Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(16)

“Shouldn’t you be at home, golden boy?”

Ignoring the golden boy comment, I mutter, “Babysitting duty.” Motioning my hand toward where Holden and Kason are all over each other on the dance floor, I continue, “Roommate needed to get his dick wet.”

For the first time since he sidled up by my side, I feel his eyes on me, narrowing in as he reads my features. It’s irritating.

“What?” I ask, my gaze colliding with his.

“Leave it to you for judging the very people you call your friends.” He scoffs, running his fingers through dark hair. “With friends like you, who fucking needs ‘em?”

“I’m not judging him.”

It’s not exactly a lie. I’m not judging Holden for wanting to get laid. I’m judging his choice of people to do it with.

The look on Quinton’s face is dubious at best. “Oh, please. Save the bullshit for someone who actually cares.”

“Well, you don’t care about anything, so…”

He rolls his eyes. “So because my entire existence doesn’t revolve around a puck and a pair of skates, it means I don’t care about anything?”

This I can do. Tossing words with him until something gets him to bite back. And from the hellish look in his eyes, I can tell he’s close to doing just that.

“No, but it does explain why Coach didn’t give the captain spot back to you after your little suspension.”

A snort comes from him. “Please, the only reason that happened is because you share the same last name as him, and we both know it.”

“Or it’s because I actually know how to be a leader. Which means dedicating everything I have to the sport and the team. Something we both know you can’t say.”

His nostrils flare. “I give this team everything I have and more.”

“Really?” I pause, canting my head to the side. “Because it sure didn’t seem like it tonight on the ice.”

I must’ve made the winning blow, because Quinton’s arm flashes out, grabbing the front of my shirt in a vise-like grip. The sudden movement sends both our cups tumbling over the railing and into the crowd below.

“Someone’s getting testy,” I taunt. It feels good to be the one getting under his skin.

“And someone’s pretending like he played the best game of his life tonight when you couldn’t find the net if it crawled up your ass and made a home there.”

A bark of laughter burst from me. “Again with the gay jokes, huh, de Haas? Couldn’t come up with something to make you sound any more like a bigot?”

His lips curl back into a sneer. “Oh, suck my dick. Fucking douche.”

I smirk and lean into him, allowing our proximity to work in my favor. “Whip it out. I’ll drop to my knees right here and now. Best head you’ll ever get, guaranteed.”

Quinton’s blue eyes flare, scorching me as the fist holding the front of my shirt tightens. Then he narrows in on me, again, like he can see right through me.

And I don’t like it.

“Best head ever? You’re quite sure of yourself there, Reed.”

My stomach coils itself into knots, his response throwing me off, but I do my best to keep my voice confident and steady. “Who’d suck dick better than someone who has one?”

He scoffs. “Plenty of people, I’m sure. I could do it easily.”

I chuckle, because really? That’s how far he wants to take this? Saying he—a straight guy—could suck dick better than someone like me, who’s been doing it for years?

It makes absolutely no sense.

Which is why the words, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.

He wets his lower lip before running his teeth over it. “I could, but I think you’d like it too much.”

Yeah, that’s probably true.

I might hate the guy on principle, but he’s a sexy motherfucker if I’ve ever seen one. Believe me, I’ve done my best not to notice too. Being openly gay on an athletic team means I already keep to myself more in the locker room than I did while I was still closeted. I’d never want to make any of my teammates uncomfortable, and thankfully, they don’t do it for me anyway.

Of course, because God hates me, the one exception would be Quinton.

My eyes avoid him as much as they can, above everyone else, because of it. Like they’ll continue to, because he is straight and the world’s biggest asshole.

But I have to admit, seeing him deep-throat my cock would be—

Stop thinking about it. Stop, stop, stop.

Thankfully, my brain gets the memo and halts all immediate thought about the jackass in front of me. All sexual thoughts, at least. And it’s quickly replaced, yet again, with a flicker of fury when I notice a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“I severely doubt I’d enjoy it,” I bite out.

The way his brow arches signals his surprise at my response. Almost as if he’s in disbelief I wouldn’t be jumping at the opportunity to have him on his knees, mouth wrapped around my dick.

Abruptly, Quinton’s fist leaves its place on my shirt and latches onto my shoulder. My bad shoulder, and I barely have the chance to register the pain shooting through the joint before I’m being hauled from our spot against the railing.