Page 4 of Thin Ice

"If you drink it." I slid the cup across. "There's a shop up the street that'll fix you a pour-over if you want something that didn't come out of a machine. I don't keep it around."

"No?"

"That machine's the only thing in this kitchen that works for a living." I sipped. "The rest is for show. Pre-packaged meals in the freezer. The team nutritionist set me up with a service. It drops a couple of weeks off at a time. I reheat."

He looked the kitchen over once—the range and the rest of it, gleaming and untouched. "Professional grade."

"For a guy who doesn't cook or have people over." I watched him. "Go ahead and say it."

"I wasn't going to say it."

"You were thinking it loud enough."

"I think most things loud." He lifted the cup but didn't drink, watching me over the rim. "It's a known flaw."

"We've all got our weaknesses." I sipped again, watching a slim finger tap the side of his cup. "Where's home?"

"Minneapolis." He had his own question. "How's the hip this morning?"

He didn't ask how I was feeling. He asked specifically about the hip.

I didn't put the cup down. "Old," I said. "It's part of an old building. Everything in here creaks."

He didn't laugh. He nodded like I'd told him something true and let it sit, drinking his coffee.

"So what do you do?" I asked. "When you're not standing in strangers' kitchens. Do guys like you have a hobby?"

"Guys like me."

"Unnaturally calm. There's got to be a release valve."

He considered his answer. "I row in the early morning on the river. There's a club back home."

"Not the pool."

He nodded, and his voice was flat. "Not the pool."

"I should get dressed," I said.

"Sure."

"Skate's at eight. We leave at seven-fifteen."

"I'll be ready."

He continued to sip the espresso while I headed for the shower.

I ran the water hot and stood in it longer than I needed to, letting it work the hip while the rest of the morning caught up with me.

He wasn't just a face seventeen years ago. Speedos didn't leave much to the imagination. The news piece showed him standing on the blocks, windmilling those long arms, strong, smooth pecs and slim waist.

The entire image came back in high definition. The body in my kitchen was the same one: older, dressed, and drinking my coffee.

I could feel it in my cock. I let out a breath that was half a laugh. He would be the one man I had no business wanting.

It was annoying, but it had also been a long time. Nice to know something in my creaky body still worked.

I shut the water off before it could turn into anything else, and stood dripping while rubbing a towel against my hair. I told myself it didn't matter.