Hot Off the Ice Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by A. E. Wasp

  “Yeah?” If Paul wanted to know something, Robbie was going to make him work for it.

  Paul looked at him.

  Robbie stared back, not giving anything away.

  The longer he stared, the better-looking Paul got. With the first glimpse of his face, you got an overall impression of general attractiveness. But the more you looked, the more you noticed his perfect cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, and what an unusual shade of blue his eyes were. And how pretty his mouth was. The mouth that was moving as Paul said something to Robbie.

  “What?” Robbie asked, snapping out of his lust-induced haze. Maybe he was too tired to be awake.

  “I said, does your team know you’re gay?”

  Robbie shrugged. “I think so. Some of them. I’m not sure about the new kids. I don’t hide it, but it’s not like I say ‘Hi, welcome to the team. I’m Robbie, I play defense, and I’m gay. Though maybe I’d get more dates that way.”

  Paul didn’t laugh at his feeble attempt at a joke. “And they don’t care?”

  “If they do, no one’s said anything to me about it.”

  “And your parents? Do they know?”

  Robbie sat on the end of his futon bed. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Did they freak out?”

  “Not even a little. I actually think they were glad. They think college sports are a waste of time and money. My dad’s a writer, and my mom is a college professor. Gay they get. Athlete, not so much.”

  “Really?” Paul’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

  “Really. But hockey is the only reason I got into college in the first place. They were thrilled when I got a scholarship to BSU, though I think they thought I’d stay in Ohio.”

  “Well, the Buckeyes at Ohio State are a Big Ten team.”

  “I know. But I kind of wanted to get a little further away from them. Know what I mean?”

  Paul made a non-committal sound. “You’re really lucky,” he said. “You know your parents will always love you.”

  “Yeah. They love me.” He lay back on the futon. “They just aren’t very impressed by me.”

  “Maybe they know how much you suck,” Paul said with a smile to show he was joking.

  Robbie shook his head. “No. It’s worse. Hockey is the only thing I’m good at, and they could care less.”

  Paul sat down next to him, not saying anything.

  Robbie turned to him, and the guy flinched, his eyes dropping to Robbie’s mouth. Robbie could feel the waves of nervous energy coming from him.

  Paul wanted Robbie, whether he knew it or not.

  Oh boy, Robbie thought. One of those. He sighed internally. Testing his theory, Robbie leaned forward. Paul swayed towards him like he was magnetic.

  Tempting. But probably a terrible idea.

  Robbie stood up. “I want hot chocolate. Want some?”

  Paul nodded.

  Robbie felt Paul’s gaze on him the whole way into the kitchen.

  4

  Paul

  Robbie’s apartment may have been small, but the frozen pond behind it was sweet. Paul wasn’t sure how he let the guy talk him back out into the cold, no matter how good-looking he was. Paul was a southern boy, born and bred. No matter how much time he spent in the Great White North, he never got used to the cold.

  A few minutes ago, they’d been lying next to each other, short ways on the unfolded futon. Both feet on the floor, nothing improper. But a strange energy buzzing in Paul’s head was making him dizzy. He was very aware of how close their bodies were to each other.

  Still on their backs, they tossed a Nerf football back and forth, cups of hot chocolate cooling on the floor.

  “I just don’t get it, man,” Robbie had said. “I know I’m good, but I feel like there’s something holding me back.”

  Paul shook his head. “Nah. I was watching you; you’re alright.” He punched Robbie on the shoulder. “Have you ever tried holding your stick off-wing?”

  Robbie waggled his eyebrows salaciously, “Well, sometimes I do like to switch it up for variety, but I’m much better with my right hand.”

  Paul turned his head and smirked. “Good to know.” He looked at how they were positioned, with Robbie’s left hand next to Paul’s legs. “Should I switch sides?”

  Robbie flushed red and didn’t answer.

  Paul returned his gaze to the ceiling, trying to hide his own blush, and tossed the football up, caught it, did it again. “If you can get used to it, it’s a lot of help to be holding the stick with your dominant hand when you go one-handed.”

  “I’ve noticed a lot of Canadian guys do it.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I started. Chargers are like fifty percent Canadian.” He tossed the ball up and over for Robbie to catch. “I’m the only legit Southern boy on the team.”

  Robbie caught the soft football and trapped it against his chest. “I’ve tried. I suck at it.”

  Paul rolled onto his side. “Well, yeah, dude. It’s hard. Takes practice. Don’t go pussying out on me. You don’t want hard; you can switch to badminton.”

  Robbie shoved him. “Then show me, big man. Give me some tips.”

  That was how Paul ended up bundled up in one of Robbie’s parkas (the boy had more than one) over his sweatshirt and wearing his oldest skates in the middle of the night.

  “I can barely move,” Paul complained as he waddled to the frozen pond. “I feel like Ralphie in A Christmas Story.”

  “I love that movie.” Robbie gave him a blinding smile.

  It was freezing. Their breath left contrails in the still crisp air. But the moon lit up the surface of the snow and sparkled on the ice until Robbie flipped on a bare flood light stuck on a pole next to the pond.

  The house Robbie’s apartment was in backed up to a field that ended in a thick woods of fir and bare hardwood trees that looked like it stretched to Canada. “It’s beautiful,” Paul said.

  Robbie leaned on his stick and looked around. “Yeah, it is.”

  He stepped out onto the ice and glided across the pond backward, motioning to Paul with his stick. “Come on. Teach me, Country Boy.”

  Paul followed more cautiously. Trying to get a feel for the unfamiliar skates and the uneven ice. Growing up in Alabama, he hadn’t had a lot of practice with pond hockey.

  “I’ve never played on a pond,” he admitted.

  “It’s not going to be the same without the boards blocking you. That’s definitely going to take some getting used to.” Robbie skated backward around the surprisingly smooth ice. “But we smooth it out as best we can. You probably won’t hit too many bumps.”

  He hoped not. With a flick of his hand, he sent Robbie up the left side of the ice. “Grab your stick backward. You a righty?”

  Robbie nodded.

  “So keep your right hand on the top.

  Robbie grimaced as he reached his left hand towards the bottom of the stick, wrapping his right hand around the top. “Ugh. It feels so weird.”

  “I know. And you’re gonna have to get real good at catching a pass on the backside of the stick. My suggestion? Get a new one with less of a curve.”

  Paul stretched out his stick one-handed and tapped the puck over to Robbie. “Try this, reaching out with just the one hand.”

  Robbie did, batting the puck around with the stick held in his right hand. “I tried this before. I do like the control this way. But hitting off the boards, and catching a pass...” He shook his head. “I sucked at it last time I tried.”

  Paul skated backward in front of him. “Yeah, but how long ago was that?”

  Robbie shrugged, grabbing the stick with both hands and pivoting around Paul, keeping the puck away from him, and skating leisurely down the ice. “Couple of years,” he admitted. “My high school coach gave up trying to get me to switch.”

  “You’re a better player now.” Paul swept up from behind him and pickpocketed the puck with a lift of Robbie’s stick. “Theoretically.” Laughing, he sped off across the ice, twirling a
nd deking the puck around imaginary players.

  He took a slap shot at the empty net, raising his arms to an imaginary crowd and giving an almost silent cheer. Skating slowly to retrieve the puck, he said. “If we wanna make the show, we’ve got to be the best. We got to push harder and want it more.” He tossed the puck on the ice in front of Robbie. “Do you want it more?”

  “More than who?” Robbie stared into his eyes, hands resting on the top of his stick.

  “More than anyone else does. More than you want anything else. Do you want it that much?”

  Their eyes met, glittering in the harsh shadows of the bare lamp light. Finally, Robbie nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  Paul tilted his head. “Then let’s get to work.”

  They skated hard for some indeterminate length of time Paul knew he would never forget. The world had narrowed down to a frozen space of biting cold air, moon shadows, and the sounds of metal blades carving through the ice.

  As they sped down the ice, Robbie right on Paul’s tail, an owl broke out of the trees, swooping low over Paul’s head with a swish of feathers and an eerie hooting. “Dang,” Paul said, throwing up his arms and ducking.

  “Oh, crap,” Robbie yelped right before he crashed into Paul. Down they went in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Robbie landed on top of Paul, knocking the air out of his lungs. Paul’s first thought was that the parka did a great job of insulating him from the cold. The second was that having Robbie laying on top of him felt really good.

  Robbie started to push away, and, Paul moved without thought, wrapping his arms around Robbie.

  Robbie stopped, raising onto his elbows to stare Paul in the eyes. His eyes were such a warm brown. Paul’s breathing grew heavy, and he felt Robbie’s chest pressing against his with each exhalation.

  He licked his dry lips, and Robbie’s eyes dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes. “Can I kiss you?” Robbie asked quietly.

  Paul’s muscles tightened, and his breath caught.

  Mistaking his silence for a no, Robbie blushed and tried to pull away. Paul grabbed Robbie’s coat awkwardly, fingers clumsy beneath the thick gloves, and pulled him back down.

  Robbie’s lips were cold, but his breath was warm as he kissed Paul gently. He lifted his head to check Paul’s reaction.

  Oh, Paul thought. Oh. He raised his head off the ice to reach Robbie’s mouth.

  Robbie kissed him again, harder this time, pushing him back down to the ice.

  Paul whimpered at the feel of Robbie’s lips on his. When Robbie’s tongue flicked against the seam of his mouth, he opened willingly, letting the heat in. Robbie’s thick gloves thumped to the ice as he pulled them off without breaking the kiss.

  Robbie shifted on top of him as he explored Paul’s mouth, aligning their bodies in a way that made Paul’s eyes roll back in his head even as the ice numbed his ass through his jeans.

  Skates scratching against the ice, Paul bent his knees, clamping his thighs against Robbie’s sides.

  Robbie took what he wanted from Paul, tilting his head to the side with a hand, and encouraging Paul to open up with sharp nips to his lips.

  He pushed Paul’s head back with pressure on his chin, his mouth moving down the column of Paul’s neck as best as he could through the protective barrier of outerwear.

  Paul panted through his open mouth as Robbie set his teeth on Paul’s skin and sucked, tongue flicking against the pulse in Paul’s neck. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, hips rising of their own accord as his body fought for some friction.

  For most of a decade, he’d imagined what it would feel like to be held down by a man, to feel someone strong and hard pressing against him, matching their strength to his. His imagination had not come close to reality.

  Robbie pushed up onto his arms, forcing his body down onto Paul’s rapidly growing erection. The place where his mouth had been was suddenly freezing in the cold air. Paul’s head to toe shudder threatened to throw Robbie off. “Oh, God, oh, God,” Paul groaned. “Don’t stop.”

  Robbie leaned down for a long hard kiss that stole the air from Paul’s lungs. He smiled as he looked at Paul. “If we don’t go inside, we’re going to freeze to death, stick to the ice, and Mrs. Pierson is going to find our bodies in the morning.” He jumped up and held a hand out to Paul.

  Paul couldn’t process what was happening as he let himself be pulled up. Was that it? Was it over? Would the kissing stop when they got inside? Please don’t let it stop. He needed it so badly. Needed to shut off his brain, just for tonight. Please.

  Robbie skated off the rink and headed towards the door. Paul followed him.

  5

  Paul

  The warmth of the apartment was almost painful in contrast to the cold of the outside. Paul yanked off his parka before sitting on the small bench and taking off his borrowed skates.

  “My jeans are frozen,” Robbie said with a grimace. “Want to borrow some sweats?”

  “Please,” Paul answered. “And a shirt?” He stripped off his sweaty hoodie and T-shirt, trying to play it cool.

  Robbie’s eyes flicked to his naked chest, and he nodded, licking his lips.

  Paul blushed, hesitating with a hand on the buttons of his jeans. You would think he hadn’t undressed in front of countless guys before.

  Of course, he hadn’t kissed any of those other guys.

  It felt weird to take them off right in the middle of the room, but the heat was starting to melt the stiff icy patches Few things were as uncomfortable as wet denim.

  At least his erection had gone down.

  Paul stepped out of the wet jeans, adding them to the pile of clothes on the bench.

  Robbie grabbed up the sodden clothing. “I’m going to throw these in the dryer. Be right back.

  Shivering, he went in the living room in his boxers. Robbie’s blankets looked warm, and Paul wondered if Robbie would mind if he wrapped one around himself to warm up. He sat tentatively on the edge of the folded down futon and ran his hands over the soft comforter, an oddly intimate gesture.

  Robbie raised one eyebrow when he caught sight of Paul sitting nearly naked on his futon. “Mr. Dyson, I’m not that kind of a boy,” he said archly. He threw a pair of pants and a gray T-shirt at Paul.

  Blushing, Paul shook out the clothes. The shirt was a Bemidji Chargers’ T-shirt with Robbie’s last name on the back. He held it up and made a face.

  “Tough luck,” Robbie said with a laugh. “It was the only clean shirt I had left. Count your blessings.”

  Paul tried to hide his trembling hands as he pulled on the shirt and sweatpants. All he could think of was how kissing Robbie had made him feel. His lips tingled, raw from the cold, the pressure, and the scrub of Robbie’s end of the day stubble.

  He was twenty-two years old, had been with more than a few girls, but he felt like a fourteen-year-old virgin.

  Sure, it wasn’t quite his first experience with a guy. He pushed that memory down deep. Six-feet-deep.

  But even that time hadn’t been like this. Lending a friend a hand in the middle of the night was one thing. But kissing? Especially kissing like that? Soft and sweet? The kind Paul secretly ached for? That was gay.

  And so, apparently, was Paul, despite how often he had prayed to God not to be. Evidence A? He wanted to kiss Robbie again, right now. So, how could he make that happen?

  Suddenly Robbie was up in his space, a hand on his chest, pushing him down to the futon. “I lied. I am that kind of a boy.” He climbed onto the mattress, straddling Paul’s lap.

  Oh. Okay. Paul’s heart jack-rabbited as he swung between terror and elation. He lay there, eyes wide and arms gripping the comforter that was as soft as he’d thought it would be.

  Everything he was feeling must have shown in his eyes, because Robbie stopped, his palm flat against Paul’s chest. The grin slipped from his face. “Are you okay?”

  Paul nodded quickly.

  Robbie didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? It’s okay if
you want to stop. I won’t kick you out or anything.”

  Tentatively, Paul reached up and laid his hands on Robbie’s thighs where they rested on either side of his body. His muscles were hard as rocks under the soft fabric of his sleep pants. Paul couldn’t resist digging his fingers into them. “No,” he croaked. “Don’t stop.”

  Robbie curved down over Paul, his face inches from Paul. “Do you really want to kiss some guy from BSU?”

  “Yeah, I really do,” Paul said seriously. He might never get up the nerve up to do this again. If one night was going to have to last him a lifetime, he wanted to feel everything. “I want to do everything.”

  “That’s a tall order,” Robbie whispered, slipping his hands beneath the shirt Paul wore. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The kiss quickly turned hot and heavy. Robbie’s tongue plundered Paul’s mouth, filling it up and sliding heavy across his own. Without the impediment of parkas and the distraction of wet cold seeping through his clothes, Paul was almost painfully aware of every place Robbie’s body touched his, especially how close his ass was to Paul’s dick.

  Robbie’s fingers scratched over Paul’s nipples, his hips rocked against Paul’s erection, nothing between them but a little fabric, and his teeth nipped at Paul’s lips. Paul could do nothing except shiver under the onslaught, his hands gripping Robbie’s thighs.

  Robbie sat up, breaking the kiss.

  Dizzy with the lack of oxygen, Paul sucked in deep breaths. Why was Robbie stopping this time? Was Paul doing something wrong?

  “You can touch me, you know,” Robbie said with a twist of his lips.

  Oh, God. It was his fault. He sucked at this. “I’m sorry.”

  Robbie rolled off him, landing on his side next to Paul. He propped his head up on his arm. “Maybe we should stop.”

  Paul pressed his hand against his embarrassingly prominent erection, threw his arm across his eyes, and groaned. “Oh, gosh darn it. Please don’t stop. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”

  Robbie traced a finger across the waistband of the sweatpants. “Your accent is really cute.”