Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,21

salt of my sweat was burning my eyes. “I don’t drink tea.”

“No, you asshole. Give me the tea. Like, in gossip, you know what gossip is, right?” He made a rude noise with his straw, a slurpy sound that grated on my already frayed nerves.

“Of course I know what gossip is. I’ve lived and played in this country for over thirteen years. My grasp of your chaotic language is probably better than yours.”

“You didn’t know what bark up the tea meant, just saying.” He shrugged, slurped, and then settled his gaze on me. “Anyway, so you and Tate have a vibe thing. I’ve seen it since the end of the preseason party a month ago.”

I stopped pedaling completely. “You’ve seen nothing. There is nothing to see. He is my teammate. I’m his captain. Having a thing with him would be unprofessional.”

“Dude, seriously? Unprofessional?”

“Yes, unprofessional. People would say he had an unfair advantage, that I was coddling him, giving him preferential treatment. Also, I am not gay.”

“Oh, so it’s that way, then? Are you hiding it because you’re Russian? I mean, I get that if you are. Got to think of the folks back home and all…”

“No, it is not because I’m Russian. I…there is nothing to hide because I am not… Why are you looking at me in that manner?” I slid off the bike, legs wobbly, and stumbled for the door.

“Hey, Icey Cool, come on, don’t give me the cold shoulder.” He howled at his comment. I growled. Penn appeared beside me, grinning like a drunken dodo. “Dude, Ice, Cap, come on. Seriously, I’m just trying to get you to see what we all see.”

I spun on our goalie, hands itching to shove him into the nearest wall and knock some sense into his head. “You have fed too much on the tit of rock and roll!”

“Oh my God, that is such a cool song title. Suckled on the tit of rock and roll! Dude! You’re a fucking genius!” He flung his drink over his shoulder, grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me on the mouth.

I sputtered and scrubbed the guava taste from my lips. Penn raced out of the room yelling that he needed a piano stat. I glanced around to see Alex, Ryker, Henry, and of course Tate standing in the doorway mouths agape.

“I did not… he kissed me for…a song title. I’m not gay.”

Four heads bobbed slowly.

“Totes.”

“Right.”

“Never thought otherwise.”

Tate said nothing, then walked off with his spine stiff.

I threw a string of Russian curses at the young players gawking at me, then set off after Tate. Damn that fucking Colorado Penn and his loose lips. I jogged to catch up with the leaner, faster, and younger man. He jerked to a halt when I touched his shoulder. I moved around him, face-to-face, to block his path to the dressing room.

“I do not go around kissing men as a habit,” I told him, my voice low and aiming for secretive.

“You kissed me, but hey, that was a month ago and then when I kissed you it was all Fuck off, Tate! So I fucked off.”

“I never told you to fuck off. I just…” I threw a look up and down the corridor. There were far too many people here. “This is not the place for this. Come to my home. For a dinner. We will talk.”

He bristled a bit. “You’re my captain on the ice but not off. If you want me to come over, ask nicely like a friend who’s had his tongue in my mouth a few times.”

This man. There wasn’t one button I owned that he did not push, repeatedly, every damn day. Being in such a close proximity with him was stripping my senses.

“Fine,” I pushed through clenched teeth. “Will you come over for my place to dinner? For dinner. To my place. Fuck you.”

The bastard had the gall to smile, just a bit. “I’ll be there at seven. Fuck you.” And off he went, skirting around me, heading back to join up with his friends. Sweaty towel in hand I stood there in the hall looking like a complete jackass.

“Bolvan,” I muttered, calling myself a jackass in two tongues to drive home the point.

Eli lobbed a stinking sock at my head. That broke the spell for Tate, his smile, and his ass in those shorts. We would talk tonight. All would be settled and my life could return to where it had been before Tate Collins had blown into it