Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(39)

He stares at me like I’ve grown a third eyeball in the middle of my forehead, and it puts me on edge.

“What?”

“I’m just trying to figure you out.” He licks his lips, clearly piecing together what he wants to say in his head first. Something I’ve noticed him do a lot more lately, and I think it’s to keep from saying something that’ll irritate me.

“Continue,” I try coaxing, albeit begrudgingly.

“It’s just…” He pauses. “You say you don’t want all these things because of your family, but it’s the exact same reason you do want them too. And it’s confusing.”

“I want them if I’ve earned them,” I correct him. “I want to feel like everything happening in my career is because I’ve made it happen for myself, not my last name.”

Suddenly, it’s like a lightbulb turns on in his brain, and he sits up straighter.

“Oh my God. That’s why you decked me when we were back in high school, isn’t it? Because I was talking trash about you only getting places because of your name when it’s actually the last thing you want.”

Bingo.

“Pretty much, yeah,” I say with a sigh. “Wasn’t too hard to keep adding fuel to the fire after that.”

“Well, shit.” He shakes his head before letting out a wry laugh. “My mouth really does cause more problems than it should sometimes.”

“You’re just figuring this out now?”

He nods. “How’s the saying go? The first step to change is awareness?”

“And you expect me to believe you wanna change? Really? You?”

“Hey, I haven’t gotten in a fight since we started following through on this superstition,” he protests.

It’s true; he’s reined in his temper a lot in the past month, though I’d chalk it up to regularly getting laid and tasting victory, not because he’s a changed man. But I still give him the benefit of the doubt, if only to placate him.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a real pacifist now, de Haas.”

“Takes one to know one, right?”

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. “Sure.”

I swear he gets off on me giving him a clipped or sarcastic response, because he always grins at me like an idiot whenever it happens. Dimples and all.

Probably because I’m feeding him exactly the reaction he’s hoping for. Always looking to get under my skin.

But his grin slowly fades as he continues staring, studying me the way he would a playbook. I’m not sure what he’s looking for when he does it, only that he must find it when a solemn expression crosses his features.

“Oak?”

I try not to let the nickname burrow its way into my chest the way it wants to, but it manages anyway, nestling up behind my ribs. “Yeah?”

“I just want you to know…I’m sorry.” He pauses and clears his throat. “You know, for all the shit I said back then.”

The sincere tone he uses is enough to set me on edge. Because this isn’t how we act together, all soft-spoken apologies and deep, meaningful conversations. Which is exactly why I shift the energy back to teasing.

Where it’s comfortable. Where we’re supposed to keep it.

“Just back then?” I ask, raising a brow. “Not for the past three years on top of it?”

A smirk plays on his lips, breaking through the heaviness. “I mean, we both know you had some of it coming.”

Just like that, we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming as I shove his shoulder, almost causing him to fall off the edge of the bed. It makes us both burst out into laughter.

“And there goes your chance of me apologizing for decking you. Because you definitely had it coming.”





Fifteen

Quinton

“There’s no way in hell we don’t win tomorrow. Not after that,” Oakley pants, dropping to his back across my mattress.

I’m still on top of him, cum leaking from my dick and onto his chest from what might be our hottest hook-up yet, and I have to agree. But Cornwall has been undefeated so far this season, so it will be the first real test of our team.

And how well this superstition actually works.

“Honestly, we’re doing it again, even if we don’t.”

He chuckles, his hands resting on my thighs giving a little squeeze. “Deal.”

Sliding off his body, I wipe myself clean with a dirty shirt and toss it in my hamper. I can feel his eyes on me as I drag a pair of sweats up my hips, studying me the way he tends to. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, though I refuse to point it out. The last thing I want is to inadvertently piss him off when we’ve just started getting along.

“You mind if I hang here for a bit?”

“Not at all.”

I’ve realized having him around isn’t so bad. And not just for the sex part, though I’m not complaining about that either.

Take the other day for example. We were on our way out off the ice after practice when he pulled me to the side and asked if I wanted to grab dinner and study at my place. He needed someone to quiz him on some philosophy crap for a class he’s taking, and even with a ton of roommates who could help him, their townhouse is far too rowdy—even on weeknights—to actually be beneficial.