Page 2 of Hot Ice, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #2)

2

JESSE

It happened on a bright day—I remember, because I was squinting right into the sun when I saw him.

Naked. Tanned skin. In the backyard by the pool.

Legs wrapped around a blonde.

He gave me the same guilty look he always did out on the ice, when he fucked up perfectly angled shots that I practically fed him on a silver platter, game after game.

Apparently this was just a game to him, too.

“Oh.”

That was all I’d been able to say. Shimmers of light glittered into my eyes from the pool, dappling my vision.

Sometimes when your whole life crashes down around you, only feeble bullshit comes out of your mouth.

He had the balls to cheat on me right there in the frat house, when he thought everyone else was gone for the day. I’d always been his deep, dark, gay secret—on the same hockey team, while nobody knew what we did behind closed doors.

But now that he was fucking a girl, instead of me, he had nothing to hide.

The worst part? I didn’t leave.

I always was a forgiving person. Understanding.

So fucking naive.

It was another seven months before it crumbled. He got a different woman pregnant, and they were going to have the kid. Get married right after college. Live together. And he’d stay right in the closet.

He discarded me like a broken toy.

That time, I did get out of the lie I’d been in, unknowingly, for two years.

That sunny day had just been the beginning.

I didn’t mind a little rain now.

I thwacked the side of the pinball machine with my fingertips, the paddle inside ricocheting the metal ball all the way to the top.

“ There it is,” I said, backing away as I hit a new high score.

Mason was beside me, shaking his head. “You’re cheating.”

“You can’t cheat at pinball,” I protested. “What do you think I’m doing, hacking the machine?”

“Well, maybe you have an advantage. Hand-eye coordination transfers from hockey into pinball, clearly.”

“Damn right it does. Get used to it.”

Mason clicked his tongue and I smiled, giving him a little shove.

A distant burst of lightning lit up the grey sky, highlighting him for a split second. The man was all hard muscle and pretty blue eyes, like some underwear model had been taken into the Tennessee country, given a blue flannel shirt, and dropped right into this bar.

He was a hot cowboy, and he knew it. Mason seemed like he’d been ready to drag me in the bathroom and beg for my cock, but since he found out I was Kane’s younger brother he’d been looking at me like I was damaged goods.

Kind of true, I guess.

I was pretty sure he only followed me onto the patio because he felt bad for me being alone. Extroverts don’t tend to realize that introverts like a little solitude. But I could have lone-wolfed it all day.

Not that I hated cowboy eye candy.

He watched me play, arms crossed, keeping his distance. In between rounds of pinball I glanced up at him, surprised he hadn’t left yet. The outdoor string lights lit up his sandy-colored hair like a warm halo. The sleeves of his flannel were rolled up to reveal fit, tanned forearms, and his facial hair was groomed neat, just long enough that it would probably feel soft against the skin.

“You from around here?” I asked.

That was another thing extroverts liked: talking about themselves. I would have been fine with silence, but the more I looked at him, the more I started wondering how it might feel to push my fingers past his pretty lips, and I wasn’t exactly sure he was ready for that yet.

So… small talk, it was.

“Born and raised in Bestens, Tennessee,” Mason said.

“I could tell.”

He glared at me. “Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Chill. It’s a compliment, cowboy,” I said, glancing up at him. “You look strong.”

He still didn’t budge, arms crossed. “Kind of necessary for running a ranch.”

“I knew it. I was betting you might be a farmer, but ranch hand makes even more sense.”

“My parents started Minton Ranch right before I was born,” he said. “Mom died soon after that, though, so it was mostly just me and Dad. Teaching riding, mostly.”

“Horses are a lot of work.”

He nodded. Finally, he uncrossed his arms, leaning forward on the pinball machine. “They’re the best kind of work, though.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain was still falling in rivulets off of every corner of the patio roof, and nobody else was out on the patio now. But other than the occasional misty breeze, the area by the pinball machines was up against the building, far away from the rain.

I was completely fuckin’ fine with an empty patio. Crowded bars weren’t my thing, but tonight I’d needed to be somewhere other than my frat house.

Maybe full lone-wolf mode wouldn’t have been good tonight, though. Earlier, Mason had reached through a cloud of fog and plucked me right out of my own little mental hell, where I’d been spiraling on how angry I was at my ex. I’d been out of it, only half-here, and Mason coming up to talk to me had jolted me back to reality. Kane had suggested that I come into his bar to help clear my head, but…

Instead, I’d just ended up pissed off at Elliot in a bar instead of being pissed off at home.

Mason had been the perfect distraction from that.

Even if he was shooting blue daggers at me with his eyes, now.

“If a hockey puck’s a Hostess cake, what is a pinball?” I asked him. “A… silver little grape?”

He snorted. “Maybe a little chocolate truffle, dusted in silver.”

“Delicious.”

With another thwack of my fingers, I shot the ball up into the highest hole, and the whole top of the machine lit up.

“Your turn,” I told him, smacking the top of the plexiglass cover.

“I’m going to go get another drink first.”

“You’re going to come back out here, right? I want to watch you play.”

He didn’t meet my eyes, but I saw the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

So maybe you do still want me to mess with you.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “Only to utterly fucking destroy you in pinball.”

“You sure you need another drink?” I asked gently.

He gave me a look. “You soccer-momming me again?”

“Live your life, cowboy. I just don’t want to clean up puke.”

“I’m not one of your frat bros,” he said. “I can hold my liquor.”

“Fine,” I said, holding up my hands. “You’re the one who said I was a teacher punishing you. If anything, I’m a hockey daddy , not a soccer mom.”

God, he was hot when he looked like he wanted to punch me. He was flustered again, but I could see he was trying to hold back a lustful look from his eyes.

“As if you could be a daddy. What are you, 22?”

“21,” I said.

He groaned. “Fuck, I’m old. A full decade older than you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You aren’t even Daddy status. Maybe that’s what I should punish you for. Thinking 31 is old.”

He groaned. “Don’t talk about punishing me.”

“You’re the one who brought it up earlier.”

He gave me a warning glance. “That was before. You’re not allowed to turn me on anymore. You don’t turn me on anymore.”

Lies.

My cock thickened under my jeans. So the hot cowboy liked the idea of getting punished. Maybe he wanted more, and his whole stern, crossed-arms vibe was just because he didn’t want to show it.

Maybe…

Maybe he wanted me to break him back down again.

My cock was mashed up against the front of my jeans now, fully hard for him. For weeks and weeks, I’d been so caught up in my shitty breakup that I barely felt human anymore. There was a reason I’d told him I was off the market.

But… getting turned on by an interaction at a bar was like seeing the first hint of green pop out after a bad winter.

I wasn’t broken, after all.

And even if nothing was ever going to happen between us, fuck, it felt good to have a visceral reaction of pure, simple wanting .

The wind blew a sheet of rain across the patio roof, the sound of the droplets filling the air. Mason’s blue eyes were still on mine, still gently drawing me out from behind my walls.

“Maybe you do need some punishment,” I tossed back at him.

“I don’t need anyone telling me what to do,” he said. “Unless it’s in very specific circumstances.”

I gave him a nod. “You sure about that, Hot Mess?”

He shook his head, flipped me off, and walked back into the bar.

A few minutes ago I’d asked him about the Hot Mess nickname after hearing Kane use it inside. My brother could be kind of a prick sometimes, even if he was a good guy, and I wanted to be sure Mason didn’t feel insulted by the name.

He’d reassured me that he wore Hot Mess with pride. I’d only known him for tonight, but shame didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

At least until he found out who I was.

I paced on the patio, walking along the wooden patio over toward the rain. I watched it come down, forming little puddles on the grass.

The air smelled sweet and fresh. I’d needed a good summer thunderstorm. It always felt like a reset button, and I could use as many resets as I could get, this summer. I rearranged my cock in my pants, trying to get my hard-on to go away.

But then I remembered the look in his eyes and I perked right back up again.

Mason walked back out a few minutes later, drink in hand. I was over at the pinball machine again, leaning on the front of it and watching him.

“Yo,” I said.

He gave me a nod.

For someone who’d sworn off sex, he sure did keep looking at me like he wanted to get railed. His eyes gave a come-fuck-me vibe, but… there was a distance there now, and sadness, too. Blue more like a rainy sky than a clear day, with more depth than I’d realized at first.

I was staring him down. I didn’t bother hiding it. I could see a question in his eyes for a split second as he looked down toward my lips and then back up again.

“This drink came with two Maraschino cherries,” Mason said. “I’d rather die than put one of those in my mouth. Do you want them?”

“Um, yes . I could eat Maraschino cherries daily,” I said. “I wish every drink had one.”

“They’re vile. How do you enjoy these things?”

“They’re sweet, juicy little fuckin’ bursts of cherry syrup,” I said. “How could anyone not like them? Gimmie.”

He plucked the cherry off the top of the drink by its stem. He held it up in the air, dangling it above my lips. It glistened under the string lights.

When I went in to bite it out of the air, he pulled it away at the last moment.

“You going to say please? ” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

Well, hello.

“Just give it to me,” I told him, and he moved it back above my lips.

This time, right as he was about to pull his hand away, I reached up and clutched his wrist. I held it firmly, gripping his arm and pulling the cherry down to my lips.

I plucked it off the stem with my teeth, then leaned up to lick the remnants of sugar from the tip of his finger. I held his arm for another few seconds before releasing it.

“Good boy,” I told him in a low tone.

I watched his eyes widen momentarily, and a sick satisfaction spread through me.

I knew you liked that.

I liked it, too.

“Give me another,” I said.

“No.”

“Another,” I repeated, and even though he was still glaring at me, he clicked his tongue, then obliged. He picked up the other cherry, and I watched it slip a little the first time he tried to grab it, his fingers just a little shaky.

All at once, I realized something:

Wait a minute.

We actually are going to fuck tonight, aren’t we?

It was like a sudden intuition—like when I spotted the perfect play on the ice from a mile away, and I already saw myself scoring before it had happened.

You still totally, completely want me to fuck you, Hot Mess, and you’re not even good at hiding it .

He held the cherry over me.

But just as he was moving it toward my lips this time, I saw someone walking out the back doors of the patio.

A moment later, Kane stepped out, looking over at us. Kane’s eyes traveled down in an instant, seeing Mason about to lay the cherry onto my tongue.

Mason turned to see Kane and jumped like he’d seen a goddamn bear.

“Holy fuck, Kane—”

The cherry fell out of his hands and he lurched backward, his back hitting the pinball machine. The drink in his hand tipped.

“Oh—”

I reached a hand out to help steady him, but he overcorrected, and the glass fell out of his hand. It hit the pinball machine, sloshing the whole drink all over the top. Half of it drenched the front of Mason’s shirt in a big, wet splotch, and half landed on the wood planks of the patio, forming a pool below our shoes.

“ Fuck me, that is cold,” he said softly, his eyes wide as he looked down.

“Hey, look at that,” Kane said, grabbing the glass. “It didn’t break. What’s with you, Hot Mess?”

Pink slashes had formed on Mason’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” Mason said.

“Don’t sweat it,” Kane said. “I’ll go grab you a refill, if you can handle it this time.”

“No refill,” he said. “I, uh, didn’t need it, anyway.”

“Never heard you say that before,” Kane said.

He looked between the two of us. I wondered if he was going to say something. There was no shot he’d seen me grabbing Mason’s wrist earlier, right?

But before he could say anything, one of the younger bartenders stepped out the back doors and tapped his shoulder from behind. He was saying something about a pisssed-off customer who thought he was getting the wrong price on a drink special.

“The special was two-for-one, not four -for-one,” Kane said, turning to the guy, instantly switching back into bar-owner mode.

He nodded at us before heading back inside, leaving us alone on the patio again.

Mason looked at me like a guilty puppy. “Okay. I’m going to head home.”

I turned my head. “What? Already?”

He looked defeated. “It’s about time to head back.”

An hour ago, I would have given anything to get out of having to talk to a stranger, but now I was disappointed that he wanted to leave.

I’d been looking forward to… I don’t know what.

Maybe I’d just liked his company.

“What happened to beating my ass in pinball?”

“My shirt’s soaked. And you probably have the highest score in pinball this bar will ever see, anyway.”

Shit.

Maybe Mason was embarrassed. I didn’t have a clue what my brother thought about Mason popping a cherry into my mouth, but at the end of the day, I didn’t give a fuck.

I did whatever I wanted.

Kane could try to judge me, but I wasn’t a kid anymore, and his protective parental vibe wasn’t going to fly now that I was 21.

But Mason likely felt different about the prospect of Kane’s… very strong opinions.

“There’s plenty of spare Hard Spot T-shirts inside,” I told Mason. “I’m sure I could get him to part with one of them.”

Mason gave me a polite smile, but something in his eyes had changed. He’d made up his mind.

I looked him up and down, realizing that he wasn’t going to budge.

Well, I wasn’t going to push him, either.

I gave him a nod. “Let me at least help you call a cab home?”

“I’ve got it covered, but thank you.”

We grabbed fistfuls of napkins from the tables nearby and blotted up the rest of the spilled drink. I walked back inside with him and before he left, he dropped some money on the bar, gave me a wave, and headed out the front doors.

“Later, cowboy,” I called out, but he’d already walked outside.

Most people don’t realize that hockey is almost all about observation.

Watching the other players’ tells. Watching the puck. Watching the way a guy might juke left right before he goes right, or watching the micromovements of the goalie.

Being an observer came as naturally to me as skating itself, both of them honed skills, but also pure instinct.

I couldn’t exactly turn all of that off.

I always felt like an observer. On the ice, in a classroom, or at a bar. Once Mason had bounced out of here like a scared animal, I took my place at the end of the bar, watching it all go by. I could almost feel the fog of my normal life settling around me again like a heavy shroud. Watching. Waiting for some long-lost fire to hit my blood again.

Not that I know what that would be.

I’d spent two years fucking up my life. Meeting one random hot cowboy at the Hard Spot wasn’t going to fix it.

The bar top in the Hard Spot was gleaming, only weathered in a few spots where the finish had worn down over time. The crowd inside had thinned out by now, though there were still a few groups dancing to country music over in one corner, and others playing pool in some of the alcoves surrounded by shelves. The pattering sound of the storm came through whenever there was a lull in the noise. Each time the front doors swung open as another group left, the scent of rain floated in.

I reached over and grabbed an almost-empty jar of Maraschino cherries sitting on the inner ridge of the bar. I popped a few more in my mouth, one by one, getting lost in thought about how quickly things had deflated.

Kane was finally in a lull from serving drinks a couple of minutes later, and he made his way over to me behind the bar.

“How’s your night been?” I asked him when he came over.

“Hey. You’re cuttin’ into my bottom line with those cherries.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “The jar had about three cherries left in it. You think that’s going to bankrupt the Hard Spot?”

“No, but don’t reach behind my bar again,” he warned, giving me his signature death glare.

“I get it, I get it,” I said. “I won’t.”

Kane stretched his arms above his head. “Tonight has been good, actually. It’s been a little wild, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen more tips in my life,” he said. “Hard work, great payout. I’m not complaining.”

I gave him a fist bump. “Proud of you, bro.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I held up my hands. “What’s wrong with bro? What do you want me to say, my brother my king, oh, glorious older, wiser Sanocki— ”

“Shut it,” he said, but I could tell he wanted to laugh.

“I’m glad the summer kickoff went well.”

“How about you?” Kane asked, giving me a look that had a lot more questions behind it. “I’m proud of you, too, you know. If you need anything, let me know.”

I set my jaw.

My brother could be a prick, but he was also a natural-born helper .

Sometimes too much of a helper. That’s where the protective stepdad attitude came in. For the last two years, Kane and I hadn’t been speaking, and I’d forgotten what this side of his personality could be like.

Kane had hated Elliot. My ass had been defiant and loyal, defending my ex and his demands to keep our relationship in the dark. Elliot was on the hockey team at TNU too, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to know what we did together.

So I kept it a secret.

From the whole team.

The whole frat house.

Everybody other than my brother.

It had been my first serious relationship, and I’d been too dumb to see it for what it was. My brother had told me about a hundred times that he thought my relationship with Elliot was a bad road to go down. My stubborn ass had told him to fuck right off. And we didn’t talk for way too long because of it.

…Turned out Kane was right.

After I’d been dumped, my brother and I had slowly started speaking again over the past couple of months.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to be treated like a kid again.

“I’m all good, K. I promise.”

Kane busied himself behind the bar, acting like he wasn’t about to grill me with questions, even though I knew what was coming.

“How was the first game last week?” he finally asked.

“Felt good to kick some Kansas ass. I’d lose my mind if I couldn’t play until next season.”

The summer hockey league allowed me to stay on the ice all summer. Unfortunately, Elliot was there, too. Most of the TNU team had joined this summer.

Kane reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “I know it ain’t easy, but you’re doing the right thing. With the classes, too.”

I fiddled with a stray straw wrapper on the bar.

I almost failed out of school a couple of years ago.

I’d also nearly lost my scholarship.

Tennessee didn’t give out many hockey scholarships to begin with, so when my grades dropped, it was bad news. I’d ignored my studies, getting wrapped up in Elliot’s world, skipping classes when he asked me to go meet him.

Before Elliot, I’d been a straight-A student ever since I was a kid. Even though Kane was several years older than me, he’d always said I was the smarter one. That all changed fast.

But now I was picking up the pieces. Making up for lost time in my summer classes. Hopefully I’d be able to graduate at the normal time, at the end of next year.

“So what’s the deal with Mason?” I asked.

Need a fucking subject change, please.

“Crazy fuck,” Kane said, grabbing the last cherry from the jar and eating it himself.

“He doesn’t seem that crazy to me.”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy, underneath all the…” he paused, waving a hand through the air wildly. “Chaos.”

“What’s chaotic about him?” I asked. “Seems like he wants to have a good time, but it’s not like he was screaming and running naked through the bar.”

“It’s not that Mason can’t control himself,” Kane explained as he wiped down the bar top with a rag. “It’s that he doesn’t want to. He likes living life to its fullest, but he has no off-button. He came in last week asking if anyone would go volcano boarding with him.”

“What the fuck is volcano boarding?”

“Exactly,” Kane said. “He said it involves hiking up active volcanoes and sliding down them on surfboards, or some shit—I don’t know. The guy will do anything, whether it’s jumping out of a plane or throwing a party where everyone has to wear assless chaps.”

I snorted. “Did he actually do that?”

“He has plenty of pictures from his so-called famous assless chaps party,” Kane said. “Ask him about it.”

I felt a smile on my lips. Mason must have had a whole lot of fun at that party.

Kane hoisted a big rack of clean pint glasses in from the back kitchen. “He’s a good guy, though. I mean that,” he continued. “Little lost, ever since his dad died, but good-hearted.”

“When did his dad pass?”

“Must be over a year ago, now,” Kane said. “Mason inherited his ranch, property, horses, and a riding school. Doesn’t seem like he’s taking on many riding clients as much lately, though. Probably makes him sad, though he wouldn’t admit that. He was always a great riding teacher, but now he’s… too focused on other stuff.”

I ran my fingers over a knot in the wood.

I’d been right. On the surface, Mason seemed upbeat, down for anything, and ready to play. But inside, there was a deeper sadness.

“Okay. I need to quit avoiding the frat house,” I told Kane. “I’m out of here.”

Kane nodded. “I’ll be around tomorrow if you’re bored. Just shoot me a text.”

“Night, K,” I told him, shrugging on my leather jacket and heading for the front doors.

A wall of rainy wind hit me in the face the moment I stepped out front. I used the edge of my jacket as a shield, heading over to my car and sliding in.

I popped on some music and drove off. Rain pelted my windshield as I headed down Laurel Ave, the main street in Bestens, pausing for traffic and lights on the narrow cobblestone streets. Once I’d gotten out of the town center and onto the sloping country roads, the traffic cleared.

I’d only been driving for a minute when I saw a figure, hunched on the edge of the road, trudging through mud.

He was holding his arm up to the rain, clearly failing to keep himself protected.

“What the fuck?” I muttered to myself, squinting out.

Who was crazy enough to be walking in this wind and rain? He looked like—

I slowed, put on my hazards, and rolled down my passenger side window.

I did a double-take.

Holy shit.

It was Mason.

Walking on the edge of the road like a goddamn idiot.

“Hey,” I yelled out my passenger side window through the clattering rain.

Mason didn’t hear me at first. I tap-honked on my horn, and finally he let down his arm and looked over.

“All good,” he yelled, waving me off. I was pretty sure he couldn’t tell it was me through the rain.

“Mason, it’s Jesse,” I yelled. “Get the fuck in the car.”

He shoved his wet hair back with his palms, squinting at me. “Oh. Jesse?”

“Get in the car,” I repeated.

“The ranch is close enough—”

For a moment I was gearing up to get out into the rain myself and pull him into the car. But finally, he relented, trudging over onto the road and opening the passenger side door.

“Move it.”

“You sure? I’m going to get the seat all wet.”

“I know, and I don’t give a damn. Get in.”

He sat down and shut the door. I closed the windows again and suddenly the noise in the car became quiet, sheltered from the rain.

Mason was breathing heavily. Droplets of water clung to the tips of his hair, his eyelashes, and every inch of his clothes.

“You told me you were calling a cab,” I said, furrowing my brow.

He caught my gaze. “I told you I had transportation covered,” he corrected. “That didn’t mean a cab. I would have been fine without your pity.”

I paused for a moment. “Are you serious? You’re giving me attitude when I just offered your soaked ass a ride?”

He suddenly looked my way, rage in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for a ride. Just because hockey fans blow smoke up your ass doesn’t mean I have to.”

“You’re the one who wanted the whole bar’s attention. Then when I gave you mine, you toyed with me, then treated me like shit the moment you knew I was Kane’s brother.”

“I’m not treating you like shit,” he said. “I’m trying to stay the hell away from you.”

“Trust me, I can tell.”

He looked up at the car ceiling, his jaw tense. I watched droplets of water slide down his throat, making perfect little lines from his facial hair to his Adam’s apple.

He still looked good, even if he was certifiably insane.

After a moment, his blue eyes landed on me again. “Trust me, it’s not you,” he said. “Okay?”

“You really going to tell me it’s not you, it’s me on the first night we met?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying it’s not personal. I don’t want to hang out with Kane’s younger brother.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Just don’t.”

“Well, I don’t tend to do well with rules,” I said. “Especially when they exist for no reason.”

“Fine. Thank you for the ride, Jesse. I’ll accept the lift home, but I don’t want to chill , or hear you talking about how you want me to call you daddy.”

A laugh escaped my throat, unbidden. “Excuse me?”

His glare was pure fire. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He could try to fuck with me all he wanted, but I wasn’t afraid to call the shots as I saw them.

“Hey, cowboy,” I said, “I didn’t say I wanted you to call me daddy. But don’t lie and say you didn’t like when I said it—oh, and when you fucking loved putting those cherries on my tongue. I think you liked getting manhandled, too—”

He reached for the passenger side door handle and shoved the door back open. He stepped out into the rain again and I let out a frustrated sigh, taking off my seatbelt.

“Didn’t want to fucking get wet, but you’re going to make me,” I said under my breath.

I got out into the pouring rain. I made my way to the other side of the car and he was already trying to take off down the road again, but I caught up with him easily. I grabbed his arms and spun him around, pointing him back to the car.

“Get back in, you stubborn fuck.”

“You’re a lot more stubborn than me. I’m walking.”

“Goddamn. You’re not a hot mess, you’re a nightmare.”

A loud crack reverberated throughout the air, and in the field next to us, a far-off tree lit up as it was struck by lightning. It was so close that I swore the hairs on my arms stood on end.

“Holy shit,” Mason muttered, stopping in his tracks.

My arms were still around him, both of us soaked and pressed up against each other.

I leaned close to his ear and dropped my voice low.

“Get in the car.”

He finally listened. We ran back to the car, which was half-wet inside now, the doors left open in the rain.

I sat down after he finally got back into the passenger seat, and I shook my head. “Can’t believe you’d rather die than take a ride from me. Put your seatbelt on.”

At least he listened when I told him what to do. I threw the car in drive and tapped the off button for my hazards, pulling out slowly again onto the road. My shirt clung to my chest, soaked with water.

“Where am I heading?” I asked him.

“Minton Ranch. It’s just up here. Take a right at the next light. There’ll be a sign once we’re close.”

“Got it.”

We were all business now. The sound of my windshield wipers filled the car. My breathing evened out, and after a while, I finally started to relax. A moment passed before I saw him looking at me in my peripheral vision, and he spoke again.

“Why did you stop for me?”

“How could I not? ”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Most people would probably just laugh at me and keep moving.”

“You think I was going to leave you on the side of the road? Pretty sure it’s common decency to give someone a ride when they’re about to be struck by lightning.”

“Come on. The lightning is far enough away.”

As if the skies themselves were mocking him, the air suddenly lit up again in a flash as a bright strike of lightning hit just ahead of us. The thunder crack afterward shattered through the air.

“God, Maisie and Chomp are probably terrified,” he said softly.

“Horses, I assume?”

“Yes. They’re well protected. They just don’t like the sound of it all.”

I could tell the horses were like family to him. I picked up the pace a little, trying to get us closer to Minton Ranch.

After a silent minute, Mason reached up to toy with the plush little ice skates I had hanging from my rearview mirror.

“I didn’t even know Tennessee had hockey players,” he mumbled.

“The power of the indoor ice rink is real.”

He finally seemed calmer. I took a few even breaths, coming to grips with the fact that he was just as stubborn as I was.

“Do a lot of people come to the games?” he asked.

“Come check one out sometime. You’ll see,” I said. “Even the summer league crowds are pretty die-hard. Nothing better than being near ice on a hot summer day.”

This sure as fuck wasn’t how I expected my night to go, but I was still glad I had an excuse not to head home. My college buddies were probably still playing beer pong in the living room, most of them trying to find hot girls to hook up with for the night, and if Elliot was still up I wanted to avoid him.

We stayed on the road, passing by trees, green fields, and endless deep puddles. We didn’t come up to the next light for at least another two minutes, and once I took a right, it was another three before my headlights reflected on the big white sign.

Welcome to Minton Ranch , it read, in a cursive script. Riding lessons available . There was an illustration of a horse at the top.

“It would have taken you another twenty minutes to walk here in this weather,” I said as I turned onto the long paved driveway that led up to the ranch.

We passed plenty of horse arenas and pens along the way. Kane had mentioned that Mason had inherited land, but this was impressive land. It practically could have been called an estate.

I finally saw the house at the end of the driveway, a big, beautiful two-story Craftsman house with tons of tall windows. I threw my car into park outside and turned to him.

He’d barely said anything of substance during the drive. Droplets occasionally fell from the ends of his hair.

“Thanks again, Jesse. You really didn’t have to do that, but… thanks.”

He reached for the passenger side door handle to get out.

“I’m coming in with you,” I told him.

He whipped back to look at me. “What? Why?”

“To make sure you get in safe and get some water,” I said, cutting the engine on my car.

Common decency. Ever heard of it?

“How do I know you’re not a killer or something? We just met.”

“You’re already too trusting,” I said. “You got in my car on the side of the road, after all.”

For a brief moment we paused, and then at the same time, both of us smiled, and I shook my head.

“Fuck,” he said. “Last thing I need is a 21-year-old college kid judging me.”

“I don’t judge,” I said. “I just don’t want to see on the news tomorrow that some cowboy got fried to a crisp from a lightning strike, because he was dumb enough to go for a midnight stroll out here. I’m walking you to your door. Promise I won’t suddenly turn into a murderer.”

“Fine. You just have to promise not to make fun of anything you see inside.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

The rain pelted down on my jacket as we ran to the front door. I slowed once I was shaded beneath the awning of his big, wrap-around front porch. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and looked at me, finally looking at least slightly relaxed for the first time since he spilled the drink.

He was holding his keys in one fist. I couldn’t help but picture my fingers laced through his, pinning him up against this wall outside his front door.

His hands looked strong, but mine were, too.

I could picture the bulk of his body against mine, the slow drip of his wet hair falling onto my skin.

All of those warning bells in my head started to go off again, like a siren slowly catching up with me. I was supposed to be focusing on myself this year. Staying unattached and lasered in on hockey and classes, before hopefully going pro.

I didn’t want a one-night distraction to distract me too much. But…

He looked so damn good.

And I still wanted to see if he’d beg.

The sound of steady rain picked up again above his porch. He turned the key, stepping into the tall, vaulted entryway of the house and reaching for a lightswitch on the wall. He flicked it, and nothing happened.

And then he tried it again. No light came on.

“Oh, shit,” he said, turning to meet my eyes again. “The power is out.”