Icing on the Cake (The Barracudas #1)

Chapter 13

13

GERARD

G ive her a round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, because the Ice Queen has outdone herself.

After texting Oliver to let him know I’d be skipping class, I ran back to the Hockey House to get my car. As I drove down the road to a small deli that I loved, my phone blew up with notifications.

I parked my car and unlocked my phone to see a flood of notifications from people sending me links to the latest post from the Ice Queen. And because curiosity killed the cat, I clicked on one.

But boy, did satisfaction bring me back. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything as hot as what the Ice Queen wrote about my hands. And that’s saying something because the one about my butt was filthy with a capital F.

I slip my phone into my pocket and get out of the car. The deli is a hole-in-the-wall place called Sally’s, tucked away in a strip mall just off campus. I discovered it freshman year when Drew and I got lost looking for the post office.

We never did find the post office, but discovering Aunt Sally’s was a way bigger win.

The place has an old-school charm, with its checkered tablecloths and faded pictures of what I assume are various Sallys throughout the years. It’s never too crowded, which is surprising given how ridiculously good the food is. Maybe it’s because most students stick to the dining hall or the chain places downtown. Their loss.

A bell above the door jingles when I walk in, and the smell of cured meats and fresh bread wraps me in a warm hug. I get in line behind an older guy in a Bruins jacket and start thinking about what to order.

Everything here is massive and loaded with flavor, and the best way to describe it is a culinary punch to the face. The meatball subs are legendary, dripping with marinara and enough mozzarella to strangle a small horse. The pastrami on rye is stacked so high you need a game plan to tackle it. And don’t even get me started on the pickles. They’re green spears of joy.

I love this place because it feels like a mini-vacation from campus life. Eating here reminds me of sitting in someone’s grandma’s kitchen—if that grandma was Italian and ran a badass sandwich shop.

Plus, the food has this magical quality where no matter how much you eat, you never feel gross afterward. You’re simply happy and full, like a well-fed puppy.

The guy in front of me finishes relaying his order, and I step up to the counter. A girl with purple hair and a nose ring asks what I want.

“I’ll take two turkey clubs with extra bacon.” As she punches it into the register, my stomach growls, and I rethink my order. “You know what? Make it three.”

She shrugs, adds the extra food, and swipes my card.

I take a seat by the window and pull out my phone again. The screen is still lit up with notifications about the blog post. Part of me wants to read it again, but another part—probably the smarter part—knows that could be dangerous. Instead, I log into one of my social media apps and scroll through my feed .

Oliver posted a video from last night’s practice where he deked out three guys before roofing it top shelf.

I like the video and keep scrolling.

Drew’s newest fling posted a selfie of them kissing at some hipster coffee shop. They’re both wearing beanies and flannels, resembling extras in an indie rock musical. I double-tap the photo out of loyalty and make a mental note to tease Drew about it later.

As I scroll through more of my feed, I come across a post from Nathan. It’s an image of him and Alex Donovan hanging out at what looks like the Infinity Arena. Alex is holding a hockey stick, and Nathan has his arm around Alex’s shoulder. The caption reads, “Getting this guy ready for the big leagues!”

My eyes widen. Alex looks uncomfortable but also kind of happy. I can’t imagine how Kyle will react if he sees this. Probably not well.

Kyle’s always been insanely protective of Alex, even though they’re just friends. At least, that’s what they say. The rest of us have speculated for months about whether there’s something more going on between them. It would make sense—they’re basically inseparable, and Kyle is the only person Alex ever talks to.

I remember when Coach Donovan took over the team midway through my freshman year and brought Alex to practice. He was so small and fragile-looking and reminded me of a scared kitten. We all assumed he’d come out of his shell, but three years later, he’s still the same shy kid, hiding behind Kyle.

I wonder if Kyle’s protectiveness is actually holding Alex back. Maybe if he let Alex fend for himself a bit more, the kid would grow some confidence. Then again, what do I know? I’m not in their shoes.

My thoughts drift to other things I’m unsure of. Like Elliot grinding through his Monday marathon of classes. How many is he taking this semester? Six? Seven? Simply thinking about that workload makes me tired. I have no idea how he’s not a dead man walking by nightfall.

Not having time to eat would explain Elliot’s skinny appearance. The guy is a skeleton with glasses, but a cute one, like in those stop-motion Christmas specials Dad used to make me watch. It would also explain why he’s always grumpy.

I can’t imagine surviving on an empty stomach. I need to eat almost every hour to keep my energy up, and that’s not even counting the insane amount of protein I have to take in to maintain this beefy body.

What surprises me most, though, is that Jackson hasn’t stepped in to help Elliot. Jackson’s an athlete too—football, but still—so he should know how important fueling your body is.

Maybe Elliot doesn’t let him help? The guy is fiercely independent, almost to a fault. Or maybe Jackson is as swamped as Elliot and can’t spare the time.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. What if Elliot’s a vegetarian? Of course, the thought hits me after I’ve ordered . If he is a vegetarian, these turkey clubs with extra bacon are going to be useless.

The girl with purple hair calls my name, and I get up to grab my order. The bag is heavy with sandwich goodness, and my mouth waters at the thought of diving into one. But these aren’t for me—well, not all of them.

Unless he doesn’t eat meat, the voice in the back of my head mutters.

I push through the deli door and head to my car. As I toss the bag onto the passenger seat, I pull out my phone one last time and look at Nathan’s post again.

Alex is lucky to have someone like Kyle looking out for him. But seeing this makes me think that maybe Nathan has a point. If Alex wants to be part of our world—hell, if he wants to be part of his dad’s world—he’s going to need more than just Kyle.

I start the car and drive back toward campus, thinking about how different things are when you have someone by your side. A best friend, a protector, a…something more.

When I get back to the Hockey House, Drew’s pickup truck pulls out of the driveway. He honks and waves, and I wave back as I park in his now vacant spot.

I kill the engine and sit for a moment, staring at the bag of food next to me. Walking and talking with Elliot as I carried his books was easier than it should have been. It felt as if we’d been friends since birth. I wonder if having lunch with him will be as easygoing.

Sitting on a bench outside of Russo Hall with the brown paper bag in my lap makes me feel like Forrest Gump. Elliot’s Introduction to Human Sexualit y and Calculus for Masochists are next to me, and the first one calls to me like a siren’s song.

Opening it up, I run my finger down the table of contents, skimming over the various chapters until I stop on one that catches my eye: “Understanding Bisexuality.” My heart does this weird flutter thing as I note the page number and flip to it.

The first few paragraphs talk about how bisexuality is often misunderstood. People think it’s simply a phase or a stepping stone to being gay, but it’s actually more complex than that. The chapter also discusses attraction to more than one gender and how it can be fluid over time. There’s even a part about how some people can be romantically attracted to one gender but sexually attracted to another.

I think about Elliot and how certain he seems in who he is. Then I think about myself and how confused I’ve been lately. Reading this causes the light bulb to go off in my head.

Maybe it’s okay that I don’t have all the answers right now. Maybe it’s normal to be unsure and to question things.

The book goes on to mention internalized homophobia and how societal pressures make it harder for people to accept their bisexuality. I wonder if that’s what’s going on with me .

Growing up in Elk Valley, everyone was as traditional as you’d imagine a small town to be. Mom and Dad are super supportive of everything I do, and I’ve no doubt they’d be as supportive if I brought a guy home instead of a girl. Especially considering my dad’s bisexuality.

I keep reading, finding myself intrigued by every word. The book talks about bi-erasure, where people assume you’re straight if you’re with someone of the opposite sex or gay if you’re with someone of the same sex.

That hits close to home. All this time, I’ve thought of myself as straight because I’ve only ever dated girls. But does liking Elliot mean I’m gay now? Or does it mean I’m…

My thoughts trail off as the words start to blur together. This is a lot to take in, but it’s also kind of reassuring. Like maybe there’s a roadmap for figuring this stuff out, and I’m not as lost as I thought.

I hear someone shout in the distance and look up in time to see Nathan walking toward me. Panic surges through me, and I snap the book shut, my face going beet red.

“Gunnarson! What’re you doing here?” Nathan’s wearing his usual running gear—a sleeveless tee and leggings—and sweat already mats his hair.

“Waiting for a friend.” I do my best to sound casual, but there’s a slight quiver to my words. “What’s up?”

He nods toward the book in my hand. “Since when do you read stuff like that?”

I fumble for an answer. “It’s…for a class.”

Nathan shrugs. “Whatever helps you score, man.” He glances around, then back at me. “Hey, we’re hitting the gym in an hour. You in?”

“Can’t today. Got plans.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. “Alright, see you later then.”

Nathan walks away, and I realize my palms are sweating. I rub them on my thighs before picking the book up again. I read the final words of the chapter: “Understanding your sexuality takes time. It’s okay to be confused.”

I close the book at the same time the doors of Russo Hall burst open, and a stream of students pours out. I scan the crowd for Elliot’s tiny frame and spot him near the back, shuffling slowly with his head down.

Even from this far away, I can tell he’s exhausted. Between school and working at the library, he must be running himself ragged. I know I’m the last one to talk, with hockey eating up all of my free time, but I know what it can do to the body, the mind, and the soul if you don’t take a moment to rest.

I stand up and wave, towering over everyone else. Elliot lifts his head, and surprise crosses his features when he sees me.

“Thought we could have lunch together.” He shrugs, and we walk over to the table and sit down. Opening the bag, I give him his food and take mine. “Hope you like meat.”

“I love meat.” For a split second, I think he’s being genuine. But then his lips twitch, and the double meaning nearly has me falling out of my seat.

“Uh, that’s good,” I mumble. “Would’ve been awkward if you were a vegetarian or something.”

He barks out a small, triumphant laugh—probably pleased with himself for making me blush—and unwraps his food. I take mine out, and the thing is huge, even for my hands.

The sounds of rustling leaves and distant student chatter fill the silence as we chow down. I steal glances at Elliot from time to time. The way he eats makes me wonder if he’s trying to make it last. His bites are careful and tiny.

“How did you know?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Elliot pauses mid-bite, and his brown eyes lock onto mine through his glasses. “Know what?”

“That you’re gay.” I shift uncomfortably on the bench as his eyes narrow. He’s scrutinizing me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. “How did you realize? And how did you come out?

He sets his wrap down and wipes his hands on a napkin before launching into an explanation. “There was this guy in ninth grade—Kris Collins. He was on the swim team. Tall, a brunette, had that whole surfer-dude thing going on. I was completely enamored with him.”

I try to picture a young Elliot crushing on some jock, and it makes me weirdly jealous, even though I know it’s ancient history.

“For the longest time, I convinced myself that it was admiration. But then I started obsessing over every little detail about him. His smile. The way he walked. His stupidly perfect ass—it’s because of him I love big butts, you know.” My eyebrows raise at that. “It wasn’t until eleventh grade that I admitted the truth to myself. No straight guy spends that much time thinking about another dude.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes but also a hint of nostalgia.

“Coming to terms with it was one thing. Telling other people was another. My mom took it fine; she said she had an inkling. That was news to me—I thought I’d done a good job hiding it. Friends were supportive for the most part, though a couple ended up distancing themselves.”

I take a moment to process his story. He makes it sound like he was ticking boxes on a checklist.

Admit to self: check. Tell his mom: check. Come out to friends: check.

“So, how did you come out to Jackson and Sarah?”

He smiles. “Sarah was easy. She knows these things. We were working a late shift at the library one night, and she asked if I had a crush on any cute boys. That was her way of telling me she knew and that it was cool.”

He picks up his wrap and takes another bite.

“Jackson was different. He’s a great guy, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react. We’d been friends for almost a year before I told him, and in that time, I’d grown pretty fond of him. We ordered pizza after a study session, and Jackson was trying to get me to flirt with the pizza girl when I blurted out, ‘You know I’ m gay, right?’ He stared at me, confused. Turns out Jackson has the world’s worst gaydar.”

I laugh. “So, he was cool with it, too?”

“Jackson’s the type to take things in stride. He paid the delivery girl, handed me a slice of pizza, and asked if having two sets of stubble changes the dynamics of making out.” Elliot rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness in his voice. “He genuinely wanted to know. If anything, he’s been more of an ally ever since I told him. We’ve been to the pride parade and watched queer movies. He’s even read books like Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda and The Song of Achilles. ”

“That’s good,” I say, and I mean it. Knowing that Elliot has people like Jackson in his corner makes me wonder who I’d turn to if I were in his situation.

Oliver, probably. Maybe Drew.

Elliot finishes his wrap and stuffs the foil into the bag. “Why are you asking all this, anyway?”

How much do I tell him? That I’m confused about my feelings? That I’m frightened of the unknown? That I might be misreading things, and he doesn’t like me in that way? “I want to understand. In case…you know…”

“In case what?”

Instead of answering him, I blurt out, “Have you seen the latest Ice Queen post? The one about my hands?”

Elliot’s expression shifts and a flush creeps up his neck and stops at his cheeks. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and peers down at the wooden table. “Yeah, I saw it. The professor paused class because people wanted to read it.”

My heart does a weird little flip. Why is he blushing? Did he like it? Is he embarrassed for me? I need to know. “Why are you blushing?”

“Because…I have a hand kink. And reading that made me—” He cuts himself off by biting his li p.

Oh.

Oh!

My mouth pops open as it all clicks into place. Hand kinks are real. This is a thing. And Elliot has one. Yeah, I don’t think I’m misreading anything.

I’m thrilled that this could be something we bond over. But I’m also apprehensive because this is all new and unknown. “How did you…get a hand kink?”

Elliot laughs softly. “I don’t know if it’s something you ‘get.’ It’s always been there. Hands are expressive; they tell stories. They can be gentle or rough, skilled or clumsy.” He pauses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to stop talking, but then he continues. “When someone has beautiful hands, it’s an added layer of attraction for me. It’s not something I can control.”

I glance down at my hands and wonder what makes them beautiful in his eyes. “So, when you read the post, did you think it was good?”

“It was…well-written. Made me see your hands in a different light.”

There’s an awkward silence where neither of us knows what to say or do next. We both recognize that we’re standing on the edge of something important that could tip either way.

“I’m not judging you,” I say quickly, wanting him to understand that I’m okay with this—with all of it. “It’s kind of fascinating.”

“Can I…” Elliot starts, then wavers. He fidgets with his fingers. “Can I see them? Your hands, I mean.”

“Of course.” I hold my hands across the table, palms up, and he gently pulls them closer to him.

The differences between our hands are noticeable—his tiny, delicate fingers against my large ones. His warm, tanned skin next to my pale whiteness.

He runs a fingertip along the lines of my palm, tracing them. My skin prickles at his touch, and my toes curl in my bright orange socks. “How do your palms stay so soft and smooth? I thought they’d be rough and callused. ”

“I dunno.” I shrug. “They’ve always been like this. Same with my dad, even after all his years in the hockey world.”

Elliot hums thoughtfully, then shifts his focus to my fingers. “They’re so thick and long.”

My breath catches as he runs his fingertips along the length of mine, one by one. It feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s like he’s undressing a part of me that I didn’t even know could be exposed.

“Perfect for holding a stick,” he says softly, almost to himself.

A hundred inappropriate thoughts rush through my mind, each one more vivid than the last. I wonder what it would feel like to hold him, to let my hands explore every inch of his small, wiry frame.

Would he melt into me? Would he trace the lines of my muscles with those delicate fingers?

I pull my hands back, not because I want to, but because I need to before I do something stupid. “So, are you going to write a term paper on my hands now?”

Elliot smirks. “Maybe I’ll start a blog, too. Call it The Hand Kink Enthusiast. ”

We both laugh, and the tension eases a bit. But there’s still that undercurrent of something more. Something dangerous and exciting.

“Elliot…I’m carving pumpkins this weekend with the coach’s son, Alex. You should come.”

He gazes up at the sky as he considers my request. I shift in my seat, unable to contain my anxiety as the seconds tick by. I also refrain from making a peep because I don’t want Elliot to be any more indecisive than he already is.

He sighs, and my heart sinks in anticipation of the letdown. “Okay.”

Relief and shock flood through me. “Great! Let’s swap numbers.”

I pull out my phone and hand it to him. He punches in his digits and hands it back to me. I can’t stop the smile when I see his name— Elliot Montgomery —saved in my contacts. It’s a step in the right direction.

I quickly text him so he has my number, too. “Saturday at one. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

The rest of the week whizzes by in a blur of practice, classes, and thinking about Elliot.

I keep wondering if I’m in over my head with this—whatever this is. He’s so sure of himself, so certain about who he is and what he wants. And here I am, floundering in uncharted waters.