Owned on the Ice M/M Romance
she repeated softly.
His eyes softened at the edges. She noticed him stretch one shoulder with a faint wince, the movement subtle but there.
“That looked painful,” she said gently.
“Occupational hazard.”
“How old are you exactly?”
Ash paused just slightly before answering. “Thirty-five.”
He looked it in the best way — not boyish like the younger players crowding the bar earlier, but solid, grounded and powerfully built. His beard framed a strong jaw, black hair slightly tousled, broad shoulders filling out his shirt, scarred knuckles resting on the bar.