Hot Off the Ice Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by A. E. Wasp

  It was the last place on earth Robbie wanted to spend one of his very rare days off. He almost begged off, but when he turned to Paul, he knew he wasn’t going to.

  Paul looked like a kid in a candy shop. Or a teen at a mall at Christmas.

  Robbie sighed. Entering the mall somehow felt like he was betraying everything his parents had taught him. And that they would know the minute his foot touched the faux marble floor and sense a disturbance in the fair trade shopping force. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But you have to lead.”

  Immediately, the visual and audio assault on his senses overwhelmed Robbie. And the heat. It had to be fifty degrees warmer inside than out. He clawed his way out of his wool overcoat like it was suffocating him, almost elbowing a child in the face as he did.

  Paul removed his coat with much more grace.

  “How big is this place?” Robbie asked, staring at the high ceilings and store-lined hallways that seemed to stretch out to the horizon.

  “Never been in a mall this big?” Paul asked as he navigated them through the crowd, threading his way through the people like he was on the ice.

  “Never been in a mall, period.”

  Paul stopped walking. “Never been in a mall? Where do you get clothes from?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Target? Thrift store? I don’t know. I have some places online I shop when I need something new.”

  Paul shook his head as if he’d never heard of anything so strange in his life. “Did you grow up on a commune or something like that?”

  Kind of, Robbie realized, but he wasn’t getting into that right now.

  “I grew up outside of Cleveland, thank you very much. I just didn’t go to malls. Besides,” he continued defensively, “it’s not like we need a whole lot of clothes. I mean, we spend half our life either in hockey uniforms, workout clothes, or a suit.”

  Rationally, he knew Paul was only teasing him for what Paul took as a lack of opportunity, not an aversion to malls. But, still, he couldn’t help feeling attacked. More than once in college he’d had to defend his unwillingness to give his money to corporations with what he felt were deplorable business practices.

  Granted, it was easier to find fair trade coffee in Oberlin than in Northern Minnesota, but it wasn’t that much more work if you knew where to look.

  He wasn’t some social justice warrior, despite what they’d called him. He just had a conscience, okay? He couldn’t enjoy something he knew someone else had suffered to produce.

  Paul ignored his prickly defensiveness and rolled his eyes. “No matter what you’re wearing, you need underwear. And that’s what we’re here for. The whole team is tired of your K-Mart specials,” Paul said firmly as if he had won an argument. He strode confidently into the crowd towards a destination only he knew.

  “Like I’d shop at K-Mart,” he called at Paul’s back.

  As Robbie kept an eye on Paul’s blond hair bobbing above the crowd, Paul must have realized Robbie wasn’t following him. He stopped, ran his hand through his hair and turned back to where Robbie still stood.

  His eyes crinkled and he smiled wide as he caught Robbie’s eye.

  He looked so adorable and sexy with his sparkling eyes, wide, white smile and his biceps straining the sleeves of his Seattle Thunder branded T-shirt that Robbie couldn’t resist smiling back.

  Robbie noticed more than one head turn to see who Paul was looking at like that. He’s with me, he wanted to say. He wanted to go up to Paul and plant a big wet one right on his mouth and see how the shoppers would react.

  Unfortunately, knowing how Paul would react kept him from doing it. He suddenly had a lot more understanding of how Drew must have felt when they were dating. Robbie didn’t hide his relationship from his teammates and friends, but as Paul had rightly pointed out, it wasn’t like he was leading Pride parades in his uniform or anything.

  “Come on,” Paul said, coaxing Robbie forward with a curl of his fingers like he was teaching a baby to walk. “You can do it. One step at a time.”

  “Jerk,” Robbie said with a grin as he closed the distance between them.

  When he was close enough, Paul grabbed his arm and pulled him into a one-armed side hug. “It will be fun. And if you’re really good, I’ll buy you an ice cream afterward. Okay, little buddy?” has asked, knuckling Robbie’s head.

  Robbie swatted his hand away and twisted out of the hug. “You’ll buy me dinner. And maybe a movie.”

  “It’s a date,” Paul said, waggling his eyebrows.

  It kind of was. Which made Robbie wonder. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with that? With us hanging out like this in public?”

  Paul’s guilty look confirmed Robbie’s suspicious. Paul wasn’t as okay with it as he wanted to be.

  “I think we’ll be okay. No one knows us here,” Paul said, the light in his eyes dimming.

  Robbie felt like a jerk for bringing it up. Paul was so different in private, so enthusiastic, it was easy for Robbie to forget how new it all was to him. Closeted, Robbie reminded himself ruefully. What went on behind closed doors was one thing. In public, he was a straight boy.

  Damn it. But it wasn’t forever, Robbie told himself. Eventually, Paul would realize how ridiculous he was being, and that no one cared.

  Except maybe the fans. And the press.

  Fuck. Stupid. The whole homophobia thing was ridiculous. Robbie put the blame directly on people like Paul’s father and the church leaders who were telling them how evil gay people were. Why couldn’t they just live and let live?

  “You okay?” Paul asked.

  Fuck them, Robbie thought. Whoever they were. He wasn’t going to let them ruin his first day out with Paul.

  “I’m great,” he said with a big smile. “And I’m at your mercy. Teach me your bourgeois ways.”

  “Ooh, big words. Sexy. Keep that up, and I might buy you popcorn, too.”

  Paul kept up a stream of talk as they walked through the mall.

  Robbie half-listened, making what he hoped were appropriate responses but mostly enjoying the way Paul’s southern accent rose and fell almost like a song as he spoke.

  He knew Paul was a little self-conscious of it and tried to suppress it as much as could. But when he was excited or tired or stressed, the accent came out. He couldn’t wait to hear Paul whispering dirty things in his ear with that soft drawl.

  So far, Paul wasn’t much of a talker in bed. Robbie would work on it. He counted the people checking Paul out as he imagined how Paul would sound saying some pretty specific things.

  He’d counted six women, two teenaged girls, and five guys, and worked himself up into a bit of a state by the time Paul stopped in front of Nordstrom’s.

  “That okay?” he asked Robbie.

  “Huh?” Robbie blinked at the store and tried to remember what Paul had been talking about.

  Paul’s eyes dragged down his body, stopping on the bulge in his jeans that was a little larger than normal. “Distracted?” he asked with the lift of an eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest, flexing as he did.

  Oh, damn, he must have caught on to Robbie’s mild obsession with his arms. Two could play at that game. Robbie stepped close enough to whisper in Paul’s ear. “I was remembering how that accent sounded when you begged me to let you come.”

  Paul stepped back, mouth open in shock and admiration. “You are a right bastard, Robbie Rhodes.” He stuck a hand in his jeans pocket, discreetly adjusting himself.

  “Only until we lose,” he promised.

  “I’m gonna make you pay for that,” Paul threatened.

  Robbie couldn’t wait.

  17

  Robbie

  Buying underwear at Nordstrom’s was nothing like buying underwear at Target. There, Robbie’s biggest problem was packages hung on the wrong hook, and he certainly never tried them on.

  “You can’t try on underwear,” he hissed at Paul who was flipping through the tables of various types of briefs laid out like an underwear buffet. Robbie
shuddered to think how much they cost.

  “This is the kind I like,” Paul said, holding up a dark green pair. “Tommy Johns.” He read from the label. “They got a no wedgie guarantee. That sound nice, but I don’t think they’ve ever been in a locker room. Ooh, a ‘contour pouch that nestles the boys.’ My boys sure do like being nestled.”

  Robbie flipped the tag towards him to read the price. “What? Thirty-four dollars for one pair of underpants?”

  A few heads turned towards them.

  Paul moved so they stood side by side at the display. “You like the way they look on me?” he asked in a low voice, eyes on the table in front of them.

  “Yeah. A lot.”

  “Well, I would like to see you in these, okay? Anyway,” he said a little louder. “It’s not like you can’t afford them.”

  Robbie made a frustrated sound.

  “What?” Paul asked, turning to face Robbie. “What is your problem with spending some of your extremely hard-earned money on something nice for yourself? It’s not a Ferrari. It’s underwear. Something you have to have anyway and something you wear every day.”

  “I know. It’s just…” Robbie picked up the tag of another pair on the table that was even more expensive than the first pair. He flinched, but his hand lingered on the cloud-like material, betraying him. As usual, what his body wanted and what his conscience told him was right were at odds.

  He slid his fingers deeper into the neatly stacked pile of briefs. They did feel awfully soft.

  He searched for a way to explain his hesitancy without sounding like a douchebag or like he was judging Paul for the way he lived. Because he wasn’t. Really. He didn’t expect everyone to have the same standards.

  Paul noticed Robbie fondling the underwear, and sensing potential capitulation, pressed his argument. “It’s thirty-four dollars, dude.” He held the briefs up by the waistband, waving them like a flag. “Say this pair lasts a year and you wear it once a week. That’s less than a dollar a day for the ability to cradle your ass and the boys in some comfort and style. I think you can swing it. Hell, go crazy, get seven, one for each day of the week and it still wouldn’t make a dent.”

  Robbie sighed. “It’s not just the cost and the fact that it makes me feel kind of pretentious to buy fancy underwear. I worry that with every pair of these I buy, I’m consigning another eight-year-old Vietnamese kid to a short life of drudgery in a sweatshop.”

  Paul blinked at him. “You are ree-fucking-diculous. That’s the first place your mind goes? For the record, you have no idea where these are made.” He rolled his eyes. “Secondly, who do you think makes those Fruit of the Loom specials you’ve been wearing?”

  “I know. I know, okay.” Robbie rubbed his head. This is why he didn’t shop. It was exhausting, with ethical pitfalls everywhere he looked. Sometimes he felt like he could grow his own cotton and weave his own clothing and still feel bad that he had used the wrong dye or something.

  Sometimes a person just wanted some nice underwear. Was that a crime?

  Paul twirled the shorts around his finger. “Maybe this will help. I refuse to look at or touch those tighty-whities anymore. You either –”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice called from behind Robbie.

  A salesman, Todd according to his name tag, smiled at them. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

  A good-looking thirty-something guy in a subdued but classy suit and a strong gay vibe, Todd’s smile made it clear that he had overheard everything, even the sentence Paul had left unfinished.

  Robbie hoped Paul didn’t pick up on that. If Paul realized people were assuming they were a couple, their quasi-date would definitely be over.

  “I think I can help,” Todd said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He came back with an armful of different cuts and colors of underwear. He also had a few pairs of what looked like pajama pants and some T-shirts.

  “All of these brands are made within ethical guidelines. See?” He showed Robbie the tag.

  The tiny words swam in front of Robbie’s eyes. Shaking his head, he handed the briefs and the attached tag to Paul.

  “Independent, objective, non-profit team of global social compliance experts,” Paul read out loud. “Safe, lawful, humane, and ethical manufacturing.”

  That did make him feel a little better. “Thanks, Todd. I know it’s kind of obnoxious.”

  Todd shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a valid concern, and I’m here to address all your concerns. Would you like me to set up a dressing room for you?”

  Robbie paused and put down the underpants he had been fondling, looking at it in a new, much less pleasant, light. Had somebody else tried this exact pair on? “You can try on underwear?”

  “Yes,” Todd said, lips tight as he fought a smile. “Over your current attire, of course.”

  “Of course,” Robbie echoed.

  “Take your time, look around some more,” Todd told him. “I’ll set up a dressing room, and then I’ll be back.”

  “I think what you have is more than enough.” More than enough. There was no way he was going to buy all that.

  Todd didn’t blink an eye when Paul followed him into the dressing room. He simply asked them if he could get them coffee, tea, or something else perhaps. The whole thing made Robbie uncomfortable.

  “Really, no, thank you. I know you must be busy with Christmas stuff. I’ll be fine.” Being waited on like this was excruciating. He just wanted the nice man to go away now.

  He shut the door with a sigh. Unsurprisingly, the dressing room was the biggest one he’d ever been in. He hated that there was a small part of him that didn’t hate it.

  Paul made himself comfortable on the small, padded bench along one side of the small room while Robbie kicked off his shoes and took off his jeans.

  Paul wrinkled his nose.

  “Yeah, I know you hate them. The whole world knows.” He picked a random pair off the pile Todd had set up neatly on a table in the corner. “Some people like them, you know. Like, really like them. As in ‘I have a folder of pictures of guys in white briefs on my computer’ like them.”

  “Are you doing this for me?” Paul asked.

  Something in his voice made Robbie pause with the new underwear halfway up his leg.

  Paul looked a little shell-shocked, and a lot turned on. He liked that idea a lot apparently.

  “Well, yeah.” Hadn’t the whole thing been Paul’s idea? Robbie wasn’t the one offended by his normal underwear.

  “You hated the other ones. I mean…” He broke off, blushing. Now that he thought about it, it did seem like a pretty intimate thing to be doing for someone he had just started whatever it was they were doing.

  He wasn’t just buying a specific type of underwear because Paul said he wanted to see Robbie in them, he was trying them on in front of him. In front of a guy he’d only really known for four days.

  Sure, he’d changed in front of Paul plenty of times already, but the locker room didn’t count. Hell, his grandmother could walk into the locker room, and he’d probably keep changing.

  “You’re making me nervous now,” he said to Paul, yanking the boxer briefs up all the way.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. You might as well just sit there and perv on me since it just hit me that’s the whole reason we’re here.” His cock thickened at the thought. Even two pairs of underpants couldn’t hide it.

  “So, do I get to vote on what I like?” Paul asked, fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the ends of the bench.

  “Yeah, sure.” Robbie frowned. “This is stupid. I can’t tell how these feel over my old ones.”

  “Try them on with nothing underneath,” Paul said.

  “I can’t do that!”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “If you don’t like ‘em, I promise I will buy ‘em. We’re the same size.”

  “Fine,” Robbie said grudgingly. He pushed both pairs off at the same time, feeling
awkward standing there in a nothing but a T-shirt.

  The whole thing felt kind of slutty. He liked it. In the mirror, he saw Paul behind him, staring at him with a mixture of desire and what almost looked like fear. He’d caught that look in Paul’s eyes before. It was gone before he could analyze it.

  Paul caught his eye in the mirror as he separated the briefs. His expression spelled trouble for Robbie. Good trouble.

  With a grin, Paul reached out and ran his hand over Robbie’s naked ass.

  “Don’t —” Robbie started to say but was cut off by Todd’s voice calling from right outside the door.

  “Everything okay in there, boys?”

  Cut it out, Robbie signed

  “Just great, Todd,” Paul called out. “Y’all wouldn’t happen to have any bottled water, would you?”

  “You can’t ask that,” Robbie whispered, insulted on Todd’s behalf. “He’s not your servant.”

  “Of course,” Todd replied. “Still or sparkling?”

  “Still for me, please. Robbie?” Paul ran his hands around the front of Robbie’s thighs, light dragging his palms across the soft hair.

  Not helping, Robbie signed to Paul even as he answered the question. “Nothing, thank you.” Robbie hoped his voice didn’t sound too strangled. His dick had noticed how close Paul’s fingers were to it.

  It was hard to hear Todd’s footsteps over the plush carpeting, but they both held their breath until it felt like he must be gone.

  “Cut it out,” Robbie said as Paul pulled him in closer.

  “Don’t want to.” His hands caressed Robbie from knees to hips, scratching through his pubic curls, around the curve of his ass, and along the crease of his thighs.

  Paul dug his fingers hard into the tops of Robbie’s thighs. “You have the sexiest fucking legs.” He leaned forward and pushed the T-shirt up so he could kiss the small of Robbie’s back.

  “Gargh,” Robbie said less-than-intelligently, yanking himself out of Paul’s grasp. “So not helping,” he said, pointing to his rapidly growing cock.