Page 148 of Icing on the Cake

He waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Ryan has been playing nurse. He even made me ramen noodle soup.”

The way Jackson says it makes it sound as if his roommate is some master chef. “Well, I’m glad your roommate is there to take care of you since you won’t let me.”

“I told you, I don’t want you to miss out on any of your classes.” Jackson coughs, and I wince. “Speaking of, how are they going?”

“They’re going alright.” I settle back against my spot on the couch. “I think I’m ready for the semester to be over, though.”

“Only a couple more weeks, and then we’ll have a month off to do whatever the hell we want.”

“You’re telling me. Drew has a countdown calendar on the fridge.” At the mention of Drew’s name, the tips of Jackson’s ears turn an adorable shade of pink.Interesting. “Has Drew been checking in on you at all? Making sure you’re still alive? You guys have gotten pretty friendly lately.”

Jackson ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his comforter. “Um, yeah. He’s texted a few times. Even offered to bring me some of his mom’s famous pot roast.”

He flashes me a bashful smile that speaks volumes. There’s definitely something brewing there. I open my mouth, ready to prod further, when the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs captures my attention.

Kyle appears in the doorway, his face a ball of fury. He shakes with barely contained rage, and his hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Uh oh,” Jackson murmurs, his face filling up my entire phone screen as he tries to peer into the room through it. “Sounds like someone pissed in Kyle’s Wheaties this morning.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter under my breath. Louder, I say, “I’ll text you later.”

“No worries, man. Go deal with the Kyle situation.”

“Feel better, okay? And don’t forget to hydrate!” I remind him.

“Yes, Mom,” Jackson snarks, rolling his eyes fondly. “Now go. Before Kyle puts his fist through a wall or something.”

I end the call and toss my phone aside, bracing myself for the impending storm that is Kyle Graham on a rampage.This should be fun.“Hey, Kyle. What’s going on?”

Kyle’s eyes flash with annoyance, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. “I needed to be at the arena fifteenminutes ago, but Alex still isn’t ready. He’s taking forever with his stupid skincare routine.”

I raise an eyebrow and picture the delicate, porcelain-doll-like Alex meticulously applying moisturizers to his face. It’s not a stretch of the imagination. “Okay…what do you need from me?”

Kyle’s gaze zeroes in on me, fiery and pleading all at once. “I was hoping you could give Alex a ride to the arena. I know it’s last minute, but I’m desperate here. Just because the coach is Alex’s dad doesn’t mean he’ll let things slide for me.”

I blink, taken aback by the request. “Uh, sure. I mean, I would, but there’s one small problem.” I pause, waiting for the realization to dawn on Kyle’s face. When it doesn’t, I sigh and spell it out for him. “I don’t have a car.”

For a moment, Kyle looks ready to explode. He takes a deep breath and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. He tosses them to me, and I fumble to catch them. “Take mine. I’ll call an Uber.”

I stare down at the keys in my hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just make sure Alex gets there in one piece, okay? And don’t let him mess with the radio. He has terrible taste in music.”

“Got it. No letting Alex fondle your shit.”

Kyle grunts in acknowledgment, either not noticing or ignoring my attempt at a double entendre, and disappears out the front door, leaving me alone in the living room again.

I’ve never been a chauffeur, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. I hope Alex doesn’t mind being driven around by someone who hasn’t driven a car in years.

Sighing, I push myself off the couch and mentally prepare for the task ahead. Giving Alex a ride to the arena shouldn’t be too tricky, right? It’s not as if I’m transporting precious cargo or anything.

Famous last words, Elliot. Famous last words.

Kyle’s keysjingle in my hand as I walk out to his car. A sense of impending doom settles heavily in my gut. They say to listen to your gut, and right now, it’s yelling at me loudly. Because Kyle’s car, his pride and joy, his baby, isn’t an ordinary sports car. It’s a fucking stick shift.

Alex steps out of the house, his red hair perfectly styled and his delicate features set in a mask of determination. When he sees me freaking out, he blanches. “Please tell me you know how to drive that thing.”

“Uh, sure. I mean, how hard can it be, right? You just…shift gears and stuff. Right?”

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