Page 9 of Shattered On Ice

“Fuck you, Torres, I know what a marshmallow is, and yes, we roast them.” I pause and look around, realizing something. “You know what,” I point at Campbell in the front part of the boat as Nico directs Chad and Ryder to untie the boat from the dock. “Campbell is Canadian. He’s from Vancouver, and his last name is even more French-sounding. LeRoux,” I sneer. I point another accusing finger behind me. “And Chad is from Ottawa! Why am I the only one you chirp about it?”

Laughter rings out at my outburst.

“You’re from Québec, making you the team Frenchy. Soupy and Chad aren’t French, so that just feels more Canadian for some reason,” Ryder reasons, looking from Campbell to Chad, then back at me. “So you get chirped.”

“I’m from fucking Gatineau, right across the river from Ottawa. I don’t even have a strong Québécois accent. I sound like you do, and you’re from Michigan.” I point at Ryder, continuing my argument.

“Nah, even Gatineau sounds French. You get chirped,” Nico adds.

I throw my hands out, gesturing at Campbell and Chad again, who are both staring at me, waiting to see what my next argument will be with amused grins. “If you want to get into specifics about who is more Canadian and should therefore be the ones you’re making fun of, I’m Québécois, not Canadian. My province should be its own country. That makes Campbell and Chad more Canadian by default.”

Chad bursts into laughter and throws a water bottle at me. I manage to catch it before it smashes my face. That fucker.

“How about we just enjoy the lake and hang out, regardless of where you’re from,” Knox says, easily diverting the boys’ attention. “I’ve never tried wakesurfing before, so I can’t wait to see how it’s done. Have any of you done it?”

“Do it all the time in Miami,” Nico says with his natural swagger on full display.

“Minnesota is the land of a thousand lakes, so of course we got out to enjoy the watersports,” Rook adds.

“Watersports, eh?” Chad chuckles, and we all groan.

“Yeah, like wakeboarding, skiing, wakesurfing, that kind of thing,” Rook answers, innocent as a newborn.

“What about piss play?” Chad asks, clearly living for Rook’s obliviousness.

Rook’s face screws up in disgust. “What? Oh my fucking God, Chad, why would you want to play with piss?”

Laughter bursts from everyone on the boat, while a lone “He’s such a fucking dumbass” comes from Campbell.

We spend the day learning to wakesurf, with varying degrees of success, until Nico finally pulls into a cove and anchors the boat so we can chill. He turns up the Bad Bunny song currently playing and begins singing along in Spanish as he dances around the boat, opening coolers and tossing Cokes to each of us, before pulling out the bottle of Don Q triumphantly.

“To our first season as a team and a hell of a good run at Lord Stanley!” he shouts, holding the bottle up before he tips his head back and pours a stream of rum directly into his mouth from an arm’s length away.

Cheers erupt around the boat in agreement.

“Fuck yeah, man!” I shout, pumping an arm in the air. His enthusiasm is infectious, and I’m feeling loose, without a care in the world, for the first time in months.

Nico moves to me with the bottle raised. He’s more than generous as he waterboards me with the rum, leaving me sputtering. Nico walks between each of us, tipping heads back to pour a shot, or three, into waiting mouths like he’s the appointed bartender at Coyote Ugly and is taking his role seriously.

“It’s hot as fuck,” Campbell grumbles from the front of the boat. He stands and launches himself out into the lake with a splash.

“He knows what’s up,” Chad agrees, following with a couple of pool noodles grasped in his arms.

I snag a pool float of my own, preparing to jump off the back of the boat, when a calm voice halts my movements.

“You’re getting red. I think you need more sunscreen.”

I look back at Knight, who holds out a bottle to me. I smile my thanks as I take it from him, our fingers brushing lightly. The quick touch sends a jolt of electricity shooting up my arm. I try to ignore it, ignore him, as my teammates dive into the water, leaving us alone while the song blasting over the speakers changes to “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan.

“This one’s for you, Ryder!” Nico shouts before splashing drowns out his laughter. We’ve all seen the photos and videos from the drag brunch Knox took him to, where he was forced on stage.

I shake my head as I slather sunscreen across my chest and arms. I turn and find Knight watching me, his eyes heated and sparking with appreciation as they roam up and down my body while he leans against the steering wheel.

“Think you can get my back?” I ask, waving the tube for him to take. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but I don’t seem to have any others when it comes to him.

“My pleasure,” he says, the words rumbling low and sensual as Chappell sings about dancing on the stage in her heels. The three steps he takes that put him at my back are monumental, crossing a much greater distance than they’d seem.

The first caress of his fingers across my back sends a shiver coursing through my entire body as I fight not to react. I let my eyes drift closed as his hands skate over my skin, appearing to everyone else like he’s doing me a quick favor, when it’s actually taking every ounce of restraint to keep my cock from thickening in the unforgiving boardshorts I’m wearing.