Page 4 of On Thin Ice

Not from any angle.

Jacob dragged his mind—and his uncooperative dick—back from the certain insanity of thinking just how well Finn Reynolds had grown up.

“He would be,” Jacob commiserated, shooting Finn a reassuring smile. “Has he ever not been just fine?”

“No.” Finn chuckled. “No. I wish I knew how he does it.”

“Hey, me too, kid,” Jacob said, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. And then winced, again.God, he’d just called him a kid. Finn was frowning now, and probably not because he’d touched him.

“I’m twenty-one,” Finn said. “Not a kid.”

Jacob, despite the mess he always made of shit when he said anything out loud,atleastknew that it would be a fucking disaster to say that he’d called him a kid out of self-preservation—it was easier, simpler, and way less full of dangerous land mines than thinking of how he’d grown up. How gorgeous he was.

Because he was. Breathtaking, actually, in this light, and it was taking everything in Jacob to ignore that burn of attraction.

If things were terriblenow, imagine how bad they could be if he said that shitout loud?

“No, not a kid,” Jacob finally agreed, because that was the only way to give himself an easy out.

“Don’t even say you remember when I was born. I know you don’t. You and my dad didn’t start playing against each other until I was . . .what . . .six? Seven?”

Jacob grimaced. He did not want to go down this road.

There was no way this particular path wasn’t emblazoned, in flashing neon letters,Jacob Braun is a dirty old man.

“Something like that.” Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Well, there you go.” Finn flashed him a grin.

Except it didnotmake Jacob feel any better.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Finn continued, like he couldn’t tell Jacob was shutting down. Or maybe he just didn’t give a shit. Morgan had been like that. He was the king of pushing and pushing and pushing until he pushed someone right off the cliff of good sense.

And because Morgan was Morgan, he’d laugh at you all the way down. Like it was all some great joke.

Not for the first time, Jacob thought that if it had been hard to play against someone like that, how hard would it have been to grow up with him as your father?

“Ah, well, not much going on these days.” It was the opposite of how busy Morgan seemed to be, in retirement, and Jacob wanted to snatch the words back and pretend that he too had his fingers in many important and lucrative opportunities.

But Finn didn’t look judgmental, only sympathetic. “Must’ve sucked, when your hip gave out.”

“Wasn’t fun,” Jacob admitted.

He’d thought he’d had a few decent years left—maybe he’d have spent some time as a backup, but it would have been time on the ice.

“My dad said you were one of the best to play the position,” Finn said.

Jacob smiled, aware of what Finn was doing. “I bet he said that with a whole lot more four-letter words.”

Finn laughed, the sound seemingly startled out of him. Like he hadn’t expected Jacob to call him on his polite bullshit. Well, Jacob hadn’t expected to do it either—hadn’t expectedanyof this. Certainly not the unsettling awareness of Finn residing in his gut.

“Yep,” Finn agreed. “But it’s still true. The more he hated you? The better you were, in his eyes.”

“Sounds about right,” Jacob said. It was how he’d always managed to deal with the feud. Even when he hadn’t liked it, he’d at least been able to acknowledge it was ultimately Morgan’s greatest compliment.

The one time Morgan had come up with his therapist, Moira, Jacob had muttered offhandedly about if anyone needed to talk to anyone, it was probably Morgan. “Everyone needs therapy, Jacob,” Moira had said gently. “Well, he needs it more than everyone else,” Jacob had insisted.

And if that was true, what did that say aboutFinn?

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