Page 42 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“Did you have a uniform?”

“Little yellow and blue shirt and a yellow ballcap.”

“I’m dying. I need photographic evidence. I’m asking Kane for pictures.”

“Youwantme to kill you. Clearly.”

“Frozen yogurt.”

“There was also the summer I was a volunteer park ranger, but that’s another story.”

I sighed, leaning back on the couch, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. I suddenly wished I could see Jesse at every stage of life—as a sweet little kid, a cranky teenager, and hell, even lastyear.

He was so interesting. Why did introverts always turn out to have the coolest inner lives?

“Talk to me about hockey,” I told him.

“It’s fast. It’s fun. It’s on ice.”

“Smartass,” I said. “Does the puck ever fuckinghurtif it slams into your body?”

“It hurts badly, sometimes,” Jesse said. “But I can take it.”

I groaned. “Are all hockey players mouthy?”

A small smile formed on his lips. His dark hair shone under the pendant lights in my kitchen, and I wanted my hands in it again.

“A lot of us are mouthy, yes,” he said. “We don’t hesitate to fight. But maybe I’m a little more intense on the ice.”

I liked the idea of that.

“A bunch of guys brutalizing each other while on skates. I can’t imagine how much stamina that takes.”

“A guy tried to choke me once,” Jesse said.

I gave him a look. “Really?”

He glanced up at me from under his lashes. “Notthatkind of choke. Calm down.”

My blood went hot. The part of me that was like a drooling animal came back out again.

The memory of Jesse’s warm, strong hand on my throat rushed into my mind, and I had to stop thinking of it or I’d need to go lock myself in my bedroom and come.

I swallowed.

“Well, it sounds wild.”

“Got a summer league game tomorrow night,” Jesse said. “You can come watch me fuck people up, if you’re that curious.”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Up to you, cowboy.”

The sun was just starting to set over the stables outside. I turned on mood lighting and music in my living room to get prepped for the party, and grabbed my cold drink from the coffee table. Jesse had helped me decide on a classic strawberry margarita—and I was starting to feel good.

Too good.

Why the fuck did I feel sogoodall of a sudden?

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