Page 68 of Fresh Ice
“Holy shit,” Alonso shouted, Charlie howling uproariously in the way only drunk people can.
To the side, a voice drifted up. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”
Alonso looked down to see Levy staring at him. “I’m about to die.”
Charlie scoffed. “We’re about to ruin some lives. Max, you ready?”
Max, the other body of the chicken, howled in response.
The fight was carnage. Alonso and Charlie won easily, and then against the next couple, and the next.
Alonso giggled uncontrollably as Charlie paraded him in a circle, massive hands clamped securely on Alonso’s thighs.
Charlie bumped Levy, who wasn’t smiling at all.
“You’re gonna get hurt,” Levy said sternly, but Alonso stuck his tongue out at him.
“Another!” Alonso roared, and the crowd that had collected roared with him.
It was…cathartic. Fooling around with friends, tipsy and happy and making questionable decisions—that’s what summers should be like.
By the time Charlie dropped Alonso, too exhausted to go on, Alonso had laughed himself out, stomach and cheeks aching with it. Charlie put his arm around his neck, smile wide.
“Fucking, chicken champions, babe! You and me,” Charlie hollered, and then froze suddenly, head snapping to look at Levy.
Alonso craned his neck to see what was happening, but it was Levy’s scent that caught him off-guard—clearly aggressive and territorial.
“Woah,” Charlie said, moving away from Alonso with his hands up. “Levy. Chill, man.”
Just like that time in the sushi restaurant with Zee, the pheromones cut off abruptly, only the phantom of them lingering in the air.
“Shit,” Levy cursed, face falling. “Sorry. Fuck, sorry.” He seemed genuinely upset at his own reaction.
“You’re good. How about we get out of the water and dry up?”
Levy nodded meekly. “Yeah. Shit, man. Sorry.”
Alonso followed the pair, muddled about what had just happened, watching the back of their heads as they leaned close and said something to each other.
The air cleared rapidly between them even as Alonso was left reeling.
Levy had smelt like that because of him. There was no other explanation, even though that warning scent only meant one thing.
‘That person is mine. That’s mymate.’
It wasn’t something that happened casually or without feeling.
Alonso didn’t know what to feel about that.
The sky was readying itself for dawn by the time the two of them returned to the apartment. Part of Alonso was absolutely exhausted in the best way.
Another was still buzzing with the memory of that scent.
Alonso washed up first, putting his boxers and sleep shirt on, sitting on the bed to wait for Levy. He didn’t turn on the lamps, the light outside flushing, blooming, goldening.
Levy stopped short at the doorway when he saw Alonso. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
