Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(26)

Oakley’s head sinks back against the wall behind him, and I catch the subtle shake of his head. But I also notice the thrumming pulse in his throat and feel his heart racing against my chest, both of which tell another story.

Then there’s the way his cock is thickening in his jeans against mine, and I’m pleased to find what he’s claiming is nothing but a lie.

Knowing he’s as affected by my proximity as I am by his is exhilarating. Intoxicating, even. It makes me want more.

More what? I’m not entirely sure.

More of his time? His attention? The look in his eyes he’s giving me right now?

Maybe just more of this feeling humming in my veins.

“Not even for the good of the team? To get to the Frozen Four? To hold that trophy over our heads and bring home a championship I know we both want? Because that’s what’s at stake right now, Reed.”

His teeth sink into his pouty, pink lower lip, and damn if my dick doesn’t take notice too.

Calm the fuck down. He hasn’t said yes yet.

But those three letters are right there. I know it. They’re sitting on the tip of his damn tongue, so close, I can almost taste them.

If there’s anything Oakley and I can agree on, it’s that this team is one of the most important things in our lives. It might be for different reasons and we might have different goals down the line, but those things don’t matter right now. What we should be worried about is the next game. Then the one after. And each and every one until we’re holding that trophy over our heads.

Which is more than possible. The only thing needing to happen for us to get there is Oakley saying one simple word.

Yes.

I’m fucking sure of it.

I need to get him there. To see things from my point of view, and going off our track record, I’m gonna need every weapon in my arsenal to get through to him.

My tongue darts out, and Oakley’s eyes track it as I wet my lips.

Say yes, Reed. C’mon.

I lean in even closer. As close as I dare.

“I can tell you’re frustrated. Believe me, I am too. You drive me fucking insane, and most of the time, not in a good way. But what better way than to work it out on each other? I’ll even let you go first. Whatever you want.” I run my lips over the pulse point on his throat, just below his jaw as I work my way over to his ear. “I bet you’d like to fuck my face, for real this time. And you can. I’ll get down on my knees for you, here and now, if you say yes.”

My mouth glides along his skin until it hovers against his lips, only a sliver of air separating us. Still too far apart, but close enough to brush when I whisper, “Just say yes, Oak.”

His breath comes out hot against my lips, in harsh pants, like he’s just run a marathon. I feel the same, but also keyed up and ready to go. Ready for him and whatever he’s willing to give me. Which I’m hoping starts with him closing the gap between his lips and mine.

When he grabs the back of my neck, I’m sure he’s about to do just that.

But instead, he uses the grip to switch our positions, pushing me back against the wall. Crowding into me the way I was him, overwhelming me with his presence. And something about the way he just man-handled me…makes me itch for another taste of him. Has my blood humming with need and want like I’ve never felt before.

He doesn’t even have to roll his hips into me for me to feel his cock rubbing against mine, and it makes me want to get both of us naked. Fast.

But as soon as it’s there—the heat and friction I’m desperately seeking—it’s gone.

In its place is a bucket of cold water delivered by the man I now wish I didn’t lust after.

“Not happening, de Haas,” he mutters, leaning back to meet my gaze before stepping back. “Not in this fucking lifetime.”





Eleven

Oakley

My body thrums with anticipation as I slide the key card into the slot on the hotel room’s door after our loss against Fall River earlier tonight. It’s not unlike any other night for an away game, but I’m on edge. And the reason is clear as day, seeing as Quinton is the one standing behind me, patiently waiting for me to let him into our room.

An unfortunate circumstance I have no control over.

When Coach called out our rooming assignments at the beginning of the season, sticking me with Quinton instead of Braxton like it’d been all last year, I was beyond pissed. Not only for the obvious reasons of de Haas and I not getting along, but because being an openly gay player sleeping in a room with another dude can cause discomfort for some guys. Every year since freshman, I’ve been paired up with either Braxton or Camden. So why the fuck he changed shit up on me this season is beyond me.

Maybe it was another tactic of trying to get us to bond and get past our rivalry on the ice, as misguided as it would be.

Since he’s my uncle, it should’ve been easy enough to ask for a reassignment, get Brax back—or even Cam—and call it a day. But the last thing I want is for all those nepotism murmurings to become true. So I just suck it up and deal with rooming with my mortal enemy.

The door slams closed behind us once we’re both inside, and I toss the key onto the dresser next to the television. The room is standard for our away games, two queen beds, a bathroom, and an adjoining door to one of our other teammates. Camden and Rossi, if I remember right.