Page 15 of Icing on the Cake

“A Stephen King book. Maybe you left your stick on the third floor in our horror section?” She shrugs. “We don’t see much foot traffic in that part of the library because most of those books have creepy covers. Elliot can take you if you want some company.”

Ah, so his name is Elliot.For some reason, I file that away for safekeeping.

The look Elliot gives the woman is downright vicious. I’m talking Pennywise the Clown meets Hannibal Lecter levels of pure evil.

My poor penis, already confused by both Elliot’s and the woman’s presence, decides it wants absolutely no part of this and retreats so far into my body that I swear it’s now neighbors with my spleen.

Surprisingly, the woman meets Elliot’s death glare head-on, and it’s like watching two gunslingers at high noon, but instead of pistols, they’re armed with library cards and overdue book fines.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other and contemplate breaking the silence. But what does one say in a situation such as this?

Elliot tears his gaze from the woman, and a flicker of embarrassment crosses his face. But it vanishes so quickly that I’m unsure if I imagined it. “Fine. Follow me.”

He stalks off toward the elevator, and I follow him, hot on his heels, like a good boy.

4

ELLIOT

“Who was that girl?” Gerard asks when we step into the elevator, and the doors close, trapping us inside.

“That…was Sarah. She works here.”

“I got that. Is she a friend?”

I decide not to answer that question. Had he asked me yesterday, I’d have said yes. But now, because she meddled when she had no business doing so, the magic eight ball says to ask again later.

“Girlfriend?” Gerard squeaks out when the silence becomes too much.

I realize neither of us pressed the button for the third floor, and I ignore him as I contemplate if I can reach the button without brushing against him in the process.

The elevator is small, and Gerard seems to occupy every inch. Heat radiates from his body, and the subtle scent of his cologne—musky with a hint of icy mint—makes my head spin.

I’m not blind. Gerard’s a very handsome man. I’ve seen girls fawn over him, guys idolize him, and teachers bow down to him like he’s the second coming of Jesus.

But that doesn’t mean thatIwant anything to do with himtoday. I’ve already spent time with one jock; I don’t need to do it again.

“Relative?” Gerard asks when I still haven’t answered him.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, I simply say, “Coworker.”

I don’t define the stumped expression on his face as adorable. I really don’t.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

“Right. And you are?—”

“Elliot. The librarian.”

“Right. So, how long have you worked here, Elliot the Librarian?”

I guess Gerard wants to make small talk. Little does he know it’s one of the things I hate, along with jocks who aren’t Jackson.

Peering up at him through my lashes, I’m shocked he’s trying to make eye contact with me. Most jocks that take a ride in the elevator with me spend their time checking out their reflection in the shiny metal doors.

“This will be my third year.”

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