Page 43 of Icing on the Cake

Jackson shrugs. “Maybe. But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

A good feeling.That’s what worries me most. Because despite all my reservations and knowing better than to get involved with a jock, some irrational part of me hopes Jackson is right.

And that hope is dangerous.

9

GERARD

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The sound that rips from my throat is more of a lion’s roar than a human groan. My screaming alarm clock won’t shut up. The sun is out in full force, burning my eyeballs from beneath my eyelids. My teammates are clomping down the hall for their morning showers, workout routines, and God knows what else.

I know I need to get up and face the day, but nothing—not even a juicy cheeseburger—will get me moving anytime soon.

I’m lying on my stomach with my face smooshed into the world’s fluffiest pillow. Turning my head, I crack open an eye and gaze blearily at Barry the Barracuda resting on the floor. He’s a stuffed animal I’d gotten for my sister but never gave her because he was too darn cute to give away.

His glassy eyes pierce deep into my soul. He’s silently judging me for my wild weekend when I should have been resting.

“Don’t give me that look, dude,” I mumble, my voice raspy and broken. “I had to celebrate.”

Had to. As if it were a requirement for my grade or something. But really, how could I not party like it was 1999? The whole team was amped up, and the adrenaline carried us througha rager that started Friday night and somehow bled into early this morning.

I don’t remember much except that I drank a lot of beer and got a lot of butt slaps from the guys. My poor cheeks are still tender from all the congratulatory whacks.

With a herculean effort, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.Nope. Bad move.Shockwaves of pain ricochet through my skull. I force myself to breathe through the nausea rising in my throat.

As incredible as the weekend has been, I’m paying for it now. My mouth feels stuffed with cotton balls, and every inch of my body aches from the top of my head to my little pinky toe.

I glance over at my nightstand, hoping to find a bottle of water, but all I see is an opened tube of lube. I guess drunk me got lucky with drunk me at some point last night.Good for him.

My muscles scream in protest when I pull myself up into a seated position. I turn my head this way and that, cracking my neck and moaning in ecstasy. My dick perks up at the sound, but I shake my head. “Down, boy. I don’t think I have the energy for that right now.”

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it with all the enthusiasm of a man reaching for a live grenade.

Oliver

Dude, u alive? We’re downstairs waiting for you.

Fiddlesticks.The weekly house meeting completely slipped my mind.

I haul myself out of bed and study myself in the mirror that hangs on the back of my door.Yikes. My usually bright blue eyes are dull as dishwater, and my hair could double as a nest for a family of sparrows. Even my skin has taken on a grayish hue, like week-old meatloaf.

“Barry, I think I’m getting too old for this.” I realize how pathetic I sound. I’m only twenty, but I’ve woken up in the bodyof a washed-up has-been trying to relive his glory days.Ha, I’m my dad!

Don’t tell him I said that. He’d cuff me upside the head.

I pat my hair into submission and throw on a BSU hoodie and gym shorts. I pluck a pair of neon green socks off the floor and put them on my feet, enjoying how they instantly warm my toes.

As I shuffle toward the door, I give Barry a thumbs up. “Stay cool, Bar.”

He stares back at me with that same toothy grin.He knows something I don’t.Weird.

I trudge out into the hallway and make my way to the stairs. The third floor is quiet, which is unusual for a house of hockey boys, but I’m not complaining. The silence is a gentle caress on my shattered eardrums.

I descend the stairs slowly because each step sends a jolt of pain through my still fragile body. When I reach the bottom, I peek around the corner and see the whole squad crammed into the living room.

Even Alex Donovan is here. As Coach’s son, he’s practically another member, though he prefers to watch rather than partake.

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