Portland Evergreens #2
Malcolm’s all about checking off items in his Life Plan.
He’s made it to the first line on his hockey team, the Portland Evergreens. He’s made the Dean’s List the last four semesters. He’s right in line to graduate on time, and head to the pros. All steps on the ultimate goal of becoming the best front office guy in the NHL.
Elliott is the only fly in his ointment.
The younger, wilder forward parties every night, sleeping with everything with a pulse, and barely attending classes or practices.
It’s annoying, but Mal’s dealing with it, until their new coach insists Mal tutor Elliott to help him pass a class.
And until Elliott discovers Mal’s biggest secret: he’s been too busy checking off points on his life plan to get laid.
They’re fire and ice. Bad boy and virgin. They shouldn’t work at all. But the more time they spend together, on and off the ice, the more irresistible their chemistry becomes.
The more desperate Mal becomes for some of Elliott’s one-on-one tutoring—this time in bed.
But Elliott wants more than just sex. He wants to melt Mal’s icy cold shoulder and convince him there’s more to life—and love—than a plan.
Chapter 1
One year ago
August
It was him.
Elliott Jones stopped in his tracks, the party noise resonating around him, the music thumping and lights strobing, but the sight was undeniable.
Him. Malcolm McCoy. Living and existing in all his dark-haired, fucking-gorgeous-faced glory, leaning against the wall, an inscrutable expression on his face and an intense look in those unearthly blue eyes.
Elliott felt his heart stutter and stop, and his cock twitch in his jeans.
It had been this way the first—and the last—time he’d seen Malcolm too. He’d been visiting colleges, trying to decide where he was going to commit to playing hockey for, and Portland U had already been high on the list, but then he’d spotted Malcolm in the locker room after a game, pulling his helmet off, sweat-damp dark hair falling across his forehead, paired with a jawline that could—and had—changed lives.
One life in particular.
Elliott’s own.
His sister Macey had teased him that he’d made one of the most important decisions of his life because his dick had been hard, and he’d flushed bright red because he hadn’t been sure she was wrong.
Of course, it helped that the Evergreens had a great coach that Elliott would love to play for and a storied history of not just team greatness but of sending players to the NHL.
He wanted a piece—a big one—of that success for himself.
And he wanted Malcolm McCoy.
When he’d arrived on campus, he’d planned to tackle both goals at the same time.
When Ramsey, one of the upperclassmen on his team and a crack defenseman, had invited him to this party, he hadn’t assumed he’d see Malcolm here.
But here he was.
Scowling, now.
Well, Elliott could do something about that.
He’d never failed to put a smile on someone’s face. In high school he was the easy, charming life of every party, and even if he wasn’t particularly interested in women, they loved him anyway. And guys? Well, even at the age of eighteen he’d been responsible for at least a few bisexual awakenings.
Elliott didn’t feel an ounce of shame about it. He enjoyed men and he enjoyed sex, and as long as it was consensual, there wasn’t any reason to regret it.
But Malcolm was a whole different story.
Elliott craved him. Just one look at him and he’d known they were meant to hook up.
Elliott sidled up to him, plastered one of his best smiles—the one that had almost never failed to seal the deal—onto his face and said, “Hey.”
In his opinion, it was always better to settle for something simple. Simple couldn’t backfire in your face the way overcomplicated could.
Malcolm looked over at him, startled. Like he couldn’t believe Elliott was talking to him.
Like he’d just died and gone to heaven.
Elliott puffed out his chest a little. This was going even better than he’d imagined.
“Hey,” Malcolm said gruffly.
He had the kind of voice—rough and low—that Elliott could already imagine hearing as Malcolm murmured into his ear as he thrust deep inside him.
Elliott shivered and refocused, more determined than ever to make this happen.
“I’m Elliott, I’m—”
“You’re the new freshman. Right winger.”
“Yeah. That’s me.” Elliott nodded. Knowing that Malcolm played left wing. If he earned the spot, he might even end up on the same line as Malcolm. Working closely together. Very closely together if Elliott had anything to say about it.
Mal didn’t say anything. In fact, he looked away, like he hoped Elliott might go back to wherever he came from.
Usually Elliott didn’t have this much trouble getting someone—anyone, really—to talk to him. But it was like pulling teeth to get Malcolm to even engage.
Frustrating. But Elliott wasn’t ready to give up. That easily, or at all, frankly.
“This party seems pretty great,” Elliott said. His first college party. With his first college hookup.
“You like this sort of thing?”
If Elliott wasn’t so focused on Malcolm he’d have given the party a once-over glance, but instead he kept his gaze on Malcolm.
“Yeah. But more like . . .I was wondering if this party would be like every college party they show on TVs and in movies, and you know what?”
Elliott paused. Waiting for him to answer.
“What?” Malcolm finally replied, the acknowledgment dragged out of him way more reluctantly than Elliott would’ve liked, especially when he was doing half-decent work here.
“It actually kind of is? You know, the sort of trashy hedonism of it all? I only had to wander in the kitchen for someone to hand me a bottle of tequila. And then there’s all that out there . . .” Elliott gestured towards the makeshift dancefloor, where a dozen or so students were gyrating together to some old-school 90’s R&B. “And don’t forget the beer pong in the garage. I’m sure if I wandered out the back door, I’d see a couple inching their way towards hooking up.”
Malcolm gave him a blank stare. “Why would you see that?”
“It’s like every episode of bad teen TV ever. Like The OC or One Tree Hill or even The Vampire Diaries. I guess we can’t really count Gossip Girl, because they weren’t in college, yet, but they did get there, I guess? But they wouldn’t know what to do with a trashy college party, honestly.”
Malcolm was still staring at him, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows.
“What’s Gossip Girl?” he asked.
Not what Elliott had expected, but that was okay. He wasn’t telling Elliott to fuck off and for a second, he’d been afraid that might have been the next thing out of Malcolm’s mouth.
“You’ve never seen Gossip Girl?” Oh, Elliott was already planning some watch parties in his head. A few nice long evenings, Netflix playing, and anything but chilling happening on the couch.
“No.”
“It’s a . . .uh . . .kind of trashy teen drama about a bunch of rich kids in NYC who go to this private school—”
“That sounds terrible.”
“Well, yeah, terrible, but also great,” Elliott said. “And this party is right out of that playbook, honestly, which is kind of cool when you think about it?”
“It is?”
“Well, yeah. It means they got something right? And if they got all this right, that means I’m going to end up making a very bad choice—maybe even more than one—with an inappropriate hookup, but they end up being so good, so fucking memorable, I won’t be able to forget them.” It was a lot to pile on, but fuck it, Elliott did it anyway, fluttering his eyelashes in Malcolm’s direction.
Hoping he got the memo: that his possibly bad, but very memorable choice was going to be Malcolm.
“I don’t understand,” Malcolm said bluntly. “Is there something in your eye? Do you have a medical condition?”
“No,” Elliott said. He sighed. Maybe his subtle approach was not working. Hadn’t he just thought it earlier? Better to keep things simple. Straightforward. “Here’s the thing. I’m hot. You’re hot. We’re at a party. We should go out there—”
“What?” Malcolm looked floored now. “What?”
“I said it—”
But Malcolm didn’t even let him get the sentence out again. His eyebrows drew together—two dark slashes against his olive-toned skin, as he continued with, “I don’t make the line assignments. That’s Coach Nichols.”
“Well, yeah.” Elliott dredged up that smile again, hoping that he might see a repeat of that look on Malcolm’s face. The one that said, I just fucking won the lottery. “That’s not why I came over here.”
“Are you sure?”
Why did Malcolm look so confused? Didn’t men—and women—cross rooms to talk to him all the fucking time? Surely Elliott was not the only person on earth who looked at this guy and wanted him in their bed?
Elliott had expected to have to wade through a whole bunch of interested people. But no, Malcolm had been standing here, on his own. Alone.
“Like I said. You’re super, crazy hot. Like . . .melting my clothes right off my body hot. And I’m not so bad myself so . . .”
Malcolm didn’t say anything. Just stared.
Elliott realized, belatedly, that he’d seemed fine with his whole situation before Elliott had chosen to cross the room to talk to him. Comfortable, even. Eyes steady, not darting around, looking at who was looking at him.
He’d liked being alone.
Well.
Elliott could still change that.
“Like I said, I’m not so bad myself, and I’m feeling a little lonely. New school and all . . .”
He took a risk and sidled closer, angling his body towards Malcolm, heart rate accelerating at his nearness. He was maybe an inch or two taller, but his shoulders were broader and he was thick with muscle. Elliott’s stomach clenched.
He’d won and bedded tons of hot guys. Hot wasn’t necessarily the thing Elliott wanted.
It was Malcolm’s brand of hot. The guy had buried himself inside Elliott until he felt like he was going to go crazy if he couldn’t have him.
How many times during the last eight months had he touched his cock and Malcolm’s face had sprung, uninvited, into his head?
Every single goddamn time.
“I’m sure you’re gonna be just fine,” Malcolm said dismissively.
“I’m . . .” Well, he was not fine. Not really at all. “I’m not fine, actually.” Elliott laughed self-deprecatingly. “I don’t usually have this problem.”
“What problem?” Malcolm asked. Demanded.
“How about this, let’s go grab a drink,” Elliott said. “Start over. You need more of a warmup, I get that now. I’m alright with that. I like flirting and it’s not so hard when you look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . .” Elliott rolled his eyes. “You know what you look like.”
Those brows drew together. “No.”
Jesus. Okay. Elliott sighed. “Let’s go get that drink.” He’d already had two shots of tequila and a lukewarm red Solo cup of beer, but he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be dealing with this.
“I don’t drink.”
Elliott supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The guy didn’t know he was hot, and didn’t drink and was apparently perfectly content standing on the outskirts of the party, not actually participating in it.
“Uh, okay, so I’m sure they have something . . .” But Elliott stopped in his tracks, because he realized something else.
Malcolm looked surprised again.
Not like he’d died and gone to heaven.
More like he’d journeyed to hell.
Or even worse, like he didn’t want to be having this conversation at all.
Like he couldn’t wait for Elliott to move on.
“I’m actually impressed by the whole sober guy attitude,” Elliott said, dredging up another one of his killer grins. Laying on the charm nice and thick. “We can just stand here and I can flirt with you and you can stare at me. That works too.”
“Does it?” Malcolm seemed surprised by this.
“Is it so crazy I’d want to meet you? Hang out with you?”
“We met,” Malcolm said dismissively. “And for the rest, I’m sure we’ll see each other at practice next week.”
Nobody had ever called Elliott a freaking quitter. He retrenched. “Actually, we met last year.”
Met was probably an oversimplification but Elliott wasn’t going to admit that to Malcolm, or even to himself. Technically, Coach Nichols had introduced Elliott to the whole group and Malcolm had given him a single solitary nod.
Some of the other guys—Brody and Ivan and Ramsey—had come over to greet him, chat him up a bit, probably with the hope of convincing him to ultimately attend Portland U.
But what none of them knew was that Malcolm’s solitary nod had done more to recruit Elliott than any of their friendly overtures.
“Okay,” Malcolm said. Still dismissively.
Elliott couldn’t help his frustrated outburst. “Why are you at a party if you don’t actually want to talk to anyone?”
Why are you at a party if you don’t want to drink or dance or flirt?
Because his hands were empty and he was against the wall, like he’d chosen it, and he definitely didn’t seem to want to flirt with Elliott—or Elliott to flirt with him—even as a way to pass the time.
Malcolm’s mouth pressed firmly together. That kind of pissy look might turn Elliott off with anyone else. But his body—his cock—wasn’t cooperating and hadn’t gotten the memo.
“I didn’t want to come. I have some reading for econ to do, but . . .” Malcolm looked up and there was Ramsey Andresen, their teammate, wandering over. “But Ramsey convinced me.” He made a face. “Wouldn’t take no for a goddamn answer. So here I am.”
Malcolm didn’t need to finish his thought for Elliott to know what it was. So here I am, being bothered by you.
Elliott didn’t know what to say.
Never once in all his fantastical, X-rated imaginings had he thought that once he and Malcolm met that he’d fail to entice him.
That he’d fail to even convince the guy to have a basic conversation with him.
That he’d rather go back to his probably spartan apartment and read about economics.
Elliott was more than a little horrified, stuck in silence as Ramsey approached.
“Mal. Being the life of the party as usual?” Ramsey’s mouth quirked up as he greeted the other guy. He was also attractive, in that blond gregarious way, but Elliott wasn’t particularly attracted to him. His eldest sister Nina would have told him it was because it would be like fucking himself.
She was probably right.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you bothered to make me come, Andresen. This is a waste of fucking time. Why would I want to drink watered-down booze that’ll give me a bitch of a headache in the morning? As for the apparently ‘great company’ you promised, I’m not impressed.”
“It’s to be fucking social,” Ramsey said, grinning. He turned to Elliott. “Good to see you, kid.”
Elliott’s spine straightened. He was not a kid, and he was definitely not a kid when it came to Malcolm. “Thanks for the invite. This seems like a cool party. Seemed like a cool party.” He shot a glare he barely even meant in Malcolm’s direction.
Ramsey laughed, pounded Malcolm on the shoulder. “This one just wouldn’t know fun if it came up and bit him in the ass.”
Elliott was close enough to Malcolm that he could practically feel him stiffen.
And not in the fun place, either.
Disappointing. Catastrophically fucking disappointing.
“Apparently,” Elliott said, trying to match Ramsey’s casual tone. Like he didn’t give two shits at how un-fun Malcolm Reynolds had turned out to be.
He’d hoped they’d have some common ground other than hockey and liking guys.
But, he reminded himself, you don’t need to have anything in common or even to have fun to fall into bed together.
That was true. He wasn’t looking for a relationship or love or that whole happily-ever-after thing, though he supposed he might someday. But for right now, he was having too much fun.
Or at least he was trying to have too much fun.
“Malcolm, you really need to get out more. Talk to people,” Ramsey said.
“Sure, I guess so, but this guy?” Malcolm glanced over at Elliott. “You should have seen him peacocking right over. Reminded me of someone. Oh yeah, that’s right. You.”
Ramsey just laughed again, like Elliott’s ego puncturing like a sad balloon was the funniest shit he’d ever heard.
Well, at least someone was laughing.
“Hey, kid, it’s alright,” Ramsey said, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a commiserating smile. “That’s just how our Malcolm is. I should’ve warned you before you came all the way over here to strike out.”
“Strike out?” Malcolm looked confused again.
“It means we get you’re not interested in us fun-loving plebeians,” Ramsey teased. “We get you’re focused and we’re just a distraction. Right, kid?”
Elliott ground his teeth together. “Right.”
“Well, good news is that I know a lot of guys who’d love to meet you,” Ramsey cajoled. “You wanna meet some of them?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I would.” He straightened his back and shot Malcolm one last hot glare before walking off with Ramsey.
So he couldn’t have the brain-melting, sex-on-a-stick guy? That didn’t mean he couldn’t have plenty of fun.
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After Ramsey lured the young idiot kid with promises of debauchery and drink, of people who actually wanted to party, Malcolm didn’t see much reason to stick around.
He’d put in his time, attending even when he hadn’t wanted to, all because Ramsey had batted those big baby blue eyes and convinced him it was ‘good for the team’ or some other such bullshit.
And it had been bullshit.
Sure, a handful of their teammates had been there, but the only one he’d talked to had been the kid.
Elliott, his uncooperative brain supplied as he walked home on the dark streets towards Clark, the dorm he was living in this year.
A lot of juniors moved off campus, but Mal had decided to stay. He didn’t mind the slightly stricter rules because he didn’t drink and he didn’t party and he had no interest in finding a roommate to help offset the costs of living in an apartment.
Mal took the stairs instead of the elevator, running up the three flights to his floor, to compensate for the burger and fries he’d shared with Ramsey and Ivan at Jimmy’s diner before the party.
Really, he reminded himself, it was so much better this way. This way he had his own single room, with no need to make small talk unless he felt the need.
And he rarely felt the need.
Of course, that was when he turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
Jane. Sitting next to her door, knees tucked up under her, leaving an expanse of bare thigh visible that he knew she wouldn’t be showing him if she didn’t have that sheen of booze in her eyes.
He didn’t know Jane well, but she’d made an impression in the half dozen times they’d talked—or when she’d talked at him.
She’d chattered much like Elliott had, but while he’d found that overconfident, cocky idiot not worth a breath or any of his brain molecules, he’d kind of liked the way that Jane chattered at him, never minding if he barely answered her.
Mal approached her carefully, telegraphing his intentions way in advance, settling down on the floor next to her.
He had at least a foot on her, and two years to boot. Nevermind a whole wealth of bitter experience.
She hadn’t said that to him, of course, but he’d seen the innocence glowing in her light brown eyes, the excitement in them as she’d told him about the party she was going to tonight and the guy who’d invited her.
Mal wished he’d been paying more attention.
“Hey,” he said gently, touching her briefly on the arm then withdrawing his hand. “You okay?”
She glanced up at him. “Malcolm,” she murmured, slurring a little, “I think I’m drunk.”
Shit.
“Yeah, honey, I think so,” he said, and she sighed.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said.
“I warned you.” He had. He’d paid that much attention, at least.
“I know. You were kind of right.” Her voice went wry, and the humor there relieved him more than he wanted to admit. She wasn’t bleeding. Violated. Or in some ways worse and some ways better, bitter like him. Over it, like him.
“Party not so great?”
“Alex kept trying to get me to drink more.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t really want to. I just wanted to flirt with him a little, you know?”
“I do know,” Mal said gravely.
She laughed. “Do you though?”
He almost told her that someone had flirted with him tonight—or had tried anyway. That young stupid peacock who seemed like a chip right off the Ramsey block. But Ramsey’s antics hadn’t been as much of an issue because he gave a shit about what they did on the ice. Never hit on him, either.
Ramsey had instinctually seemed to understand that Mal didn’t want him to, so he didn’t. For which Mal was very thankful.
“No, not really. You caught me.” He laughed, a gravelly sound, which told him—and probably Jane—that he didn’t laugh enough.
“There you go,” she said, sounding very satisfied with her analysis of the situation.
“We should get you up, into your room. Drinking some water.”
Jane giggled. “I know. I knew I should unlock the door but . . .” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and jangled them, trills of laughter still escaping from her pink-painted mouth. “I couldn’t find the right key.”
Malcolm plucked the ring from her fingers and shifted through the keys, easily finding the right one, because he’d seen her mark it a week ago with red glitter pen.
“You’re so smart,” Jane said, sighing with resignation.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “But I think it’s more sober than smart.”
Suddenly, she turned to him. Petite nose upturned. She looked like he imagined a little sister might look, if his mother had ever stuck around to make another “mistake” with his father. And if any of them had ever had blond hair.
“What’s your key?” she demanded to know.
“What do you mean?” For a split second, he was terrified that she was hitting on him too. And that had been bad enough with Elliott, who at least possessed parts he was interested in. Jane did not.
“I mean,” she said, patting him insistently on the chest. “You’re so . . .so . . .so . . .”
“So?”
“So alone. So lonely.”
“Those aren’t the same thing,” he said, to avoid the question.
If there even was a question there.
“Where’s the key that unlocks you? Makes you happy?” she demanded with all the delicacy of the drunk.
“I am happy. Dean’s list. And Coach all but promised me first line, this year,” Malcolm insisted. Not sure why he was going to the trouble with this girl. He should just change the subject.
The way he’d kept trying to do with Elliott.
Elliott had also blundered in with the finesse of an elephant, all outraged, oversized bruised ego when Mal hadn’t been interested.
Well, that isn’t necessarily true, is it?
But for a moment, Mal had looked at him and felt something. That same something that probably led to people making very stupid mistakes and then regretting them in the morning.
Before he shut it down, anyway.
He knew better than to go down that road, again. Especially with a guy like that.
“There’s more to life than school and hockey,” Jane protested.
“Come on,” Mal said, lifting her to her feet easily. “Let’s get you into your room and some water in you. You’ll be glad in the morning.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Mal said firmly. He tugged her by the arm, gentle but insistent, pulling her into her single, next door to his, after he’d unlocked the door with the red glitter key.
He deposited her on the edge of her twin bed, decked out in delicate purple florals. In the future, he’d need to keep a better eye out for her. The Alexes of the world would take advantage, so easily, of all this kind, innocent sweetness, and there were enough crumbs of his own left in him that explained his concern.
He didn’t want her to be another him by the end of her freshman year.
“I looked for you, at the party,” she said, as he leaned over and rummaged through her mini-fridge, finally unearthing a bottle of orange Gatorade.
He passed it over to her, but instead of opening it, she toyed with the lid.
Mal realized she was waiting for an actual answer.
“I was at the Gamma Sigma party,” he said. “Must’ve been a different party.”
“Must’ve been. I don’t remember which house it was.” She looked painfully young like this, feet not even reaching the floor as they dangled over the edge of the bed. “Alex wanted to take shots at his place, first.”
“Goddamn Alex,” Mal growled. “You should’ve told him no. You don’t need shots.”
“I was nervous,” she admitted with a sardonic smile. “I wanted him to like me. Don’t you ever want anyone to like you?”
Just once.
“No. I don’t need people’s affection, I’m just fine on my own. Self-sufficiency is important,” Mal said, painfully aware he sounded just like his father.
It had never hit him as hard as it did right now.
He forced himself to soften his tone. “But I get it. You like him.”
“I liked him.”
“What happened?”
“He was pushy. Weird. And then he disappeared. When I found him, he had his hand up another girl’s skirt.”
Mal’s fists creaked as he clenched them. “I’m gonna kick his ass.”
“No need,” Jane said. “I kicked him real hard in the balls.”
Mal laughed again, the sound escaping out of him rustily.
“I know just where to aim,” she said. “My dad taught me.”
“Good dad.”
“The best,” Jane agreed. She looked over at him. “And you’re not so bad, yourself.”
“Drink your Gatorade,” he said gruffly. “It’s late. And I need to read my econ chapters still.”
“Alright, but don’t be a stranger, okay?” she asked hopefully, gazing at him like she’d seen something in him that he’d missed.
“I won’t,” Malcolm said, promising himself that he’d be present the next time an Alex came around to take her to a frat party. Maybe her dad couldn’t be here, but he could.
“Good.” Jane took a long drink of Gatorade. “Next time you’re coming with me. Or! Better yet, you can take me to one of your frat parties. I bet there’s so many cute athletes there.”
“No chance,” Mal said.
But he already had a feeling she’d be the second reason, besides Ramsey’s passive-aggressive entreaties, that he returned to the Gamma Sigma house.
Beth Bolden
A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published twenty-three novels and seven novellas.
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Cold as Ice #2
Portland Evergreens Series
