Page 73 of Icing on the Cake

“Nice socks,” I say, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

Gerard wiggles his toes, making the smiley faces dance. “Thanks. They were a gift from my sister, Lily, two Christmases ago.”

The mental image of Gerard opening a present from his kid sister and finding these ridiculous socks is almost too much. It’s…cute.

“They suit you.” I surprise myself with how much honesty there is in my tone.

“Thanks. I like your socks, too. Classic.”

I glance down at my socks—plain black crew socks I’ve had for years. There’s nothing special about them, but Gerard’s compliment makes me weirdly proud for some reason. “Thanks. I’m a creature of habit when it comes to socks.”

The first thing I notice when I pull my gaze away from Gerard’s feet is the mismatched furniture strewn about the living room. Each piece appears to have been plucked from a different decade and haphazardly thrown together. A ratty plaid couch that belongs in a 1970s basement sits next to a sleek, modern leather armchair that wouldn’t be out of place in a Manhattan penthouse. The coffee table is an old door laid across two sawhorses, its surface littered with hockey magazines, empty Gatorade bottles, and what I pray to God are clean jockstraps.

The walls are lined with signed jerseys and framed photographs that chronicle the history of BSU hockey. I spot a few familiar faces, including Coach Donovan. His boyish grin is unmistakable, even with a few missing teeth.

A life-size cardboard cutout of Wayne Gretzky stands guard in the corner. His stick is raised as if he’s about to take a slapshot at an unsuspecting intruder. I briefly consider asking Gerard to take a picture of me next to it, but I don’t want to come across as a puck bunny.

Nathan bounds into the room, air-drying his hands. “Hey, Elliot. I’m really sorry again about earlier.”

I wave off his apology. “It’s fine, Nathan. No harm done except to my dignity, but that was already in short supply.”

Nathan grins, relieved. “Still, I owe you one. If you ever need a ride somewhere, let me know. I promise I’ll drive like a little old lady.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance around the room, taking in the rest of the eclectic décor. “So, where are we doing this pumpkin carving? Please tell me you have newspapers or something to put down. I don’t want to be responsible for getting pumpkin guts all over Oliver’s clean floors.”

“Don’t worry,” Gerard says as he shifts the pumpkin tucked under his arm. “We’ve got it covered. Follow me.”

Saying goodbye to Nathan—who, for his part, tears off more carefully than he came in—we make our way down the hallway toward the kitchen, and I realize that it’s way too quiet. For a house that’s home to almost thirty-plus college hockey players, there should be more noise and chaos. “Where is everyone?”

Gerard glances over his shoulder at me. “Most of the guys are in class or at the rink. A few went into town to run errands. So it’s just us and Alex. Oh, and Drew, but he’s passed out in his room.”

I nod, trying not to read too much into the “just us” comment.

The kitchen is living proof that this is a house full of dudes. The counters are cluttered with protein powder containers, empty pizza boxes, and what appears to be a tower of red Solo cups that almost reach the ceiling. The fridge is covered in a collage of magnets, holding up everything from takeout menus to a schedule for who’s in charge of buying toilet paper this month.

I snicker when I see that it’s Gerard. Something tells me he has no clue about 2-ply, 3-ply, or even 4-ply.

But what really catches my eye is the plethora of pumpkins scattered about. They cover every available surface, from the kitchen table to the top of the microwave. Some are massive, thesize of beach balls, while others are small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

“Did you rob a pumpkin patch or something?” I ask, only half-joking.

Gerard rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Kyle may have gone a smidge overboard at the farmers market. But in his defense, they were having a sale.”

“Asmidgeoverboard? Gerard, this is enough to decorate the entire campus.”

“We usually donate whatever we don’t carve to the children’s hospital. Spread some Halloween cheer, you know?”

My heart does a funny little flip at that. It’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s more to him—and the team—than hockey and good looks.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I say softly.

A hint of pink colors Gerard’s cheeks, and he busies himself by setting the pumpkin down with the rest of them and arranging the carving tools. “It’s nothing. Just trying to do my part to add some good in the world.”

I pick up a particularly warty pumpkin and examine it. “So, any ideas on what to make?”

Gerard’s eyes light up at my question. “Oh man, I have so many ideas! I was thinking about doing something like a spooky haunted house with bats flying out of the windows or a creepy tree with gnarled branches. Or maybe a portrait of a famous monster. Say, Frankenstein or Dracula? We could even…”

As he rambles on, gesturing animatedly with his large hands, I find myself charmed by his enthusiasm. It’s clear he’s put a lot of thought into this. “Those all sound amazing. You must be quite the artist.”

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