Page 12 of Icing on the Cake

I stumble backward, swatting at the air like a drunkard. A girl on a bicycle swerves to avoid me and nearly eats the pavement.

“Sorry!” I yell, ducking as the pigeons make another pass. Their rustling wings create a miniature hurricane around me, and I catch glimpses of angry little faces and beaks open in silent screeches.

This is not how I envisioned my morning. All I wanted was to find my stick and catch up on some sleep before the big game tonight. Now I’m going to end up on the five o’clock news as the boy who got pecked to death.

With one last desperate lunge, I break free from the flock and run for my life. The pigeons give chase for a few yards before deciding I’m no longer worth the effort.

I slow to a jog, then a walk, breathing hard and muttering made-up curses.It’s a weird quirk of mine; don’t ask.

The library looms ahead, the glass doors sparkling in the morning sun. Usually, I’d avoid this place like the plague—toomany bad memories of cramming for exams—but today, it’s my only hope.

I push through the front doors, and a wave of warm air smacks me in the face, making my whole body tingle as the blood rushes back to my extremities.

I glance down at my toes to see if I can wiggle them again, and sure enough, all ten of them are now doing a happy dance.

The library is the tallest building on campus. With five floors and more nooks and crannies than a mansion, it’s easy to get lost.Trust me, I know.Thankfully, I’m a guy who learns his lessons and knows where to go this time.

The information desk.

It’s not as fancy as some places, but it gets the job done. The desk has enough space for a computer and maybe a person to perch on top of it while they talk to the poor soul working behind it.

Today, that poor soul is a guy with black hair and glasses. He’s sporting a deep tan that screams summer and a scowl that suggests winter frost. His attention is buried in a book, and he doesn’t notice me as I walk up to him with a pep in my step.

“Excuse me,” I say, probably too loud for library standards. The guy doesn’t flinch. I clear my throat and try again, even adding a friendly wave. “Hey, can you help me out?”

Nothing. It’s like he’s in a reading coma.

Crossing my legs at the ankles, I lean on the desk with one hand, tuck the other in my pocket, and try to peek at what he’s so engrossed in.

Maybe it’s one of those steamy romance novels with the shirtless pirate on the cover. I smirk at the thought before remembering why I’m here.

“Dude!” I tap the wood surface with my knuckles. “I’m kind of in a rush here.”

He finally looks up, and I’m struck by how his eyes resemble two dark chocolate chips, all melty and warm. I unconsciously lick my lips as my stomach growls softly.

From the way he continues to glower at me, I think he’s going to tell me to screw off, but instead, he sets the book down and sighs.

“What do you need?” His voice is soft, almost bored, but there’s an edge to it.

“Have you seen a stray hockey stick wander through here? It’s big, kinda like me, and hard to miss.”

His eyes flick down to my hand on the desk before coming back up to pin me with a long, evaluating stare.

I’ve never felt this scrutinized before. I don’t know what to say or do. Something tells me he’ll bolt if I make any sudden movements. So, I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.

I don’t even scratch the itch on my balls.

After what feels like hours, and without any change in his facial expression, he finally breaks the silence. “Did I say, ‘I can help who’s next?’”

Fiddlesticks.Is this one of those places where you have to take a number and wait your turn?

I glance around the desk for a sign or a ticket dispenser but come up empty. “Uh…no?”

“Exactly. So, step back about ten paces and wait…your…turn.”

I scratch my head, trying to calculate what ten paces would be for a guy my size. I wear a size fifteen shoe, so ten of my paces could put me back in the lobby. Maybe even outside in the pigeon war zone.

The librarian scowls harder and returns to his book. I’m starting to miss the pigeons.

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