Page 6 of Icing on the Cake

Slipping my feet into some beat-up Adidas slides, I rush out of my room, only to dash back in to grab my cell phone.

Satisfied that I have everything this time, I race down the stairs, narrowly avoid barreling into one of the freshmen, and burst out the front door.

As I head for the library, I pray my hockey stick is there. Otherwise, “Gunnarson the Great” will soon be known as “Gunnarson the Hopeless.”

2

ELLIOT

I’m this close to pulling my hair out. What was supposed to be a peaceful morning at work has turned into an all-out nightmare.

College students in hockey jerseys have taken over every inch of the library. And while I can appreciate the sport as much as the next person, this isn’t the time or place to be betting on Gunnarson the Great pulling off another hat trick tonight.

I’m about to tell off some jerks for attempting to search porn on the computers when two large hands hover over my glasses and obscure my vision. “Guess who!”

I know who it is—that jovial voice is unmistakable—but I play along anyway. “Ryan Reynolds?”

“Nope.”

“Ryan Gosling?”

“Nope, again.”

“Ryan Phillippe?”

“Geez, Elliot. Do you have a thing for guys named Ryan or something?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. What’s it to you?” I turn around and flash my best friend, Jackson Monroe, a raresmile. He’s BSU’s star quarterback and the only guy on campus who doesn’t make me want to gouge my eye out with a rusty spoon. Taking in his appearance, there can only be one reason he’s drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. “Went for a run?”

“You know it!” I get a thumbs-up for my correct guess. “Care to join me sometime?”

I scoff. “When pigs fly.” Another group of hockey fanatics enters the library and my eye twitches. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend at work?”

“A guy can…when he doesn’t reek to the high heavens.”

Jackson’s jaw drops. “Are you saying you don’t like this smell?”

“I’m saying it’s not even a scent a mother could love.”

Ignoring his glare, I walk over to the circulation desk where I’d been categorizing event flyers before the entire campus decided my workspace should be a meeting point.

“Dude, why are you seconds away from having a brain aneurysm?” Jackson hops up onto the desk with a wolfish grin. He knows I hate when he treats everything like it’shiskingdom.

He also knows I won’t do a thing to stop him.

I run my hands through my hair and tug. “Have you seen this place, Jackson? It’s a zoo, but instead of cute animals, it’s…them.”

He follows my gaze, taking in the chaos and chuckles, which only pisses me off more.

“Is this funny to you?”

“A little bit.” He has the nerve to wink at me, the rat bastard. “They’re excited, Elliot. Tonight’s the season opener. I thought you knew that.”

“I do.” Everyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows that tonight is Berkeley Shore’s version of Mardi Gras.

BSU is a small school, but we’re massive when it comes to hockey. The sport is practically a religion here, with Infinity Arena serving as the student body’s makeshiftcathedral. While I understand school spirit, the level of fanaticism for the BSU Barracudas knows no bounds.

---