Page 131 of On Thin Ice

Morgan didn’t look exactly pleased by this but at least he got in, and while he was, Jacob muttered under his breath, “Just don’t go into the backseat.”

But thankfully Morgan missed that in his struggle to get the seat belt on.

He was quiet on the drive to Jacob’s house.

He hadn’t really wanted to bring him here—the last time Morgan had been here, he’d been spitting venom and pissed as hell. But he didn’t want to drop him at his apartment because no doubt he’d just find another place to pickle his liver.

At least if he was with Jacob, Jacob could keep an eye on him.

Morgan flopped down bonelessly onto the sofa in the living room.

Jacob was glad he hadn’t asked about whether he’d defiled Finn there, because he absolutely one-hundred-percent had. A very mutual, very pleasurable defiling.

Then, of course Morgan opened his mouth.

“You promised me another drink,” he said mulishly.

He had, but only to get him to leave. “You don’t need anymore, you’ve had plenty.”

“But—”

“You really want Finn to come get you and find you obliterated on my couch?”

Morgan grimaced, and that reminded Jacob to pull his phone out and send a reassuring text to Finn.Have Morgan at my place. No blood.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“I can hold my booze,” Morgan argued.

“And this is just a great example of that skill set?” Jacob questioned.

Morgan looked even more annoyed than before. “So you’re a liar now, too.”

Jacob decided if Morgan was going to antagonize him, he could dish it right back. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of water from the little fridge under the counter where he stored all his drinks and handed one to Morgan who made a face at it.

“You wanted a beverage, I brought you a beverage,” Jacob said. “Drink it, it might help you feel less like death later.”

Morgan made another face, but he did open it and take a sip.

“Not likely,” Morgan muttered darkly. “Unless water is gonna erase my memory.”

He wasn’t stupid enough to ask what he wanted removed from his memory; Jacob already knew.

“No,” Jacob agreed.

Morgan stood abruptly and began to wander around the living room. First he looked at some books stacked in the built-ins, and a few pictures Jacob had lying around—one of him with the Cup, several others with the Vezina trophies he’d won—and then he wandered over by the wine.

Tensing, Jacob watched as he silently absorbed the information on several of the labels. Wondering if he was goingto decide to forcibly take that drink and Jacob would have to physically wrestle him away from it.

Just when Jacob was sure he’d have to, and hoping that whatever bottle Morgan plucked from the rack wasn’t valuable because it was extremely likely to get broken in the ensuing scuffle, Morgan said without even turning around, “Why are you fucking my son?”

Jacob froze and felt his face flush bright, brick red.

Of course, that was when Morgan chose to look right at him, pinning him in place with a sharp look that he shouldn’t have been able to drag out, not as drunk as he was.

“I . . .uh . . .” Jacob rubbed his neck, viscerally uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time. Maybe ever.

“’Cause he’s young and hot, right?” Morgan pushed.

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