Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)

Five past noon on New Year’s Day, two hands cover my eyes, blocking my view of Millennium Park and scaring the absolute fucking shit outta me. But the second I hear the smooth cadence of Quinton’s laugh, the fear turns quickly into…irritation.

“Why are you like this?” I snap, yanking at his wrists so I can see again.

When I turn around to face him, I become even more irritated to find he looks fucking edible in a beanie, jeans, and long black jacket. A sexy-as-hell look he can pull off any day of the week, but even more so today with his glasses on.

He smirks in his signature way, a dimple popping in one cheek. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific. Why am I so ruggedly handsome? Why am I always late? Why—”

“Why do you get off on being such a gigantic pain in my ass?” I finish, pointing a glare at him.

“You’d know a lot about what gets me off, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, I do. But it’s not something I need to be thinking about in public. Around children, no less.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.

He laughs, a sound that used to grate on my nerves, but now I want to hear it more. “You make it so easy sometimes.”

Both dimples make their appearance now. They seem to do more and more around me lately, and every time I see them, it does this weird thing to my chest. A sort of…fluttering.

“I’m already regretting asking you to hang out.”

“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he points out, crossing his arms. “Truth be told, I was more surprised you did in the first place.”

“Like I said, it was purely out of charity. I didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already were.”

A grin the Cheshire Cat would be envious of spreads over his face. “Except I’ve been back at my apartment on campus since the day after Christmas.”

“What?”

“I only told you I was busy to see how long you could hold out without begging me to move things around. Props to you, by the way. I thought for sure you’d cave before now.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the expletives from spilling free around all these impressionable ears. Mostly because he’s right. I almost caved plenty of times, hoping to find a way to see him before today.

But there’s no fucking way I’m letting it slip now.

Why does he have to ruin everything?

“Not at all. Like I said, I just wanted to get you out of the house. But now that I know you’re perfectly fine and also a liar, I’m leaving.”

I move to walk away, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. Right into his chest, with our mouths only inches apart.

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” he murmurs. The heat of his breath sends shivers down my spine and goosebumps breaking out across my skin. “Because I know you missed me.”

“Only in your dreams.”

Another sinful, dimpled smile curves his lips. “There’s plenty of things we do in my dreams, but that’s not one of them.”

The filthy, seductive tone of his voice sets my blood to a boil. Not in anger, but with desire. And paired with the way he’s holding me against him, the proximity of his lips to mine, makes it all the harder to resist him.

“There are kids around,” I hiss, already trying to tamp down my cock thickening against his thigh. Something he’s all too aware of from the way he discreetly presses against it.

“And here I thought you were a master of self-control.” Another shift of his thigh sends a zap of lust straight to my balls. “Better get a grip on that libido, Reed.”

The sexual tension zapping between us is palpable, though he seems unaffected. But that won’t do for me. I want—no, I need—him just as hot and bothered as I am right now. So I do what makes sense when it comes to a showdown with Quinton de Haas.

I fight fire with fire.

“I hope you know how much you’re going to regret this the next time I get you in bed.”

His nostrils flare, the heat in his gaze magnified in intensity as he stares at me through his lenses. Enough to make me think I’ve won this little battle of wills he’s started.

But then he takes it a step further, letting his lips brush against mine as he speaks. “Oh, believe me. I’m counting on it.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep from biting into his, and I step away. “You win this round, de Haas.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, almost breaking it in two.

“A fantastic way to start the day.” He claps his hands together, child-like giddiness and excitement radiating off him. “Now what do you have planned for us?”

A quick five-minute walk from where I met Quinton brings us to Maggie Daley Park, home of the Ice Skating Ribbon. One of my favorite Reed family holiday pastimes as a kid was to come skating either here or at the one directly below the Bean. We’d come almost every year if Dad wasn’t gone on a stint of away games. Well, until Logan threw a fit about hating it and we stopped some time in my late middle school years.

I haven’t been back since, but I figured there’s no time like the present.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever put skates on for something other than hockey,” Quinton says as he laces up the pair of rentals we got from the stand beside the rink.

My head snaps up from where I was tying my own skates to look at him. “You’re telling me you’ve never gone ice skating before? Just for the hell of it?”

Still working on his laces, Quinton shakes his head. “Nope. Never had anyone take me. First time I ever put skates on was the day my dad took me to my first youth league practice when I was eight. And the only reason he even took me was because he wanted me to shut the hell up about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies before rising to his full height. “I’m sure he thought I’d suck at it immediately and quit within the first couple weeks. But much to his displeasure, I picked it up really quick…and it’s been the bane of his existence ever since.”

Understanding floods me as we make our way over to the rink and step out onto the smooth surface. The moment we do, like nothing else exists. Sure, there are people milling about—though not as many as I’d expect during winter break—but I don’t even notice them.

It’s just us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Side by side, we take a slow lap around the amoeba-shaped rink, gliding over the ice like the seasoned pros we’ve worked hard to become. Silence lingers between us, but it feels comfortable, not stifling or awkward the way it would have a couple months ago.

Hell, a couple months ago, I would have laughed at the idea of us spending any time together. Yet here we are, two sworn enemies, ice skating together on New Year’s Day like some kind of…couple.

The realization makes my stomach churn in a weird, unexpected way.

Shoving the feeling down, I recall something he said earlier, letting my mind take hold of that thought instead. “When you say you picked it up quick, how quick are we talking? Like a couple months?”

“I mean…” He skates out ahead of me and spins around, skating backward in front of me. “I was comfortable enough to skate with a stick in my hand by the end of the second day. But obviously I wasn’t doing a whole lot with it at that point. Just…skating.”

I roll my eyes. “Show off.”

I knew I was right when I told him he had natural talent. It even took me a few months to become a master at skating without a stick. Meanwhile Quinton just said he went and did both together in the first week of ever being on the ice.

Granted, he started playing a few years after me when he probably had a lot more stability and balance, but still.

He bites back a smile, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I think you like it when I’m a show-off.”

My brow kicks up. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I think it turns you on, being around someone just as good as you. Someone who might actually be…better.”

The arrogance of this man astounds me. But he’s right about one thing. The quiet air of confidence surrounding him on the ice when he’s zoned in is beyond sexy. He knows he’s good—yeah, maybe even better than me—but it’s proven by the way he performs. It’s when he starts showboating that he pisses me off.

“You’re a lot of things, de Haas. But better than me isn’t one of them.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

This time, I’m the one to smirk. “I think I’ve more than done that already. The socks you got me prove it.”

Heat flares in his eyes. “We’re talking about things happening on the ice, Reed. Not between the sheets.”

I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and certainly not one coming from Quinton. He’s still my rival, even if we’ve become this weird friends-adjacent thing since we started following through on his superstition theory.

“What were you thinking?”

“A race. First one to complete a lap around the rink wins.”

I glance around, noting there’s far too many people and not nearly enough room for us to get as competitive as we are. We could easily turn a corner and plow a little kid over, and that’s the last thing I want to start the new year with.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His brow raises. “You scared to lose?”

“No, I—”

“Oh, you definitely are,” he says, continuing to taunt me.

“There’s too many people, and I’m not looking to ruin anyone else’s time by being some psychotic—”

“God, you’re such a stick in the mud sometimes,” he cuts in, humor dancing in those ice blue eyes. “Live a little. Smile. Laugh. The world isn’t gonna end if you do, I promise.”

I know it won’t. That’s half the problem, though. Because Quinton has this air about him, making it almost impossible to not smile or laugh in his presence. He’s like…fucking sunshine sometimes. Or whatever other bullshit people wax poetic about. Which is hilarious considering he looks like every father’s worst nightmare with the ink and the leather and the I don’t give a fuck attitude he usually has plastered around him like a shield.

But he’s shown me another piece of himself I doubt many others have seen. The part that, despite his persona, does give a fuck. About a lot of things. About people.

Maybe even about me.

And maybe that’s why I agree to yet another one of his cockamamie ideas.

Letting out a long sigh, I mutter, “And what does the winner get from this little display of masculinity?”

Dimples pop some more. “Winner can decide.”

“Those are some high stakes.”

He licks his lips. “Then don’t lose.”

Too bad for Quinton, losing isn’t in my nature. A fact I prove when I win our little race by a landslide, skating past our makeshift finish line a good two seconds before him. He’s caught up by a group of little kids who serve as the perfect roadblock, but still, victory is victory. And when I get one over Quinton, it always tastes that much sweeter.

“Damn kids,” he mutters as we skate off toward the side, getting out of the way for everyone else passing by. “I would’ve won if it weren’t for them getting in the way.”

“Whatever helps you sleep tonight knowing I’m better than you, both on the ice and between the sheets.”

He leans back against the railing in front of me, a sly little smirk sits on his lips. “I’m still winning the day, though. You know that, right?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re having fun.”

I don’t even bother trying to lie, instead shrugging in confirmation. “I’m having fun.”

His smile is instant. “Why does it feel like you’re surprised? I’m pretty much the master at having fun.”

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. “It’s more like I was expecting you to annoy me eighty percent of the day and end up wishing I never asked you to meet up.”

There’s a slight nod before he raises his brow. “But…”

“Like I said,” I mutter. “I’m having fun. So, I guess…thanks for agreeing to hang out.”

He grins more. “Eh, you’re not so bad. Most of the time, at least.”

God, those fucking dimples. They do something stupid to my brain. Short circuit it or something. Plus, his smile and laugh, a killer combination not many people could withstand.

Or maybe it’s just…him.

Everything about him.

To the point where the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. Stupidly so. And even though I know there’s no reason to act on the urge other than pure desire, I still want to.

I ache to.

And that’s all it takes.

“Fuck it,” I mutter.

My hand slides around the back of his neck, and I haul his mouth to mine in a scorching kiss. One that…fuck, it makes me want him all the more. And in all the ways I know I shouldn’t.

His tongue slides past my lips, warring with mine in a way that makes my toes curl inside my skates. My body crowds against his, crushing him to the wall of the rink so our bodies align. Even through our jackets and clothes, I feel the strong, powerful lines of his muscles pressed against mine.

His arms weave their way up, wrapping around my neck, my hands moving to cup his face, tilting his chin for better access. Deeper, because nothing seems like enough.

I’m drowning in him. So much so, I don’t care if it might go against the rules we’ve set out. Nor do I give a flying fuck about kissing him in public, where anyone can watch or judge or feel forced to shield their children’s eyes.

It’s not like we’re fucking it out right here on the rink. It’s a kiss.

One I couldn’t not steal while the opportunity presented itself.

And if any of them knew Quinton de Haas the way I’m starting to, they’d understand exactly why.

I pull back before too long, not wanting things to get so heated we can’t skate out of here without putting on a show for everyone more than we already have. His forehead presses against mine, the puffs of air leaving our lips intertwining in a single cloud.

“What was that for?” he asks, slightly breathless. When he pulls back, his blue eyes shimmer with a mixture of amusement and desire. “And how the hell do I get more of it?”

“It was…a thank you,” I whisper, deciding that would be the best way to label it.

“For letting you win?”

A soft laugh escapes from me, because I won fair and square. “For making me live a little. Let loose. All the crap you seem to think is so important.”

A small smile tilts the corners of his lips. “Well, I’m just glad we discovered you know how to.”

Boy have we ever discovered. I don’t think I’ve smiled or laughed as much as I have today, and it’s only just begun. It’s almost as if spending time with him outside the arena has lightened my soul somehow, allowing me to step back and breathe. Enjoy myself, if only for a moment, instead of being weighed down by the pressures I’ve put myself under.

So we keep skating and laughing and having fun, letting ourselves just exist in a circumstance where we’re not enemies or rivals or teammates. We’re not in this thing way deeper than we should be.

For one afternoon, we’re just two guys doing their best to live a little.

As our time comes to an end, the sun’s already set and the cool night’s air fills our lungs, and I discover I’m not ready for this to be over. I’m not ready to say goodbye.

From the look in his eyes as we leave the park, neither is he.

I open my mouth, about to offer the option of grabbing dinner and prolonging the inevitable for a little while longer, but he says something first.

“You probably need to get back to your parents, but…thank you. I needed this more than I realized.”

Quinton shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and rocks back on his feet, awkwardness settling between us for the first time all day. Which is a surprise, considering how easy things have been between us all day.

But then I recognize the swirling in my gut as anticipation. The same kind I had the first time we hooked up after the frat house bathroom.

The same kind you get at the end of a first date, and you know you’re supposed to go in for a kiss, but you’re not sure if the other person wants you to. So then, you just flounder.

And floundering is exactly what I’m doing.

Except…after earlier today, I don’t know why.

“Yeah, uh, it’s no problem. Like I said, I had a good time too.” I clear my throat before awkwardly adding, “Drive back to campus safe.”

He nods before asking, “I will. And I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I’m about to say no when I realize he’s right. We have a late practice tomorrow night to get back in the zone for the two games falling over break. The first of which is in two days.

The anticipation from earlier quickly takes a turn straight toward desire, knowing this time tomorrow, we’ll be in his bed doing ridiculously filthy things to each other’s bodies. And I can’t fucking wait.

“Yeah,” I murmur, offering a small smile. “See you then.”

I try not to focus too much on the slight disappointment forming in my chest as I head off in the other direction. After all, going off to dinner or a goodnight kiss is asking for more, and I already fucked up by kissing him earlier today.

Besides, more isn’t what we agreed to. More will only complicate things further than we already have by simply following through with this superstition. And more could lead us to a place where hearts get involved; something I doubt either of us wants or is ready for.

But knowing this still isn’t enough to stop the disappointment.

I’m about to cross Michigan Avenue when a hand lands on my forearm, halting me in my tracks. There’s not even a second for me to register what is happening when Quinton reels me back into him, and without hesitation, drags me in for a kiss.

The second kiss of the day, but this is entirely different than the first.

Soft and gentle, lighting my heart on fire with a single press of his lips. It’s a kiss I’d never think him capable of giving, and yet, it’s somehow the best of all the ones we’ve shared so far.

And the way it makes my stomach flip and hurdle like a damn gymnast tells me I’m in a shit ton of trouble.