Page 118 of Icing on the Cake

Is it the morbid fascination of watching Gerard navigate this minefield he’s created? Or is it wanting to see how he handles talking about us when I’m not the one putting him on the spot?

“Are you bi now?” Sarah asks without warning. “Or is Elliot nothing more than an experiment?”

My spine stiffens at her bluntness. Yes, I’ve wondered the same thing, but hearing it out loud—especially from a friend—feels like a punch to the gut.

Gerard pauses, his massive hands dwarfing the tiny chess piece he was about to move. “I don’t know what I am. All I know is that I like Elliot. A lot.”

Well, fuck.

I’m a nervous wreck.

It’s been a long time since I’ve dated someone. The last person I went out with was back in high school, and I never saw the guy again.

A lot can change in five years. People change. Circumstances change. And me? Well, I’ve changed too.

My world has been turned upside down in the month and a half since meeting Gerard. Before, I was content living in my little bubble and keeping everyone at arm’s length. Jocks, especially hockey players, were the last people on earth I wanted to associate with. I had my books and my studies, and that was enough. Or so I thought.

But then Gerard came crashing into my life, quite literally, with his missing hockey stick and those crystal-blue eyes that saw me in all my grumpy glory. And, suddenly, I found myself drawn to him, a moth to a flame.

Living in the Hockey House has been a major adjustment. I’m surrounded by these larger-than-life personalities, each one more boisterous than the last.

There’s Oliver, the nurturing den mother who keeps everyone fed and cared for. Kyle, a grumpier man than me, and who’s only nice around Alex. Drew, the shameless flirt, has a new conquest every week and has been hanging out with Jackson more and more ever since Halloween. Nathan, who I think still thinks I’m mad at him for almost running me over.

And then there’s Gerard. The sweet-as-pie boy with a heart as big as his fist.

Despite my initial reservations, I’ve grown fond of these hockey players. They’ve welcomed me into their tight-knit group despite my many flaws. We’ve shared laughter over ridiculous antics, bonded over late-night study sessions, and even had heart-to-heart conversations about our hopes and dreams after college. And then, when I’m lying next to Gerard, my whole world stops—except for him.

Gerard has impressed me. He listens intently when I rambleabout my favorite books, surprises me with my favorite coffee order, and always knows what to say to make me smile.

It’s terrifying, really, how quickly he’s become such an integral part of my life. I think about him constantly, and my heart skips a beat whenever he enters a room.

I never thought I’d be the type to fall for a hockey player, but here I am, waiting for our first official date to begin. My stomach is filled with butterflies, and my mind races with possibilities of where our first date will take place.

A sharp rap of knuckles against wood startles me from my thoughts, and my heart leaps into my throat. That’s him. He’s ready. But am I?

What if I stumble over my words or forget how to make small talk? What if I’m so nervous that I miss my mouth when drinking and ruin my nice shirt?

What if all this leads to Gerard deciding he wants nothing to do with me and kicks me out of his room or, worse, the house?

That thought alone makes me nauseous. I don’t want this night to end before it even starts. As much as every instinct screams at me to run away and hide, I know that’s not an option anymore. Not when there’s a lot at stake.

Here goes nothing.

I open the door to see a devastatingly handsome Gerard in a fitted blue button-down that makes his eyes sparkle even more than usual. His blond hair is combed, and his signature radiant smile lights up his face as his gaze meets mine.

How is this Adonis of a man interested in me, of all people?

Gerard opens his mouth to speak when Jackson and Drew appear out of nowhere and barge into the room. They shove me back—lightly, of course—and block Gerard’s view of me.

Jackson dramatically clears his throat, puffs out his chest, and starts speaking in an aristocratic tone. “Young man. What exactly are your intentions with our dear Elliot tonight?”

Is he pretending to be my dad?

Drew raises his voice a few octaves and adopts a maternaltone. “Yes, we want to ensure that our precious boy is in good hands. Isn’t that right, honey?”

He affectionately pats Jackson’s arm, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the situation. The mental image of them as my parents is disturbing, and I don’t know whether I should be mad or appreciative.

Gerard doesn’t miss a beat, engaging them as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Of course, sirs. I completely understand. My intentions are nothing but honorable. I plan to take Elliot to Olive Garden for a lovely dinner.”

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