Page 62 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“He doesn’t affect my life at all anymore. On the ice or otherwise.”

“Good.”

“I barely think about him at all. Have better things to think about, lately.”

The whiskey was hitting my blood now. A few minutes later, Max came back from his dinner break with Andrew and Robbie in tow. Andrew took his seat next to me again while Max got behind the bar.

“Andrew, have I told you about the ghost cat that haunts this bar?” Max asked.

Andrew laughed. “You rambled about a ghost cat when you were plastered that one night a few weeks ago.”

“I’m just certain that there is a sweet little cat haunting this bar,” Max explained. “He’s innocent, but definitely mischievous, too. He made Finn and Ori fall in love, and I know Mason is next.”

Andrew clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t seem to me like that guy needs a Cupid ghost cat.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Mason?” Andrew asked. “I’ve only run into him once or twice, but he’s a fuckingflirt.”

Something deflated inside me. “How do you know?”

Andrew’s smile was wide. “I mean, spend ten minutes around him and you’ll find out. Last night was wild.”

The animal inside me was rearing its head.

Max was still talking about the ghost cat. He was convinced it was haunting the Hard Spot by opening cabinets and knocking over various things to send messages. The idea of following Max’s conversation seemed impossible, though, because of the alcohol in my system and because of everything I kept hearing about Mason last night. I tuned out the conversation, fixated on why the hell I was so pent up every time I heard Mason’s name on someone’s lips.

Mason may have hooked up with someone last night.

And so what?

I was thinking with my cock. But I was also worried—worried that Mason was doing what he apparentlyalwaysdid, shoving away any worries in life by trying to distract himself.

It sounded like he’d been treated poorly by guys in the past, too. Even if I couldn’t date him, I didn’t want him to be left feeling lonely again, off in his big, empty house and making decisions that he would one day hate.

I really did care about him.

In a short time, I’d been able to see just how genuine he was, and I knew damn well that he deserved to be happy.

Pressure slowly built up inside me like a kettle rising to a boil.

“Here. Leftover game prizes from the last game night,” Max said, pulling out a bowl of little lollipops.

I reached in, grabbing a strawberry flavored one. “This will be the perfect chaser for my next shot of whiskey.”

“You want another?” Max asked. “Coming right up.”

The whiskey went down too easy. The boys were distracted now, caught up in another conversation about a weird guy Robbie saw at the gym last week.

I needed fresh air more than ever. I slipped some cash on the bar top in case I didn’t make it back in.

Outside, the night wasn’t much calmer. I stepped out front and leaned on the wall outside, listening to the ambient sounds of Laurel Ave, people’s laughter and chatter floating through the evening air.

Little bit drunk.

Juuuust a little.

I thumbed at my phone for a while. I navigated to Mason’s text thread a handful of times, then closed it every time. What did I think I was going to say?

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