Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2016 05:11:37 -0500
From: Kody Boye <boyekody@gmail.com>
Subject: His Touch of Ice - 7

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction, and contains scenes of graphic violence and
explicit male/male sex. If you are not of the legal age to read this, or
are uncomfortable with this sort of content, please turn back now.

HIS TOUCH OF ICE (The Ice Men, Book 1) is copyright © Kody Boye. All
Rights are reserved.

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While human services was quick to respond to my complaint about the hinge
breaking for the third time in a month, they were also more than eager to
charge me for the repair bill they swore was not covered under their terms
of service.

Great, I'd been so eager to think. Another bill.

I sat in my room with the collection of bills strewn about the floor and
tried to keep from looking at the things that had become the bane of my
existence. Most were months old—receipts from deferments which were
quickly going to have to be renewed—but others were fresh, like last
month's rent payment I'd missed due to a check bouncing and then the new
one for the door.

One-hundred, two-hundred, three-hundred, four...

Five-thousand, fifteen-thousand, sixty-thousand, more.

I cupped my face to my hands and rocked myself to the inevitable tune of my
destruction, somehow managing not to cry but knowing that it would soon
come anyway.

All those years, all that time—all for one lazy little leech to steal it
all away from me.

Plagiarism, the head of the English department had declared, results in
mandatory expulsion.

And the whole while, Michael Kriemer had just stood by, grinning like a
fool when he knew no one was looking.

I rolled out of the bed which was in near disrepair and wandered to the
window to look out at the dark side of Austin, trembling at the possibility
of having to face life homeless in a state where the weather could be the
death of you. Summers were bad enough—heatstroke could kill. But the
winters? When it would suddenly drop from thirty to below zero without
warning? Now that was a far cry from mercy. I'd much rather go to jail and
be someone's ass monkey than have to live through that.

My phone chimed.

I frowned.

I crossed the distance to the bed and lifted my phone to find a message
from none other than IceFire, this time in perfect English.

Hey, it said. It's Guy. How're you?

The temptation to avoid the truth and just ignore the message was
immense. There was no reason for me to spill my guts to a man I'd met just
last night, much less slept with almost immediately thereafter.

But something... something was there.

I couldn't explain it. Magnetism might've been the best word, but even
then, that seemed stupid, considering I'd compared our attraction on the
dance floor much like the same thing, or even our irresistible draw and
passion when we'd fucked last night. Regardless, I felt a little coil of
hope spring out in my chest—something that, though I wasn't sure really
existed, compelled me to be honest.

Horrible, I replied. Not having the best day.

You want to talk?

I couldn't tell him no.


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If you enjoyed this installment of HIS TOUCH OF ICE, consider emailing the
author with your thoughts or donating to him via Paypal at
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www.kodyboye.com.