Page 6 of Hot Ice, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #2)

6

JESSE

The roads near Mason’s ranch looked different under full blue skies. The leaves were in peak summer green, lush and full of life.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m a winter bunny all the way because I’m at my best during hockey season. But even I couldn’t deny the beauty of the first weeks of summer. Especially in Bestens, where the ridges of the mountains in the distance formed a dramatic backdrop as I drove.

Tennessee wasn’t perfect, but I always found myself falling back in love with it anyway. Funny how that worked.

I pulled down the long driveway past the Minton Ranch sign. In the daylight the property was even better—holy fucking trees , Batman. Birds flitted from branch to branch and I even caught a pair of bunnies hopping their way along the sloping hills leading up to his house.

You live like a king, and party like a prince , I thought, glancing up at his home.

I pulled up to the big house, spotting Mason’s big pickup parked at the other end of the curved driveway.

I grabbed the bag of food and got out. My shoes crunched on the gravel drive and the cicadas were in full swing again, and I could also hear the repetitive sound of a metal shovel hitting dirt somewhere nearby. The curved lawn out front was freshly cut and impossibly green, and the air smelled like it.

I rang the front doorbell on the porch, waited a minute, then rang it again. When I realized nobody was inside I turned and followed the long, curved stone path that led to the side of the house, under a canopy of trees.

The yard overlooked the stables on one side, and the far-off mountain ridges on the other. Various dirt riding paths cut through more tall oaks. The yard itself was landscaped with shrubs, pink and yellow flowers, and an herb garden, which I wondered if Mason ever used.

I spotted what was making the shoveling sound after rounding the corner of the house.

Mason was there with a shovel in his hands, shirtless and wearing grey work pants. He was leveling out a sizable patch of dirt. The sun radiated down, highlighting his tan skin and the golden parts of his hair, making him look like a rugged, fallen angel, hard at work.

Desire curled through me the moment my eyes landed on him.

“Finn?” he asked, dragging his shovel over the dirt again. “I thought my massage appointment was tomorrow—”

He turned fully to see me then, doing a quick double take. His eyes hit mine. There was no turning back now.

Here goes nothing.

I held up the bag of food, shaking it in the air. “I brought you something.”

“You’re not Finn,” he said.

His brow furrowed.

After last night—and after reading that bitch of an article—I’d half expected him to come right to my arms for a hug when I showed up.

That… definitely wasn’t happening.

“Not Finn. Sorry to disappoint,” I told him, pausing across the yard from him.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I felt a little sweat come down the center of my back.

Yeah. He was surprised to see me. Maybe even a little standoffish at the idea of me showing up unannounced. Even from here I could see circles beneath his eyes, and his hair was messy like he’d just woken up. Maybe Kane was right about him taking a nap.

…And maybe I was stupid to show up at a man’s house out of nowhere.

A man who I barely knew, even if I’d felt some strange connection to him for one night.

Not your brightest idea ever, Sanocki.

Mason shoved the tip of the shovel into the dirt beside him, leaning on it and dragging his boot through the dirt before looking back up at me.

“I like the pink,” he finally said.

His eyes landed on my chest and then my forearms. I was wearing a light pink button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up—I’d wanted to look good for the first day of classes, even though there was no real need for it.

My shoes sank softly into the lush grass as I crossed over the lawn. Closer toward the house, there was a big, fancy stainless steel grill under an awning. The shimmering blue of a curved pool glinted in the sun, and there was a fire pit over on that end, too.

Mason had his own little resort paradise back here.

“Who’s Finn?” I asked, stepping onto the dirt patch where he was standing.

His baby blues landed on me, watching me close. “My friend.”

I held up a hand. “Alright, alright. Not going to pry.”

“He’s a massage therapist. Helps out with the horses most mornings around 6, too, when I’m still sleeping.”

“I can pretend to be him,” I offered, trying for a joke. “Want a massage?”

Mason clicked his tongue, leaning on the end of his shovel. “Nice try.”

His chest was broad and glistening with sweat from his work. His nipples hardened as a breeze went by, and I tried not to stare.

“What’s with the shovel?” I asked, nodding at the dirt.

“Oh. It’s hot tub time,” Mason said. “I’ve been putting off clearing a spot for one. God, something smells good. What is that?”

“Well, I brought you a sandwich and a cinnamon roll from Red Fox,” I said, “but now I’m wondering if that was the wrong idea.”

His expression softened a little, and he nodded down at the bag, surprised. “That’s nice of you.”

“Listen, I was at the diner and I saw that shitty fucking article, and—”

Mason waved me off, standing up straight again and grabbing the shovel. He pitched it into the dirt, slamming it harder than before.

“Don’t tell me Kane sent you with food because he was worried about me.”

“No, I got you lunch,” I said. “Because that article was bullshit, and because I wanted to bring you food. It’s just lunch. It’s no big deal.”

“Just a dumb newspaper.”

“But it’s okay to be pissed or hurt about it,” I said. “The shit that guy said about you. Do you even know who he is? Does he even know you? ”

He furrowed his brow, looking off toward the far-off mountains and then back at me. “I’ve met him. Many times. Dad used to have him over for dinner here sometimes. I always thought of him like an uncle, growing up, but now he’s just an asshole.”

“Kind of makes me want to go find him and punch him,” I said.

He kept leveling out the dirt patch as I stood there. I watched his biceps and torso strain with the exertion, as he channeled all of his frustration into physical labor.

He finally stopped, taking a deep breath and pushing the shovel back into the earth.

“That’s really nice of you, Jesse. And bringing the food, too. Thank you.”

My stomach hardened. “Okay. I’m gonna drop this on the table and go. Thought you might want company, but I can see that you don’t.”

“It’s not that, Jesse.”

“Hey. I like lone-wolfing it. I’m not going to judge,” I told him as I began to walk off.

He leaned his head back, looking up at the blue sky then back at me. “Wait.”

I turned back toward him. “What’s up?”

“I really don’t feel like being alone right now. I’m just… fine, I am pissed. I’m pissed about the article, and I thought I could shove it all away and throw a party here tonight to make me forget it. I wasn’t expecting anyone to see me like this.”

I furrowed my brow. “See you like what? Hot, shirtless, looking like a fucking poster-perfect cowboy in the sun?”

For the first time his expression broke into a smile. “I’m a disheveled mess. Inside and out.”

I puffed out a laugh. “There’s a reason people call you a hot mess, though. You still look good even when you’re struggling. And you don’t have to hide that. Not from me, at least.”

He studied me. “Why do you give a damn?”

“About you?”

“About a random guy you met in a bar?”

I shrugged. “Because talking to you was the most fun I’ve had in years, probably. Because usually I’d rather disappear than have to make conversation with strangers, but I found myself enjoying every moment of it last night. Maybe that’s just a normal, everyday occurrence for you, but it isn’t for me.”

“Doesn’t happen to me often at all,” he said.

I smiled gently. “So you’re admitting I’m special .”

“Fuck off.”

“No take-backs. I’m fucking special.”

“Are all hockey players as egotistical as you?”

“A lot of us are,” I said, “but I’m still special.”

I caught a hint of a smile on his face now, too. “Fine. You are. But the jury’s still out on whether or not we can be friends. Maraschino cherries? Really?”

“All day, baby.”

The wind blew through his hair. “Jesse, I don’t care about the article. Don’t worry about me. Shoving away the bad and acting like I’m all good is just how I roll.”

“Well, you sure don’t look bad from where I’m standing.”

A bird chirped in the air above us. He paused for a moment, breathing deep. I couldn’t imagine how he must have felt all morning—alone on the big, sprawling ranch, trying to handle all his shittiest feelings alone before stuffing them down.

And stubborn as hell, just like me.

“Just wanted to get this leveled before I have friends over tonight,” he said. “Let me finish up, rinse off, and I’ll be down in the kitchen in fifteen, okay? Make yourself at home, Jesse.”

“You sure?”

He gestured toward the sliding doors that led to the back of the house. “My house is open. Have at it. Stay for the party, too, if you want. I only decided to throw one a couple of hours ago.”

“In between texting me about wanting your tongue in my mouth?” I interjected.

He paused, looking at me for a moment, calculating something behind his eyes. A breeze blew past again, his hair blowing to one side.

“It’s been a weird day,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

Mason’s expression lightened, like clouds briefly giving way to blue skies. It was almost like I could see him burying his emotions in real time, trying to avoid the way anything actually made him feel.

He turned to the side and sneezed, then abandoned the shovel and walked toward me. He gave me a quick pat on the back.

“Going to go hop in the shower,” he said as he walked toward the back door, sliding it open. “I’ll be down soon. I want your opinions on a cocktail I’m making for tonight’s party. Don’t come upstairs unless you want to see me naked. Which I’d be okay with, honestly. Be right back.”

I walked in through the double doors after him. He was already bounding up his stairs, taking them two at a time.

Well, fuckin’ alright, then, cowboy, I guess it’s going to be like that.

The Mason tornado had whipped past. He’d cut off the conversation about the article pretty quickly, snapping right back into his nothing-matters, time-to-have-fun personality.

But I didn’t fucking buy it.

His friends may have been happy to ignore how Mason really felt, but I didn’t believe for one second that he ‘didn’t care’ about that article.

I waited in the kitchen. I looked around like I’d just entered some celebrity’s home, seeing it in daylight for the first time. The tall windows let in tons of natural light. There were incredible views of the trees and stables in one direction and the ridge of the mountains in the other, with the backyard nestled in between. Exposed beams ran along the high, vaulted ceiling inside, and in the daylight, the dramatic stone mantle above the fireplace looked even better.

Mason walked down the stairs ten minutes later in blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. His hair was still wet as he came into the kitchen.

“Welcome back,” I told him, looking down at the kitchen counter before I started to get a half-chub from gawking at him.

He turned to one side and sneezed again. “Sorry. Allergies.”

“You sure it’s allergies?” I asked. “If you get me sick during my first week of classes, I’m going to sucker punch you.”

“I’m certain it’s allergies, because I got tested two weeks ago, and it only happens this time of year. It’s ash tree pollen. Happens every time I work long hours outside in the yard.”

“That sucks.”

“My doc gave me allergy meds,” he said. “Just took a couple.”

“So responsible.”

“I’m also fucking ravenous . Thank you for bringing food. Nobody ever brings me food.”

“Don’t you have a ton of friends?” I asked. “They don’t ever bring over lunch?”

“Not exactly,” he said, leaning over the giant kitchen island toward me. “It’s more like… they come over and drink all my liquor, sometimes pass out on the couch, then head home in the morning.”

“Doesn’t sound that great to me.”

“I don’t mind it. I hate being alone.”

“Usually I love being alone,” I said. “Lately it kind of drives me crazy, though.”

A moment later he was next to me, sitting down at the counter. We both dug into our sandwiches, and he looked over at me after a minute.

“Your house is beautiful,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“And the kitchen looks even better with you in it.”

“Oh, shut up,” he said. “Flatterer.”

I blew him a kiss.

“You want to help me pick out this cocktail for tonight’s party?” Mason asked a moment later, standing up and walking around to the other side of the kitchen. “I need to make it a good one.”

“Need to impress your friends with your drink-making skills?”

He shook his head. He grabbed one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a bite and moaning at the taste.

I needed to somehow get Mason to stop making sounds like that around me. It was way too appealing, and I could picture him doing it for other reasons that had nothing to do with cinnamon.

“No,” he finally said, his eyes flashing up again to meet mine. “I need this party to be good, and I need people to bring their friends. Because I can’t take it anymore. I’m lifting the ban.”

“Wait. What?”

He licked the icing from his fingers. “Sex-free summer needs to end tonight.”