Page 102 of Icing on the Cake

“Hardly…but thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Of course, buddy. Now, let’s talk about something else.”

“Like…”

“Have you gotten a peek at the goods?” Jackson waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Is he as impressive below the belt as he is above it?”

“Jackson!” I smack his chest. “What are you, a girl? I amnotdiscussing Gerard’s anatomy with you.”

Jackson holds his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other, about six inches apart. “Is it this big?”

I let out the world’s longest sigh. Jackson won’t drop it until I give him an answer. Damn him and his drunken persistence. Also, damn Gerard for having morning wood—and being terrible at hiding it from me—and, therefore, giving me a guesstimate to go off.

“Bigger,” I mutter.

Jackson’s eyes widen, and he moves his hands further apart. “This big?”

I shake my head. “Bigger.”

“No fucking way.” Jackson gapes at me in gleeful disbelief as he spreads his hands wider. “This big?!”

I laugh at the awed expression on his face. “Maybe a teeny bit smaller than that. But not by much.”

Jackson stares at his hands, trying to imagine a dick that size. “Damn, Elliot. How does he walk around with that between his legs without toppling over?”

I snort, imagining Gerard strutting around the locker room with a massive hard-on. It’s a funny, not-at-all realistic image that’s also strangely arousing.

“Wait a second.” Jackson holds up his hand and frowns. “If Gerard’s packing that much heat, how the hell is it supposed to fit in you? No offense, buddy, but you’re kind of tiny.”

I gape at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying. You’re a small dude. And Gerard’s dick is…the size of a fucking python. It has to be a logistical nightmare.”

My face burns from anger or mortification or maybe both. I stand up abruptly and glower at Jackson. “Okay, that’s enough. I amnotcontinuing this conversation.”

Jackson pouts like a kicked puppy. “Aw, come on, Elliot. I’m only trying to look out for you. It’s my duty as your best friend to make sure you don’t get split in half by a monster cock.”

That’s it. I’ve hit my limit with Jackson’s drunken antics. Without thinking, I rear back and smack him right in the balls with an open palm.

Jackson yelps and doubles over in agony. A twisted sense of satisfaction runs through me at being the cause of it. “What the fuck, Elliot?!”

“I’m leaving. You do whatever the hell you want.”

I yank open the door and storm out, leaving Jackson whimpering and clutching his balls. Serves him right. I may be small, but my slap is mighty.

I stomp down the hallway, my antennae bobbing with each angry step. The nerve of Jackson. Just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean he has the right to?—

“Oof!” I bump into a solid wall of muscle and stumble back. Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. I know those hands. They’re the same hands that prepare our homemade dinners every week. They’re just not usually green.

“Whoa there, little bee,” Oliver chuckles. “Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry, Oliver. I wasn’t payingattention.”

“No worries,” he replies, letting go of me. “You okay, though? You’re a bit…frazzled. More so than usual.”

I run a hand through my hair, and my fingers snag on my antennae. I pull them off with a frustrated groan.

“I’m fine,” I lie, preferring not to share the details of my conversation with Jackson. “Just needed some air.”

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