Page 59 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“He’s always fucking somebody, but he never tells us about any of his guys,” Robbie said. “He’s a gentleman, like that.”

Not guys, plural,I thought, but as usual, I was private when it came to what I did—and what I’d done for the past years.

“Gentleman and aplayboy,” Andrew said.

“I already like this guy,” Robbie said, pointing at Andrew. “He might be a football player, but he’s already indulging in the time-honored tradition of roasting Jesse Sanocki.”

“Do you guys want me to kill you later tonight, or should I go ahead and do it right here?” I asked.

They were laughing as they wiped off the equipment.

“Whoever your new boyfriend is, you look happier than you’ve been in… months? Years?” Robbie said. “Good shit, man.”

My cheeks went hot as he said the wordboyfriend.

The fuck?

I usually didn’t blush at anything. I was proud of who I was, and confident in my decisions, but somehow thinking of Mason as my boyfriend felt impossible and also was making me feel something funny in my chest.

“Never going to happen, but if he were my boyfriend, I’d parade him around like a prize trophy, don’t you worry,” I told Robbie.

He whistled at me. “That good?”

“Thatgood.”

I looked down at my phone, where an email had just come through with test scores from my first exam that I’d taken yesterday in Physiology.

In my history class a day ago, I’d done okay, getting an 84 on my first test. But in Physiology, I’d gotten a perfect score.

Freaking100out of 100.

I stood a little taller, a smile playing at my lips again. I used to get perfect scores more often, but in the last couple of years, I’d fallen off. The pride carried through me and adrenaline hit me after, making me feel like I could do anything.

Fuck it.

He’s played ‘good boy’ long enough, I think.

I took a screenshot of the score, navigated to my texts with Mason, and shot off a picture of it. I tapped out a message alongside it.

>>Jesse: Proud of me?

I put my phone away, spotting Andrew as he did his final set of deadlifts.

“Holy fuck, I don’t know how you do twenty poundsmorethan that,” Andrew said, putting down the barbell as he finished. “I’m convinced playing hockey turns guys into animals.”

“You’re kind of right,” I admitted.

I looked down at my phone.

>>Mason: Very. And are you proud of me?

Attached was a picture of a freshly poured concrete slab in the area of his backyard that he’d leveled off last week.

>>Jesse: So proud.

>>Mason: Poured the concrete myself. Should be able to have my hot tub delivered by next week. Perfect for parties.

The thought of Mason getting into a hot tub was enough to kick up a frenzy in me.

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