Page 4 of Hot Ice, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #2)

4

JESSE

“Sanocki. Get your fucking head in the game.”

“I’ve got it,” I roared back, skating back over toward him.

My skates cut a line into the ice as I circled to a stop. Practice had been brutal all morning. I’d been running breakout drills with Robbie, my wing, for the better part of half an hour, and he’d noticed right away that my game was off today. Robbie was breaking the puck out like a goddamn champ and I was supposed to be helping out, putting as much pressure on him as I could and giving him a real challenge. Instead I was feeble and distracted, and he got away from me easily every time.

“Again,” Robbie barked at me.

“ Fuck . Your scan is better than mine today, and you know it.”

“Usually you’re a beast,” he called back at me, giving me a wide shrug from across the ice as if to say what the fuck is with you, today?

I was anywhere but here, in reality.

Usually practices were my one place of Zen-like calm in the world—the smell of the ice alone was enough to put me into sheer focus, ready to think about nothing other than controlling the puck in front of me. Being surrounded by the TNU Talons green and gold was enough to lock me in, and it felt like my true home.

This morning’s practice was the opposite.

I had to interact with Elliot earlier this morning. When we ran our scrimmage, he’d skated around half-heartedly, playing even worse than I was now. After Coach chewed him out, he’d checked me within minutes of us being out on the ice, pushing me up against the plexiglass for no goddamn reason. He’d given me a half-hearted sorry as he skated past, after pushing me off the ice like I was just collateral.

I’d ignored him. Even though I wanted the bottom of my skate to meet his shins.

Now I was ignoring the prick. I could still see him on the bench now, looking out at me as I ran drills with Robbie, and I didn’t fucking want him watching me at all.

I was also running on low sleep, because last night when I’d gotten back from Mason’s ranch, a couple of guys forced me to join in on a poker game in the living room. When I’d finally gone up to sleep at two in the morning, all I could think about was what I’d done with Mason. I’d jerked off in the shower to the thought of him last night—then made myself come again, just an hour later, before falling asleep.

Then this morning, I came to the thought of him for the third time, after waking up harder than hell, imagining the ragged desperation I’d heard in his voice last night.

I did not have time to be daydreaming about Mason’s lips while I was on the ice.

Or his thighs.

Or his perfect fucking ass.

He was just some random guy you met in a bar. End of story.

“Again,” I yelled to Robbie, taking position.

“Ames, get in,” Coach yelled from the side, adding in another defender for the drill.

We hunted the puck and put as much pressure on Robbie as we could. I shoved my blade in, trying to steal it from his possession. But Robbie was on fire today. He got past us with ease, rushing past and clearing through.

“Good job,” Coach said to Robbie, then turned to me with a hard stare. “Sanocki, what’s the problem?”

“Won’t happen again,” I told him.

“Enough. Pack it up,” Coach said, waving us off and getting other guys on the ice.

I sighed, shoving off my helmet and cursing under my breath. Elliot was sitting at the bench near the exit and as I skated past, he gave me a look.

“Pretty bad out there, Jesse,” he said.

“You want to talk to me?” I said, rounding out and tossing my gear to the side. “Talk.”

Elliot held up his hands. “Just sayin’. You’re usually better. Where were you last night, before poker?”

Wouldn’t you like to know.

It was the first time I’d been confrontational with him since the breakup. Usually I just let it simmer, but something about it felt different today.

Almost like last night with Mason had made me even more angry about the treatment I’d taken from Elliot. A random cowboy stranger had shown me more desire and enthusiasm in one night than Elliot had in our entire shitty relationship.

“Mind your own business,” I told him.

“Something missing in your life lately, Jesse?” he asked, and a bitter feeling landed in my stomach.

Asshole .

He’d dropped me in an instant, weeks and weeks ago, but I knew Elliot. Now, he was getting bored, hoping to keep me interested in him anyway.

He wanted to be in the position of power, over everyone, all the time.

He was never going to get that from me again.

I was a moment away from punching him when Robbie popped off the ice next to me, clapping me on the back. “Jesse’s just slow today because he was up late last night, past his bedtime.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was glad that Robbie was here to defuse the situation and make me think about anything else.

“Getting home around midnight is hardly past my bedtime,” I said.

“You’re right, Robbie,” Elliot said. “In fact, I was just asking him where the fuck he was ‘til midnight.”

“Out,” I said with finality in my voice.

“Said he was at some guy’s house,” Robbie continued, waggling his eyebrows.

Shit.

Robbie had no idea I had any history with Elliot beyond just being players on the same team. People had noticed that we hung out a lot less now, but everyone on the Talons just assumed we were growing apart as friends and had mostly stayed out of it. I’d been out as gay for a long time, but the whole team thought Elliot was completely straight.

They had no clue what he had kept hidden.

How much pain he’d caused me.

Elliot gave me a glance. He was thirsty for gossip and I wasn’t going to give him a single goddamn morsel of information.

“Catch you at the game tomorrow, Robbie,” I said, nodding at him and walking off.

“Heading over to some guy’s house, I assume?” Elliot called after me, proving he had the maturity level of a prepubescent middle schooler.

Ignore him. Just keep fucking ignoring.

I was out of the locker room in record time, itching to get the fuck out of here.

My phone buzzed against my leg as I sat down at the front of my first summer class. I slid it out, my eyes dancing over the screen.

Mason : I want your tongue in my mouth again.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, setting my phone down on top of the desk with a little clatter. Everything went molten hot in my chest.

Goddamn. Hadn’t expected that, cowboy.

I shifted on my chair as my cock started to chub up. I was the first person in class, but students were filing by the open classroom door out in the adjacent hallway.

I’d been convinced I might never hear from Mason again. Last night, I’d felt a strange click when our lips had finally met, like kissing him was a puzzle piece my body had been missing. It was purely physical—I was aware I barely knew the man, but there was no denying that we’d turned each other the fuck on.

This morning, I figured it might have been just the heat of the moment. A feverish night and a kiss that was more intimate than it had any right to be.

But I felt it in my body again now. I could picture Mason sending the text, second-guessing himself, knowing he was making a bad decision but doing it anyway.

And fuck , that was hot.

You want to be bad for me, don’t you?

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, looking at the blank whiteboards, the windows at the edge of the room, or anything that could potentially bring me back down to Earth quickly.

Class was set to start soon.

My mind spiraled on all of the different ways I could respond to Mason. I had a sudden, terrible urge to tease him into a lust-drunk frenzy like the one he’d been in last night. I knew the right thing for me to do was probably to ignore his text, or to say something like it was a good time, but we shouldn’t .

But also…

Where was the fun in that?

“Uh, is this the right place for Physio 203?”

My hand snapped to lock my phone as I looked up at the open classroom doorway.

A guy was poking his head in now, looking a little lost and confused.

“Scared me,” I said, taking a breath.

“Shit. Sorry, man,” he said. “You looked pretty focused. Just wanted to check if this was the right class. I don’t really get this campus yet.”

“Don’t sweat it. Physio 203 is what I’m here for,” I told the guy, nodding. “Guess we’re the early birds.”

Luckily the surprise had made my cock go down. I sat up straight, acting calm and sliding my phone back into my shorts.

The guy walked in, giving me a broad smile. “Sick tattoos, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve gotten a lot more ink this year, actually. Gives me a little boost every time someone compliments my tattoos.”

“You’ve got some great art for sure,” he said.

There was something familiar about the guy’s face, but I didn’t know what. He was utterly jacked, with his arm muscles on display in a loose tank top that said Party Professional in neon pink on the front.

“I’m Jesse,” I told him.

He gave me another sunny smile and shook my hand. “I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you.”

“Glad I’m not the only one here anymore.”

“I’m so bad at finding classes. Can’t believe I’m early,” he said, taking the seat next to mine and sliding off his backpack. “Practice was a fucking bitch this morning.”

“You’re an athlete?”

“Eat, sleep, and dream football,” he said with a nod. “I’m a wide receiver.”

“How come we haven’t met?” I asked. “I’ve partied with most of the football team before.”

“Transferred in. I’m only starting this year,” he said.

“Wait. No. I have seen you before,” I said. “Were you at the Hard Spot Saloon last night? The summer kickoff party?”

“Fuck yeah, bro,” he said, smiling again and reaching out to give me a fist bump. “You were there?”

“The bar owner is my brother,” I said. “Kane.”

“Last night was fun. Did you see the guy who did the table chug?” he said.

I bit back a smile. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did.

“The guy in the handstand? Yes,” I said. “That would be Mason.”

“You know him, too?” Andrew said. “I want to be friends with that dude. That was some badass shit.”

“He was definitely the star of the show,” I said.

Tasted pretty nice later, too.

Andrew continued. “I’m besties with a bartender there. Max. He’s been getting me to check out the Hard Spot lately since I transferred. It’s a really chill place.”

“I swear my brother came out of the womb with the keys to a bar in his hands,” I told him. “He runs that place like it's his own child.”

Andrew snorted a laugh. “Max says Kane’s a great boss. Intimidating, I guess, but a good dude. Are you an athlete too?”

“Hockey.”

“Ah, gotcha, man,” Andrew said, nodding kindly before turning back to the front whiteboards. “Hockey’s wild. I don’t know how anybody does anything on those skates.”

“Been doing it since I was a kid. Skating’s as easy as walking.”

Andrew tapped a pen on the top of his desk. His leg was bouncing under the desk, too, and I could tell how nervous he was.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m screwed in this class,” Andrew said. “I’m so bad with memorizing. I heard we have to learn the name of every bone in the body? Fucking yikes .”

“It’ll be okay. They should give us plenty of time to study,” I told him. I watched as he pulled out a laptop, navigated to the online syllabus for the class, and looked at it like it was a terrifying predator about to strike.

“Shit. Five tests? This is a summer class,” he murmured. “I thought it’d be easier.”

“Sometimes summer courses can be more intense, actually. I’ll help you with anything you need. For classes like this, flash cards are your friend.”

“You’re down to help me out?” he said, turning to me with renewed hope in his expression. He pulled in a breath. “That would be huge .”

Andrew explained how college was really starting to freak him out now that he’d transferred to TNU. He’d always been focused on football, but in the final stretch, he knew he had to get better grades before graduation. As we talked, I could tell he had plenty of intelligence, but probably just prioritized being a party professional over studying a bit too often.

Ten minutes later, the classroom had filled up after more and more students trickled in. A few people I knew spotted me in the front row, and they gave me fist bumps, high-fives, or complimented last season’s games.

“Dang. You’re hockey royalty, aren’t you?” Andrew joked.

I thought of this morning’s practice, wishing I’d lived up to that title in any way.

“I try my best. Hey, maybe you’ll be football royalty, starting later this year.”

Andrew crossed his fingers.

The professor rushed in through the front door a moment later. She had grey hair up in a bun and was juggling a mug of coffee, a big textbook, and a shoulder bag.

“Morning, all,” she said. “I’m Dr. Nash—call me Cindy, Dr. Nash, Dr. N, or whatever your heart desires. If you’re here, you should be here for Physiology 203. Let’s get started.”

Andrew sat up straight, doing his best impression of a dutiful student, occasionally nodding when the professor went over the syllabus with us. After a few minutes we got the ball rolling and started on lessons from the first section of the textbook, all about the cardiovascular system. The next hour flew by, and by the time class ended, I knew Dr. Nash’s class would be a challenge.

“That was a lot of information,” Andrew said as class finished.

“Just think of everything we learn in terms of football,” I offered. “When you’re learning about the human heart or veins, picture how your heart pumps during a tricky pass on the field. I picture how everything translates to being out on the ice.”

He held out his hand to me and gripped my hand before giving me a little side-hug.

“You’re a godsend, Jesse. I’ll be taking you up on that study group offer, believe me. Heading to the gym, but I’ll see you next class.”

“Later, Andrew.”

I squinted as I walked outside. The heat and humidity had ratcheted up by now, and the sky was bright and blue. I walked down the long path that cut through the green lawn of the quad, the air buzzing around me as groups of students with backpacks passed by.

My eyes scanned the quad, finding an open bench under an oak tree across the way.

I headed over, sat down, and took out my phone. I re-read Mason’s text, getting way too much satisfaction from it.

Mason : I want your tongue in my mouth again.

I tapped out my reply quickly. Fuck overthinking it.

Jesse : I know you do.

Mason : God. Should have known you’d act cocky about it.

Jesse : Too bad another kiss is never going to happen.

I bit down on my lower lip. I was purposely trying to fuck with him. He was the one who wanted us to stop last night, after all.

Mason : Am I a bad kisser?

Jesse : You’re a very good kisser. Fishing for compliments much?

The image of his tongue sliding against mine was so vivid I swore I could have come to the memory of it. I stared out at a bird hopping around under a nearby tree, waiting for a response. A minute later, a photo came in.

It was a picture of Mason flipping me off. He was in his kitchen, sun pouring in through the windows, his sandy hair radiant in the light. Christ, he was photogenic.

Mason : Are you still off the market? Just checking.

Jesse : Why does it matter to you? Sex-free summer, my ass, by the way.

Mason : I just want first dibs when you’re back on the market. Who said anything about sex? Maybe I just want someone to make out with when my power goes out.

Jesse : Liar.

Mason : True. I wanted more. But I haven’t earned it.

Jesse : Is this part of your “love yourself” self-help book? Sending thirsty texts to guys you just met?

I wasn’t going to admit it to him, but honestly, I didn’t give a fuck if it was self-help advice, pure intuition, or a goddamn devil on his shoulder telling him to send me texts.

I wanted them.

I couldn’t even remember the last time flirting had felt like this. I’d met Elliot in my sophomore year, and before that, I’d barely had any experience at all. Sure, TNU Talons fans sometimes would fangirl or fanboy for me, coming up to me after games or at parties, flirting a little.

But none of it ever hit me. Not like with Mason.

He didn’t respond for a couple of minutes. I began to wonder if I’d cut too deep with my last message. But finally, his response came through.

Mason : Kane would drop-kick me off the face of the universe if he found out I was even joking about this with you.

Jesse : My brother doesn’t have to know. Your secret’s safe with me.

I needed to get up and get the hell out of here before I ended up leaking precum from my cock right in the middle of campus.

Mason was probably right about Kane… not that I wanted to think about that even for a minute.

I locked my phone, pulled in a breath, and headed across the quad toward the parking lot.

I took the winding road back into town. I needed lunch, a cold drink, and a way to clear my head. I pulled into the lot near the Red Fox Diner, the corner lot across the street from my brother’s bar.

A little bell jingled as I walked in, and I caught Kane at the counter, grabbing lunch. The Red Fox was a classic diner, with red booths along one side next to tall windows, a long countertop on the other side, and fox-themed decor all over the place.

It was also becoming one of my new favorite lunch spots because I knew Elliot would never show up here.

“Howdy,” Kane said, giving me a nod as he finished up a sandwich. “How’d the first day of classes go?”

“I don’t think the summer’s going to be a breeze, but I’m going to study my ass off.”

“You always do well with studying,” Kane said, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Well, when you’re not distracted by other things.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t need the attitude, K.”

He was giving me a stern look. “Well, I’m glad you’re not distracted by that dickhead anymore. You’re the smartest person I know.”

I tapped a sugar packet between my fingers.

How was it possible that Kane could be so nice but so maddening at the same time?

A guy working behind the counter holding cinnamon rolls turned to Kane. “You heard anything from Mason yet?”

For fuck’s sake.

Can I go anywhere in Tennessee without hearing Mason’s name?

I swore I was going to be edged into oblivion by the time I got home.

“Heard from him thirty minutes ago,” Kane said. “but he didn’t mention the article. Thomas, this is my brother, Jesse, by the way. Jesse, meet Thomas, the diner’s best baker and cinnamon roll king.”

Thomas smiled, nodding at me. “I was going to protest that nickname, but I think I’m okay with it.”

“Nice to meet you. Smells amazing, by the way.”

“Best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever have,” Kane added.

I leaned forward on the counter. “What were you guys saying about Mason?”

“It’s pretty shitty,” Kane said, picking up a newspaper on the counter beside him and thwacking it down in front of me. “Today’s town paper.”

There was an article on the bottom of the front page—all about Minton Ranch.

I skimmed the article. At first I couldn’t see why Kane thought it was a bad article, because the first paragraphs were a beautiful synopsis of how Mason’s father had been an amazing asset to the town.

But near the end of the article, there was one paragraph that stuck out.

It’s unfortunate, then, that since Minton’s passing, his son has not carried on the tradition. Riding lessons are hard to come by these days on Minton Ranch, and although Mason Minton has kept the ranch as beautiful as ever, the riding school is a mere shadow of its former glory.

Only time will tell if the new management will continue to run the school into the ground.

The current state of Minton Ranch?

An utter disgrace to its former owner.

No one is to blame for the failure other than Mason Minton himself.

My stomach turned.

“Um,” I said, furrowing my brow, “is this reporter some sort of snake? Who would insult Mason after he lost his father unexpectedly?”

“That reporter has written other fucked-up things before, too,” Kane said. “Mason’s probably torn up about it. Not that he’d admit it.”

“No one reads newspapers anymore anyway, do they?” I asked, but as I glanced around the diner, already I could see four different people who had copies of the paper on their table.

“Bestens people read the paper,” Thomas said softly.

“I texted Mason asking how he’s doing today, but he skirted the issue,” Kane said. “I said how are you holding up with that article, and he texted me back a picture of a hot tub asking me if he should buy it.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Kane shrugged. “Said he was dozing. Probably home alone, maybe taking a nap now.”

A quiet rage swirled through me. The article was unfair, and after hearing Mason talk so fondly about Minton Ranch last night, I knew it was a strike below the belt. Mason loved that place, clearly. And he was still in grief about his father, probably every day, even if he was still fun-loving on the surface. I pictured him alone at home, having to read about it on his own.

Hell no.

Hell fucking no.

An idea came to my mind, and I acted on it before I had time to second-guess myself.

“Hey, Thomas,” I asked. “Could you pack me up two chicken bacon sandwiches and two cinnamon rolls to go?”