Page 6 of Cross Ice

The suggestion seemed to relax him slightly. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

I slipped on my jacket and led him out of the club, my hand at the small of his back. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either—just strode beside me, close enough to touch.

Walking out of the club together, the cool night air hit me like a splash of cold water. My head was buzzing from the beer, from the music, from the fact that I was leaving a gay club with a man I’d just met, and the part of me that usually stopped to calculate the risk was, just for this moment, quiet.

“There’s a hotel a few blocks from here.” Naming a high-priced establishment, I glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

Something flickered across his face. Wariness, maybe. Or uncertainty.

“Okay,” he said, but his voice had lost some of its warmth.

We walked in silence at first, surrounded by the sounds of the city. Cars passing. Distant music from other bars. The slap of our shoes on the sidewalk.

The hotel lobby had marble floors and uncomfortable-looking modern furniture. Walking up to the front desk like I did this every day, I left Evan lingering in the seating area, giving me space.

“Do you have a suite for the night?” I asked the clerk, a woman in her forties with a professional smile.

“Let me check.” Keys clacked as she typed. “You’re in luck. We had a cancellation. Name for the reservation?”

“Nicolás Briggs.”

Handing her my credit card and driver’s license—no fake name, no cash—I waited. If she recognized me, she didn’t show it, just processed the reservation efficiently and handed me two key cards.

“Top floor. Room one-two-oh-six. Elevators are to your left. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.”

Evan was quiet beside me as we walked to the elevator. The tension building between us was palpable. Anticipation. This was really happening. I was really doing this.

The elevator doors opened. Empty. We stepped inside, and I pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

The doors closed.

For about three seconds, we stood there, carefully not touching. The elevator rose.

Turning to face him, I met his eyes, blue gray in the artificial light, uncertain but wanting. “Can I kiss you?”

His breath caught. “Yeah.”

Closing the distance between us, I cupped his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his. It started tentatively, softly questioning, giving him room to pull back if he wanted.

He didn’t pull back.

His hands found my jacket, gripping the leather, and I deepened the kiss. I took it from gentle to hungry, backing him against the elevator wall, one hand braced beside his head, the other sliding to his hip. The kiss was frantic, with no pretense of taking it slow. He tasted of vodka and lime and something that was just him. When my hands tangled in his hair, he made a sound that went straight through me. Pressing closer, I felt every line of his body against mine, lean but solid, and when I bit his lower lip, he gasped.

The elevator chimed on the sixth floor. We broke apart just as the doors opened to reveal an older couple waiting to get on.

“Evening,” I managed, trying to sound normal while my heart hammered in my chest.

They got on and pressed the button for the eighth floor. The elevator started moving again. Evan and I stood on opposite sides, carefully not looking at each other, but I could see him in my peripheral vision. Could see the way his chest rose and fell too fast. Could see him adjust his blazer over his erection.

The couple got off the elevator.

Doors closed.

Maybe two seconds passed before we were on each other again. This time I had him pressed into the corner, my thigh between his legs, his hands sliding under my jacket to grip my back through my T-shirt. He was hard against my thigh, and the knowledge that I was doing this to him, that he wanted this as much as I did, was intoxicating.

The elevator chimed again on the twelfth floor.