Poetry On Ice Quotes

“Why did it feel like that? Like the beginning and end of the world.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“It’s not the way he looks at me that gave us away. It’s the way I look at him.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Why did it feel like that? Like the beginning and end of the world. Like something that’s never happened before and something that’s happened a million times over. It was just a kiss. A normal”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“What I do know is that Robbie and I have been home a lot. He’s been naked a lot. A lot, a lot. And when he isn’t, he’s wearing slutty socks with slutty shorts and boxy T-shirts that show a hint of his cum gutters when he raises his arms. My blood pressure has been through the roof. I’m amazed I’m still standing.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“holy shit, how did I ever think I could come within a hundred feet of this guy and not fall for him. I must have been fucking insane.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“My mom and dad are both fun parents. My mom’s a doctor and my dad stayed home to take care of us. It was pretty wild growing up with the two of them in charge of us. If there’s anything they can do to make a situation ridiculous, you better believe they’re gonna do it.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“I’m trapped in an enclosed space with a man I don’t like but have kissed. A man who’s punched me and groped my dick. A man who hates me and makes me hard at the same time.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Feels like I have a big hole in my chest. Like there was something there before, keeping me together, that isn’t there now. I feel…undone. Like my heart is open.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Are we fighting or fucking?”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Okay, so the good news is I’m the proud owner of a squeaky-clean ass.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“But know this”—he looks at me in the way that used to scare the unholy shit out of me, and it occurs to me distantly that I don’t hate it so much anymore—“I’ll be by your side when you do. I’ll be there like I am now. Sure. Proud. Because I’m sure and proud of you. I’m sure and proud of myself when I’m with you. And I’m sure and proud of us.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“sister that I’m able to make out what Ant is saying. “No touching. No touching.” “Ant,” I whisper, not looking directly at him, “I won’t touch you in public. I know this is important to you. I’d never do that to you.” He digs his hands deep into his pockets, looks down at his feet, and says, “I’m talking to myself, Robbie.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“There’s nothing to confess because she already knows. She knows everything, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because of how well she knows her son. It’s me. It was my face when I saw Robbie when I got here. It’s the way I smiled when he hugged me. It’s not the way he looks at me that gave us away. It’s the way I look at him.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“chest and holding him so tight I hear his ribcage adjust. “There’s a glaring omission,” “Mm-hmm, and what’s that?” I kiss his neck, his shoulder, and his neck again. “The words Property of Robbie McGuire.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“This isn’t a date!” he booms when I get to the bottom of the stairs. He’s living in the land of Delulu, poor thing, but he’s had a big day, so I let it go. Still,”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“It isn’t until the light in the Chocolatrie changes, growing dim and shadowy, that it occurs to me what’s happened. Robbie McGuire isn’t delusional. Or if he is, he’s not the only one. This is a date.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“His legs are parted slightly and his hand still lies outstretched in his lap. A gift, an offering. At last, I can’t hold on anymore. My grip loosens. My fingers slip. I accept my fate and let go. I don’t fall though. I can’t. I can’t because he has me. He catches me without hesitation. His hand is in my hand. My hand is in his. His grip is firm and certain as he laces his fingers between mine. My grip isn’t certain. It’s tentative and loose. Then it isn’t.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“business anyway.” “Is that why you don’t think you’re a relationship guy? Because you’re in the closet?” “No.” Yes. “I’m not a relationship guy because I’m not a relationship guy. Told you. I don’t catch feelings, and I only do casual. That’s how I roll.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“He seems happy with this selection, thank fuck, because I’m milliseconds away from telling him he doesn’t need a goddamn sofa at all. I don’t know why I ever thought he did. I have no idea what sparked my preoccupation with his seating arrangements. If he needs to sit on something that badly, he can sit on my fucking face.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“It’s definitely a date.” He rests an elbow on the open passenger window casually and leans his head in. “Know how I know?” I don’t answer, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “’Cause I changed my top twice before you got here, and I got butterflies when I heard the doorbell.” My stupid belly erupts in a flutter of its own. They’re not my butterflies, okay? They’re his. I’m having sympathetic butterflies, for fuck’s sake. It’s a thing. I’m sure it is.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“I’m going to feel where you were when I’m on the ice later,” he says it like a promise and a threat rolled into one. “And I want you to know that.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“You smell like something I want, Decker. Something I need.” “Jesus, McGuire,” I hiss,”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“McGuire,” he growls, “don’t be a slut.” “Why not?” I pant, lips hot against his. “Don’t you know what happens to sluts?” “No, I don’t.” I like this game, this kind of talk. I didn’t think I would, but holy shit, I do. It’s giving me life, and I want him to keep talking. “What happens to sluts? Tell me.” He moans into my mouth and shifts so his full weight is on me. “Bad things,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss me.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“I’m more clear-headed than I’ve been in weeks. This isn’t a murmur. It isn’t uncertain, and it can’t be ignored. It isn’t a low rumble, and it isn’t skin deep. It’s bone-deep. It runs through my marrow, heating it and making it sizzle. The question has been asked and answered. I know what I want. I know who I want. I want Ant Decker. My dick doesn’t care that he is a dick. It wants him.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“I take cash or check,” he titters. “PayPal, Venmo, or Zelle. Honestly, any cash app would work. I don’t mind. If it works for you, it works for me, you know.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Long story short, I owe Robbie McGuire ten thousand dollars. I’m not happy about it. Not to sock shame anyone, but if you insist on walking around hotel rooms in nothing but boxer briefs and the sluttiest socks known to man, this is the kind of shit that happens.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Careful, Princess. Keep this up, and you’ll end up on your knees with my dick in your mouth.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“The silence is palpable. Unbearable. It’s my worst nightmare. I’m trapped in an enclosed space with a man I don’t like but have kissed. A man who’s punched me and groped my dick. A man who hates me and makes me hard at the same time.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“You know,” Coach says, “I don’t claim to know much. But I know hockey.” He points at me in that no-nonsense way of his. “I asked for you, McGuire, I fought for you, and I wasn’t wrong to do it. Off the ice, the pair of you are dumber than a box of rocks, but on it? You have the potential to be something special. Poetic, almost.” He looks at Decker and then back at me. “Next time the puck drops, I expect to see nothing less than what I saw here today.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice

“Cause,” he says with regret, “I’m going to kiss you, and”—he takes my head in both hands and holds me firmly in place as he closes the space between us—“I want it to hurt you as much as it’s going to hurt me.”
― Jesse H. Reign, Poetry On Ice