s where I go to be alone. I’m—fuck. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I held his gaze for another long second, then dropped back into the chair with a shrug that I hoped masked my embarrassment. I couldn’t explain why I’d reacted the way I did, only that it was the first place my mind went.

Obviously, given where he lived, Ethan wasn’t a homophobic asshole, but I’d feel like a complete fool if I tried to walk my words back now. If I admitted how much they’d hurt.

I’d just have to bluff my way through this.

“Could’ve just said that, but fine. Your fortress of solitude is safe from me. Any more rules?”

I didn’t know why I bothered asking. Of course he had more rules. He’d probably been coming up with a whole book of them since his chat with Coach earlier.

He exhaled through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Yeah,” he said, voice a little gruffer than before. “Just a few.”

“Define ‘a few,’” I teased, my mouth quirking to the side.

He squared his shoulders. “Wash your damn dishes—allof them. Don’t leave shit in the sink like you’re waiting for the dishwashing fairy to show up and do them for you.”

“Noted,” I said, grinning now despite my earlier outburst. “No dishes for the dishwasher fairy.”

“Second, no laundry in the common areas. You wanna let your socks ferment in your bedroom, be my guest. But if I step over a pile of clothes in the hallway, I will lose my shit.”

“Fair.”

“Third,” he continued, “don’t touch the thermostat. Ever. I don’t care if you’re freezing or sweating; just grab a hoodie or take off a layer. The house stays at sixty-five degrees at all times.”

“Wow. Cold-hearted and cold-blooded.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile but refused to indulge me. “And finally,” he said, “don’t leave your shit all over the place. Your room can be as filthy as you want, but the rest of the house should always look like it does right now.”

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