Josh rose from his cot, shoved past Bobkowski, and headed to the showers. They were empty—lucky for him. Because after re-reading the card a couple of times, he did exactly as The Nose predicted. Stroked himself off under the warm spray as he tried to imagine who had sent it.

Someone with big breasts according to Bobkowski. No one came to mind that he knew. So he ended up masturbating to an idea of her. A shy girl, but she’d whimper underneath him as he massaged her breasts and took her soft mouth nice and slow.

How would she taste? Sweet, like hot chocolate and peppermint. Maybe she’d been drinking a cup of cocoa while writing that letter. And sucking on a stick of peppermint. She’d need something in her mouth since he wasn’t there to—

Cum rocketed down his shaft and jetted out of his cock, splashing against the tile wall. Ending the fantasy before he was ready.

It was a card. A weird card sent by some silly secret admirer. But his secret admirer had melted him with just a few words. He’d come as hard as if he’d been looking at a girlie magazine.

What’s wrong with me?

That question got frozen underneath a block of ice along with all the other ones he’d suppressed over the years.

But the Christmas card….

That he kept.

Chapter Two

The Last Christmas

About a year later, Josh got called down to the UVA Law School Administrative Office to pick up a personal letter that had apparently been sent there for him. And his heart sped up when the secretary’s assistant held up a red card envelope.

It had the same neat cursive on the front as the one he’d gotten from his secret admirer.

“Students aren’t supposed to receive mail here,” the assistant said with a flirtatious laugh. “But don’t worry, I won’t report you.”

“I appreciate that, Ma’am,” Josh answered, reaching out for the envelope.

“Ma’am, oh my God.” She playfully pulled the letter just out of his reach. “I’m only twenty-two.”

Just a few years younger than him and pretty enough, he supposed. Brunette. Blue eyes.

But she was working in the office—most likely as part of a work-study program. That meant that she didn’t hail from a family that could pay for her schooling. Her parents most likely had little money and zero influence. Therefore she wouldn’t be a suitable candidate for marriage.

And as his father had pointed out, if a woman wasn’t suitable for marriage, she wasn’t suitable for dating.

“Give me the letter,” he commanded, no longer bothering with the southern gentleman act.

The young woman jerked her head back, and handed him the letter. “No wonder people call you the Ice Block.”