Page 5 of Broken Ice
“Can I pick a nickname?” Beau asked.
“Uh…sure.”
“How about Martin?”
Don’s eyes widened. “How the—” He laughed. “How did you know that’s my middle name?”
“I gather information for the purpose of annoying other people.”
Donovan pressed his lips together, obviously suppressing a smile. “I see. Sure, call me Martin.”
“Cool. Thanks, Don.”
Beau trounced off.
When in doubt, cause chaos.
White left him to his own devices. Beau gladly took the solitude, calming his body from having to deal with Torres’s annoyed scent.
It was fucking unfair that an Alpha who hated Beau’s scent smeltthatgood. It was rich and deep and comforting, As if he’d been caught in a forest after a rainstorm and was melting into the trees, the soil, the damp air.
Beau wanted to fill a lake with that smell and sink to the bottom of it and never surface.
It was a fucking waste that it was attached to such a loser.
Stepping onto the ice took care of any lingering tension. The noise of his blades cutting paths in the frozen sheet soothed his nerves, muscles going loose.
More than anywhere else, this was where he belonged.
Pavel looked up from the drill he’d been practising as Beau skated an easy lap. He was broad, face an amalgamation of too-large features—a bulbous nose, a thick bottom lip that stuck out naturally. He was missing one of his left incisors, the gap adding a strange charm to him.
“Beau, hey.”
“Hey. Practicing that weak shot of yours?” Beau teased—Pavel was known for having one of the most wicked slappers in the league.
Pavel did a thing with his mouth where he was smiling but not smiling. “It’s good to have you on the team,” he welcomed.
“Oh, are we doing the whole routine where you pretend you’re happy I’m here? That’s cool, I’ll go first—oh my God, this arena isamazing. This ice? Top tier. When I die, I want to be buried right here.”
Pavel’s stiff shoulders loosened from ‘captain on duty’ to ‘functioning human being’ as he snorted. “Yeah, all right. I actuallyamhappy you’re here.”
“Yeah? I don’t know if everybody is gonna be that chill about it.”
“We have a good room here. Nobody is gonna—”
“With the exception of your boy, Torres, right? Just, you know, one of the leaders of the group…no biggie.” Beau was still skating wide laps, getting his legs warmed up. Pavel seemed determined to stay facing him, spinning in circles.
“Em doesn’t have an issue with you being an Omega.”
“Right…just with mesmellinglike an Omega. You wanna help me with my slapshot? I’m trying to up my game. Like, I know I’m aces around the net, but—”
Pavel cut in. “Beau. Torres doesn’t have a problem with your scent.”
“Okay, well, maybe he should tell that to his face. Seriously, though, shooting practice? Or, hey, let’s play keep-away. It’s been ages since I played that.”
It was fascinating to see Pavel openly frustrated—the gritted jaw, the slanted eyebrows, the little huffy pout. “I’m gonna set up a talk between the three of us, okay? I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Mmhm. Sure. That sounds like agreatidea. Question—should we bet on the face Torres is gonna make when you inform him that he has to look me in the eyes and tell me he likes my scent? I’m gonna guess this one.” Beau contorted his face into an exaggerated mask of outrage.
