Page 81 of Icing on the Cake

“And you don’t know anything about mine,” I shoot back, my voice rising with each word. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and mind your own damn business?”

I walk away from him again, my fists clenched at my sides. His gaze is on my back, but I refuse to turn around. I don’t want to see the pity or the realization that I’m not like him and his hockey bros.

But Gerard, persistent as ever, falls into step beside me. “Elliot, I’m concerned.”

“Concerned? About what?”

He sighs heavily, and his shoulders slump. “I don’t know. My gut told me to make sure you made it back to the dorms okay. I had no idea you were heading here.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ve been sleeping in the library for the past two years, and no one’s been the wiser. That is untilyoudecided to go all Sherlock Holmes on me.”

Gerard’s forehead creases in deep thought. His mouth moves as he tries to come up with something to say. It’d be cute if I weren’t unbelievably frustrated with him.

“Two years?!” he finally manages to spit out. “You’ve been sleeping in the library for two whole years? How is that even possible?”

“It’s not that hard when you know how to be invisible. And let’s face it, I’m a ghost on this campus.”

The expression on his face is a jumbled mess of emotions. There’s sympathy, which is to be expected. Concern, too. But terror? That’s not what I was expecting.

Gerard takes off running as if the devil himself is chasing him.And while my eyes instinctively follow the rhythmic bounce of his ass as he vanishes into the distance, I find no joy in the view.

Because the simple fact is it’s way too early for my day to be a dumpster fire already.

18

GERARD

Learning that Elliot doesn’t have a place to call home has left a sour taste in my mouth. Not because it changes how I see him—he’s still the same grumpy, sarcastic guy who somehow bookwormed his way into my life—but because the seriousness of the situation scares me.And since I can’t skate away from the problem, I’ve hatched a three-step plan.

First, go to The Brew. Oliver’s working this morning, and he’s my go-to guy whenever I’m overwhelmed. And right now, I’mover-overwhelmed.

Then I’ll order myself a comforting cup of tea and…well, spill it.

Last, with Oliver’s help, I’ll brainstorm a solution that doesn’t involve Elliot curling up between the bookshelves for another night. Take it from me: the library is the worst place to get some shut-eye.

I don’t know how he does it. My neck feels like it went ten rounds with a three-hundred-pound enforcer.

The warm morning air whips my face as I race to The Brew. I’m in such a hurry that I don’t bother to check the time. I also don’t bother to wait for the glass doors to slide fully open as I approach them. Time is of the essence, and I—BAM!

I slam into the glass door and the world goes dark as my eyes cross and my brain rattles around in my skull like a loose puck. Pain explodes through my nose, and I’m pretty sure I heard a crunch.

As I stumble backward, my center of gravity shifts, and suddenly, I’m falling. Time slows down as my life flashes before my eyes—well, mostly just the embarrassing parts, like that one game where I accidentally put my jockstrap on the wrong way.Don’t ask how. Don’t. Ask. How.

My butt hits the concrete with a thunderous thud, and shockwaves ripple through me from head to toe. I sit there, momentarily stunned and disoriented, while Tweety Birds chirp over my head. My face throbs, my tailbone hurts, and my pride has shattered into a million tiny pieces.

I gingerly touch my nose, wincing at the pain, and realize that I’ve given myself another concussion. Thankfully, even though my vision is blurry and my eyes have yet to uncross, I register the closed sign hanging on the door. I scowl at it as it mocks me with its cruel indifference.

This isnothow I imagined my morning going. All I wanted was to find Oliver and get his help with the Elliot situation. Instead, I’ve ended up flat on my butt, my nose probably broken, and my ego bruised worse than a peach.

With a grunt, I heave myself off the ground and sit on the wooden bench beneath the overhang. My butt protests the less-than-cushiony furniture, but there’s nothing better as far as the eye can see.

While I wait for Oliver to arrive and unlock the doors, my mind drifts back to Elliot. The image of him curled up on the library floor with a book for a pillow makes my heart ache in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.

I can’t sit back and let him continue squatting in the library. He deserves a proper bed. And if I have anything to say about it, he’ll get just that.

Surprise flashesacross Oliver’s face when he spots me on the bench, scrolling through social media. He’s dressed in a forest-green polo shirt with The Brew’s logo—a steaming cup of coffee—embroidered above his left nipple, tan khaki pants that hug his thighs, and shiny tan loafers.

“G? What are you doing here this early, man?” I hear the concern in his voice as he pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door.

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