Page 80 of Icing on the Cake

My eyes flick from the desk to the doors. I have two choices. Escape or find out who’s discovered my secret. It should be a simple decision, but it’s me. Nothing in my life has ever been simple.

Take my skin color, for example. Being Hispanic in a predominantly white suburb wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Kids would make stupid comments about me being adopted as if it were any of their business. I learned early on to brush it off, but it still stung.

And then there’s my sexuality. Coming out as gay was another layer of complication I didn’t need. Add to that my mom’s perpetual lack of wealth. We were never broke, but we’ve always had to scrape by.

Now, every penny I earn goes toward paying my tuition and eating when possible.

I’m used to making difficult choices and dealing with the consequences. That’s why this should be a no-brainer. I should just leave. Whoever’s behind the desk can think whatever they want; it won’t change anything.

But a perverse need to know who would go to the lengths of waiting me out keeps me rooted to the spot. Because, honestly, whoever it is must have some serious dedication—or a weird obsession with me—to stick around this long.

I take a tentative step toward the circulation desk. The snoring grows louder and more pronounced. I peer over the edge of the desk, and my heart stutters at who it is.

Gerard.

I study him while trying to make sense of the sight before me. He’s laid out like a starfish, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him and his feet clad in those smiley-face socks. His slides are kicked off to the side as ifhe couldn’t be bothered to line them up nicely beside the desk.

But it’s his face that I stare at the longest. His mouth hangs open so wide I could fit my fist in it. He’s also drooling.

It’s not fair. No one should look that good while drooling.

Why is he here?I ask myself. A dozen scenarios run through my mind, but none make sense.

My eyes roam over his sleeping form. He looks so peaceful. So unguarded. I’ve only known him for a short while, but I can tell that this is a rare sight. Usually, Gerard is on, performing for the masses. But now? Now, he’s just a guy. Who snores like a foghorn.

“Hey,” I say firmly. But Gerard doesn’t stir. With a huff, I try again, louder. “Dude. Wake up.”

Nothing. He’s out cold.

I consider leaving him a note—something snarky like “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got this. And by the way, you’re drooling.” and then slipping out the door. But before I can dig a pen out of my backpack, an idea strikes me.

He’s in my territory, and it’s time for me to fight back. So, I kick his foot. Hard.

With a sudden snort, Gerard startles awake and sits up with a jolt. He blinks rapidly, trying to orient himself. When his eyes focus on me, I forget to breathe. “Where’s the fire?”

I cross my arms over my chest and try to look intimidating. “What are you doing here?”

He rubs a hand over his face and inadvertently wipes away the drool. He runs the same hand through his hair as he smacks his lips. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit. But why are you sleeping in the library? Don’t you have a bed in that fancy Hockey House of yours?”

Gerard stands up and plants his hands on his hips. By the set of his eyebrows, I think he’s trying to pull off a stern expression, but it’s more petulant child than anything else. “Why areyousleeping in the library, Elliot? And don’t even think about trying to dodge the question. I want answers.”

Embarrassment and anger surge through me. How dare he come in here and demand answers from me as if he has any right to know what’s happening in my life?Instead of answering him, I haul ass out of the library and into the unseasonably warm morning. I’m halfway down the steps before the library doors bang open behind me. Gerard catches up to me in no time flat.Damn him and his stupid long legs.

“Elliot, wait.” He reaches for my shoulder, but I jerk away from his touch.

“Leave me alone, Gerard. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Oh, yes, you do!” His blue eyes flash with anger, something I’ve never seen before—not even when he’s on the ice. “I caught you squatting in the library. That’s not normal, Elliot. Something’s going on, and I want to know what it is.”

I stop walking and whirl around to face him. “You want to know what’s going on with me? Fine. I’ll tell you. I can’t afford to live in the dorms. I don’t have a house like the rest of you spoiled rich hockey players. I’d rather die than rush a fraternity. So, I sleep in the library. Are you happy now? Is your curiosity satisfied?”

Gerard’s mouth falls open in shock. “Elliot, I…I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Like you would’ve cared. You’re Gerard Gunnarson. Everything gets handed to you on a silver platter. What would you know about struggling to make ends meet?”

He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “That’s not fair, Elliot. You don’t know anything about me or my life.”

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