Page 33 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

>>Jesse: My brother doesn’t have to know. Your secret’s safe with me.

I needed to get up and get the hell out of here before I ended up leaking precum from my cock right in the middle of campus.

Mason was probably right about Kane… not that I wanted to think about that even for a minute.

I locked my phone, pulled in a breath, and headed across the quad toward the parking lot.

I took the winding road back into town. I needed lunch, a cold drink, and a way to clear my head. I pulled into the lot near the Red Fox Diner, the corner lot across the street from my brother’s bar.

A little bell jingled as I walked in, and I caught Kane at the counter, grabbing lunch. The Red Fox was a classic diner, with red booths along one side next to tall windows, a long countertop on the other side, and fox-themed decor all over the place.

It was also becoming one of my new favorite lunch spots because I knew Elliot would never show up here.

“Howdy,” Kane said, giving me a nod as he finished up a sandwich. “How’d the first day of classes go?”

“I don’t think the summer’s going to be a breeze, but I’m going to study my ass off.”

“You always do well with studying,” Kane said, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Well, when you’re not distracted by other things.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t need the attitude, K.”

He was giving me a stern look. “Well, I’m glad you’re not distracted by that dickhead anymore. You’re the smartest person I know.”

I tapped a sugar packet between my fingers.

How was it possible that Kane could be so nice but so maddening at the same time?

A guy working behind the counter holding cinnamon rolls turned to Kane. “You heard anything from Mason yet?”

For fuck’s sake.

Can I go anywhere in Tennessee without hearing Mason’s name?

I swore I was going to be edged into oblivion by the time I got home.

“Heard from him thirty minutes ago,” Kane said. “but he didn’t mention the article. Thomas, this is my brother, Jesse,by the way. Jesse, meet Thomas, the diner’s best baker and cinnamon roll king.”

Thomas smiled, nodding at me. “I was going to protest that nickname, but I think I’m okay with it.”

“Nice to meet you. Smells amazing, by the way.”

“Best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever have,” Kane added.

I leaned forward on the counter. “What were you guys saying about Mason?”

“It’s pretty shitty,” Kane said, picking up a newspaper on the counter beside him and thwacking it down in front of me. “Today’s town paper.”

There was an article on the bottom of the front page—all about Minton Ranch.

I skimmed the article. At first I couldn’t see why Kane thought it was a bad article, because the first paragraphs were a beautiful synopsis of how Mason’s father had been an amazing asset to the town.

But near the end of the article, there was one paragraph that stuck out.

It’s unfortunate, then, that since Minton’s passing, his son has not carried on the tradition. Riding lessons are hard to come by these days on Minton Ranch, and although Mason Minton has kept the ranch as beautiful as ever, the riding school is a mere shadow of its former glory.

Only time will tell if the new management will continue to run the school into the ground.

The current state of Minton Ranch?

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