Page 5 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

I ran a hand along the cool, smooth bar top and pulled in a breath. I could smell the little metal bowl full of limes sitting behind the bar, and I could tell I was drunk because my body was hot all over and I was too close to saying every last thing that entered my mind.

The truth was that I was just fucking tired of feeling sad. People thought that I’d just been chasing action and running away from my feelings ever since my dad passed away, and they were right that it had been the hardest thing I’d ever gone through.

But they were wrong about me saying “yes” to too many things. Losing Dad had just shown me that I needed to live.Reallylive. If nothing was promised, and someone as active as my father could die at 58, then I was going to make the most of my life, right now. Whether that was here in Bestens, Tennessee, or anywhere else.

“This is a small town,” I told the stranger instead of giving him my sad story. “I’ve got to make my own fun where I can find it.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Hockey keeps me from losing my mind.”

I’d pegged him for being an out-of-towner, maybe at TNU on an athletic scholarship. Now I wasn’t sure. He could be local, and he definitely had a slight Southern accent, though a little less than mine.

I glanced down at his arm again. A few of his tattoos looked fresh—especially a beautifully detailed red bird, right at the top of his forearm.

“Well, as two people who supposedly don’t hate fun, I say we do something,” I offered. “Want to play a game?”

He looked at the bar, grabbing a paper coaster and spinning it between his thumb and middle finger. The lock of his hair that he’d pushed back earlier came back down.

“Listen, if you’re trying to fuck, it’s not going to happen.”

Well, then.

I looked down, backing off in an instant.

He’d been blunt, but there was no venom in his voice. Just honesty.

“Wasn’t assuming your sexuality,” I said. “It’s all good.”

When I looked back up at him, something twinkled in his eyes. “Iamgay. Just not in the market. At all.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Well, you’re in luck, then.”

“How so?”

I took a seat at a bar stool and leaned back. “I swore off sex this summer.”

Would have broken that rule for you, though.

He lifted an eyebrow, leaning to one side. It was so clear that he was an athlete now—even the way he leaned on a bar made his biceps pop, as if even his muscles themselves knew how good they looked.

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Why not?”

He seemed amused. He looked me up and down. “Because you clearlydowant to fuck.”

“I never said that.”

“Your eyes have been saying it all night.”

I waved him off, but he’d clocked it from a mile away. Apparently he could read me like a book.

“Well, it’s true. I’m having a sex-free summer,” I continued.

“What’s with the celibacy?”

Because a self-help book on “self-love” suggested it, and I need all the advice I can get on that.

“I was having too much of it. Figured I should be a good boy for one season.”

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