Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(100)

My brows crash together, confusion setting in as I wrack my brain for anything I might’ve gotten him, only to come up blank. “Your…present?”

The grin appearing on his face is mischievous as hell when he says one word.

A name, actually.

“Louis.”

I burst out laughing. “Louis isn’t a present. He’s going to be your own personal pain in the ass if you sign with him. Just ask Coach or my dad.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the pain in the ass and he would be the one to clean up all my messes and fuck ups? Isn’t that the entire purpose of an agent?”

“Yes.” I chuckle. “But he’s also going to harp you to death about training and food regimens, being on time to the arena.”

“Hey, I haven’t been late to practice or a game in months,” he counters, to which I raise my hands.

“I know, I’m just saying that’s what he’s there for.”

“Mhmm. You just thought I needed a babysitter next year since you won’t be around to do it.”

The thought of not playing with Quinn next year or even seeing him every day makes my stomach sink, and once again, the reality of tonight being the last time we might ever play together sets in. And it’s sobering.

“I wanted you to have someone on your side to find the best place for your talent and skill to not just fit, but shine. Because with how hard you’ve worked, I know they deserve to.”

He smiles at me like I hung the goddamn moon for him.

“Way to get sappy on me, Reed.”

“And way to ruin a moment, de Haas,” I say, giving him a playful shove. “But I need you to know Louis wasn’t some sort of apology gift to make up for what happened. I talked to him long before you found out—”

“I know. He told me you spoke to him over winter break.” He lets out an ironic laugh. “I got you crazy socks for Christmas, and you got me a fucking all-star agent. Way to be a one-upper, even if it was a couple months late.”

“Well, I am the best boyfriend you’ll ever have.”

“Willing to place bets on that, Reed? Maybe you need to put your money where your mouth is.”

A grin spreads across my face, his taunt taking me back to a similar one he made in a different hallway. One full of drunken college kids and pounding dance music instead of hockey memorabilia.

I go to grab for him, but he’s quick, darting out of reach and running toward the exit before I have the chance to regain my balance. But the door causes an obstacle, making it easy enough to catch up.

My arms wrap around his waist seconds after we burst through the doors, and I haul him against me before he can make another break for it. We’re chest to chest as I walk him backward, pinning him against the exterior wall of the arena.

“You caught me,” he pants, breathless. “Now what are you gonna do with me?”

“Always fucking testing me,” I growl before fusing my mouth to his.

I feel like I’ve been shot up full of uppers, because I’m on top of the fucking world as our tongues tangle and battle. His hair slides through my fingers as I try to reel him in more, needing to take as much he’s willing to give. Which isn’t much. The jackass that he is, he fights it. Until I roll my thickening cock against his.

Then he lets out a soft moan and rocks against me too.

I could devour him where I stand, no amount of fucks given about indecent exposure. I’m high on the win. On life. On him.

Everything about this moment is pure ecstasy.

My hands grip his hard, firm backside. One I fully intend to sink my teeth into as soon as humanly possible.

“You’re trying to get us arrested or something?” he pants into my mouth before diving in for more.

“It’s fine,” I murmur, biting at his lip. “No one’s dicks are out. And it’s almost three in the morning.”

“Maybe, but we’re still bound to be putting on a show for anyone who might—”

A throat clears behind me, effectively cutting Quinn off mid-sentence. But I’m pleased to find the rush of dread doesn’t flow through me at the thought of someone catching me with him. Though, I’d be lying if there isn’t a slight amount of embarrassment at being caught with a raging boner in public. Especially if it’s my uncle.

Which, thank God, it isn’t. But it’s not exactly who I was hoping for, either.

“You have a minute, Reed?” Louis Spaulding asks.

I glance between Quinn and Louis, not sure what he needs that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Got something for you.”

He hands me a manila folder with a stack of papers inside, and I frown. “What’s all this?”

“Your contract. The one I was hoping to give to you in front of your parents in Indy, but you were on the bus and gone before I had the chance,” he says matter-of-factly before sharing a knowing smirk with Quinn. “You’re not the only one who knows how to work a deal.”

Flipping the folder open, I glance over the top document to see it’s definitely a contract with my name listed as the represented party.

Well, I’ll be damned.

“I thought he signed you?” I murmur to Quinn. “And Louis was only taking one more client this year.”