Page 75 of Hot As Ice

“Great.” I turn up the volume on the TV. The sex endorphins are definitely gone now.

“I’m sorry. Are you mad? I can call her and tell her I don’t want to do it.”

I shake my head. “I’m not mad at you. I’m frustrated at the whole situation, but it’s fine. I’ll do what I have to do.”

We return to watching the game in silence.

The Boston Bruins are absolutely crushing the Philadelphia Flyers. They scored twice in the first two minutes of the game, then went on to score three more times in the second period, eventually winning 5-1. I watched this game live a few days ago, but the replay is just as exciting. Sometimes I still can’t believe the Bruins have drafted me. They’ve won the Stanley Cup six times, and their rivalry with the Montreal Canadiens is legendary. I can’t wait to sign with them. Hopefully.

Stevie shifts beside me, sighing.

“Bored?” I ask.

“No. It’s fun to watch.”

“Good.”

“I just…”

“What?”

“I was just wondering if you’re…you know…happy about your dad’s marriage. I realized that we never talked about it. And I feel like you’re not happy.”

I give her a look. “Since when do you and I have conversations about my life or my feelings?”

Stevie looks taken aback. “I – I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“That maybe you’d wanna talk about it.”

I turn my attention back to the TV. “I don’t.”

“Okay.”

I know I’m being an asshole, but I don’t care. She’s not about to be under the impression that we are a real couple who share their thoughts and feelings with each other. Fuck, I barely even open up to my close friends, and I’ve known some of them since hockey camp.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Stevie says after a while.

I turn off the TV, suddenly feeling ravenous. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes. I’m starving. I can make us something. What do you want?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Pasta? Steak? A burger? Rice and veggies?”

Stevie has the cutest little shocked expression on her face. Instant dopamine hit.

“Um, pasta sounds good.”

“Great.” I rise and head toward the kitchen. I take out the pappardelle pasta and frozen shrimp. I take out the steak (that one’s for me), pots and pans, salt and butter and garlic. Cooking is going to relax me. And feeding Stevie is some sort of new fetish I’ve developed. Taking care of her feels too good. That’s why I’m never breaking our contract.

My princess will never be broke again.

Once the food is ready, I plate her pasta dish and take it and my steak to the living room. I pour her some lemonade and grab a can of Coke for myself. For a second, I sit there, watching Stevie coil pasta around her fork and take a bite. She licks some sauce off her lips. A bone-deep satisfaction settles into me. Then I turn my attention to my own dinner.