Page 31 of Fresh Ice
“We’re watching it,” Levy insisted.
Alonso sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.
He knew when he was beat.
Alonso was sure it was to prove him wrong, but Levy cooked the meat that night, Alonso chopping up the vegetables for the stir-fry.
It was disgustingly domestic how easily they moved around each other, like a practiced drill on the ice.
To Alonso’s surprise, the meal was actually good. Even the rice wasn’t burnt or too overdone.
Levy groaned appreciatively as he ate a mouthful. “We’re not that bad at this. Maybe we should start cooking more, and the guys can stop chirping us about the toast incident.”
“Us?I’m sorry, I’d forgotten I was somehow involved inyouburning toast in the rink kitchen and being kicked out by Tony.” Everybody respected the rink chef for consistently creating dishes that were both healthy and delicious as fuck.
“Yeah, but that happened because I got all distracted from you texting.”
A shiver of pleasure went through Alonso at the thought of capturing Levy’s attention so thoroughly that he lost track of his surroundings.
It was a stupid thing to be pleased about, but Alonso couldn’t help himself.
“Yeah, I’m still not the one banned from the kitchen, Levy. This one is all you.”
Levy grumbled under his breath, shovelling another forkful of food into his mouth before saying, “Let’s just watch the movie.”
The Lion Kingwas…fine. Alonso didn’t have the emotional connection to family necessary to be moved by it, but it was fascinating to watch Levy become devastated as the older lion got trampled to death. Alonso didn’t even have the heart to tease him about the teary expression in his eyes.
“Timon and Pumbaa are the best part,” Levy said gleefully.
Alonso cursed himself for finding Levy’s childish enthusiasm endearing. He was already thinking about the guy constantly—no good would come of the warm, gooey feeling in his stomach.
Levy turned towards Alonso with a grin as the credits rolled. “So? It’s good, right?”
Alonso nodded. He could barely keep the smile off his face, Levy’s mood contagious. “It was good.”
Levy fist-pumped like a dork. “I knew it. Are you tired? Because if you’re not tired, we can watchThe Sword in the Stonenext.”
Alonso remembered reading about repression once, the topic discussed in some magazine he’d been flipping through while he waited for the doctor.
The article detailed why repression didn’t work. The act of pushing a thought down, it said, meant the person was interacting with it, and therefore kept the thought in an active state. Ignoring it for too long would only lead to intrusive thoughts.
Impulsive behaviours.
Distantly, Alonso acknowledged it was the only explanation for what he did next.
With a lurch, he pressed his lips against Levy—his first kiss.
And wasn’t that messed up? He’d let two people fuck him, but no one had ever kissed him.
Regret and mortification swallowed him whole as he leaned away, taking Levy’s astonished expression in. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
Levy looked like he’d been hit by a puck right in the middle of his forehead. “What just happened?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. It was nothing.”
“You just…kissed me. You just kissed me.”
Alonso winced, shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry.”
