Page 11 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

He didn’t meet my eyes, but I saw the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

So maybe you do still want me to mess with you.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “Only to utterly fucking destroy you in pinball.”

“You sure you need another drink?” I asked gently.

He gave me a look. “You soccer-momming me again?”

“Live your life, cowboy. I just don’t want to clean up puke.”

“I’m not one of your frat bros,” he said. “I can hold my liquor.”

“Fine,” I said, holding up my hands. “You’re the one who said I was a teacher punishing you. If anything, I’m a hockeydaddy, not a soccer mom.”

God, he was hot when he looked like he wanted to punch me. He was flustered again, but I could see he was trying to hold back a lustful look from his eyes.

“As if you could be a daddy. What are you, 22?”

“21,” I said.

He groaned. “Fuck, I’m old. A full decade older than you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.Youaren’t even Daddy status. Maybe that’s what I should punish you for. Thinking 31 is old.”

He groaned. “Don’t talk about punishing me.”

“You’re the one who brought it up earlier.”

He gave me a warning glance. “That was before. You’re not allowed to turn me on anymore. Youdon’tturn me on anymore.”

Lies.

My cock thickened under my jeans. So the hot cowboy liked the idea of getting punished. Maybe he wanted more, and hiswhole stern, crossed-arms vibe was just because he didn’t want to show it.

Maybe…

Maybe he wanted me to break him back down again.

My cock was mashed up against the front of my jeans now, fully hard for him. For weeks and weeks, I’d been so caught up in my shitty breakup that I barely felt human anymore. There was a reason I’d told him I was off the market.

But… getting turned on by an interaction at a bar was like seeing the first hint of green pop out after a bad winter.

I wasn’t broken, after all.

And even if nothing was ever going to happen between us, fuck, it felt good to have a visceral reaction of pure, simplewanting.

The wind blew a sheet of rain across the patio roof, the sound of the droplets filling the air. Mason’s blue eyes were still on mine, still gently drawing me out from behind my walls.

“Maybe you do need some punishment,” I tossed back at him.

“I don’t need anyone telling me what to do,” he said. “Unless it’s in very specific circumstances.”

I gave him a nod. “You sure about that, Hot Mess?”

He shook his head, flipped me off, and walked back into the bar.

A few minutes ago I’d asked him about the Hot Mess nickname after hearing Kane use it inside. My brother could be kind of a prick sometimes, even if he was a good guy, and I wanted to be sure Mason didn’t feel insulted by the name.

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