Page 79 of Melting the Ice

“No,” Brody said, chuckling. “Maybe I should be apologizing in advance for that.”

“Well, I’m okay, so we’ll probably even out.”

Except that it turned out that Dean wasn’t justokay. Unsurprisingly, he was fucking brilliant, and even with Brody pulling down his skill level considerably, they spent the next hour and a half laughing and playing, and to Brody’s surprise, he actually had a pretty good time.

Dean seemed to, as well, and even though they didn’t do more than casually touch, in celebration and in commiseration a handful of times, it didn’t matter, because underneath, Brody’s blood was simmering.

Waiting.

More than once, he looked over and Dean’s gaze met his own, and he knew Dean was thinking the same thing.

This is fun. And we’re gonna have fun later, too.

After beating Finn and Elliott, then Ramsey and Ivan, and then finally Marcus and Wes, they made it to the semi-final, andwith Brody up to play next, he knew they’d probably lose. He didn’t know if he was sad or happy about it.

Thishadbeen an unexpectedly pleasant evening, and if Brody had to chalk it up to anyone, it was going to be because of Dean.

Not just because of the kiss earlier—or their promises of more, later—but because he just genuinely enjoyed spending time with the guy.

He was quietly supportive, openly proud, and an easy person to be around.

Brody was setting up for his final shot when Dean leaned in. His fingertips brushed the small of his back and Brody wanted to moan and lean into that touch, but he didn’t.

“Hey, you got this,” Dean murmured.

Brody glanced back, and their eyes met.

“Or,” Dean added, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “if you wanted to miss, I wouldn’t be too torn up about it.”

“You’re telling me to throw this game?” Brody teased.

Dean shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Hey, stop flirting and start playing,” Ramsey called out.

“You’re one to talk,” Ivan retorted.

“Yeah, seriously,” Elliott complained. “Every time I go to take a shot you say something about Mal very loudly.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re so worked up about him,” Ramsey teased.

Elliott crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not worked up about him. He pisses me off. He was supposed to come tonight, and the fucker bailed.”

“Exactly,” Ramsey said. “You’re worked up about him.”

Elliott didn’t say a word, just walked off, probably in the direction of the kitchen, to find something else to drink.

“You gonna take the shot or not?” Ramsey challenged.

Brody rolled his eyes but he straightened and tossed the ball.

He hadn’t known until right as it was leaving his hand what he’d decided.

The ball glanced right off the lip of the cup and for a split second, Brody was sure it was gonna go in, but then it bounced off, onto the table and then onto the floor.

“Ah, sucks,” Dean said, sounding not very disappointed at all. “That was a good shot, though.”

“Nearly brilliant,” Ramsey said, and he was laughing. Probably because he was laboring under the assumption that Brody had missed on purpose.

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