Avon Gale

“Come to my house,” he said as he idly smoothed his tie. “Tonight. I will make you dinner.”

Max reached out and poked him lightly on the shoulder. “I think it’s going to be a problem if this is what happens when Belsey makes you mad. ’Cause I’m gonna want him to do it all the time.”

Misha smiled at him. With teeth. “Seven o’clock. Ask your Google Maps how to get there so you’re not late.”

Max put his fork down. “This is a relationship. Right? This thing we’ve got. Because I’m here a lot, and we have a lot of sex, and you make me chicken even though you don’t eat it. And you let me use your laundry machine.”

“I’m not going to be nice to you on the ice tomorrow or anything. I expect your defensemen to step up and…. Are you okay?”

Lane was not okay. He kept blinking and looking at Jared’s eyes, sucking idly on his lower lip—which was still sore—and thinking about all the things he wanted that he couldn’t have. “Sure. I’m fine. I’m not used to being drunk twice in one day.”