Icing on the Cake (The Barracudas #1)

Chapter 19

19

ELLIOT

“ Y ou want me to what? ”

“Move in with me.”

My cackle would make the Wicked Witch of the West proud. For a second there, I thought Gerard asked me to move in with him. But that would be insane because there’s no way I’m moving into a house full of hockey players. “And pray tell, why in the world would I do that?”

“Because you can’t keep living in the library, Elliot,” Gerard squawks. “It’s not humane. You should be in a dorm room, tucked warmly in a bed and surrounded by other people —not books!”

“What don’t you get, Gerard? I. Can’t. Afford. A dorm.”

“I. Know!” He shoots to his feet and starts pacing back and forth.

We’re in the middle of the quad. Everyone is staring at us, and it’s putting me on edge. This is why I never should have let Gerard into my life. He is always the center of attention, and now, I’ve been dragged into his orbit for everyone to gawk at.

Gerard stops pacing and plants his hands on his hips. The pose makes his broad shoulders appear even wider, stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. His eyes are fixed on some point in the distance as he mutters to himself. I take the opportunity to study him while he’s momentarily preoccupied.

The sunlight turns his golden hair into a shimmering halo, and the irony isn’t lost on me—Gerard, appearing like an angel, offering me salvation. I know I should take it because, as much as I hate to admit it, the boy is right. I shouldn’t be sleeping in a library.

“The guys will love you, Elliot. They’re not the meatheads you think they are,” Gerard insists, staring down at me.

I snort. “Right. A bunch of jocks are going to welcome a nerdy librarian with open arms. I’m sure we’ll be braiding each other’s hair in no time.”

“You’re not giving them enough credit. Or me, for that matter. I wouldn’t ask you to move in if I didn’t think it would work out. Or if I thought you’d be unsafe.”

I chew on my bottom lip and weigh my options. On the one hand, living in the library hasn’t exactly been a picnic. The floor isn’t the most comfortable. Having to sneak into the gym showers every day is liable to give me a heart attack. And I’m pretty sure I’m developing a permanent crick in my neck from using an encyclopedia as a pillow.

But on the other hand, moving into a house full of rowdy, boisterous hockey players will be a nightmare for an introvert like me. I can picture it now—constant noise, no privacy, and the lingering stench of sweat. Plus, there’s the small matter of my massive crush— something else I hate to admit —on Gerard. Living under the same roof as him and seeing him every day? It’s a recipe for disaster.

Gerard must sense my hesitation because he steps closer, his expression softening. “Think about it, okay? This could be good for you.”

My heart skips a beat at his proximity. Up close, I can see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and how his long lashes flutter when he blinks. It would be so easy to get lost in those eyes and drown in the depths of that blue .

I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I’ll think about it.”

My voice comes out shakier than I’d prefer it to, but Gerard neither notices nor cares. In fact, he beams.

“That’s all I ask.” He squeezes my shoulder, sending pleasure through my body.

As he walks away, my mind races with possibilities. Living with Gerard is tempting, even with all the potential drawbacks. But am I ready to take that leap?

Fate is a cruel mistress.

When I go to the library for my midday shift, I’m met with a padlock on the door and a sign in the window. It says that the building is closed for fumigation— the fuck? —and to come back on October 25 th for a grand reopening.

“Closed for a week?” I run my hands through my hair and curse.

Now, what am I going to do? I guess I could sneak into the gym and sleep on one of the workout benches. I’ll go to Jackson’s dorm and swipe his key card. That way, it won’t raise any questions when campus security finds the door unlocked late at night.

I’m already grimacing at the thought when the traitorous voice in my head suggests a different option—Gerard’s offer to move into the Hockey House.

No way. I’m not that desperate…am I?

Grumbling under my breath, I trudge across the quad, my backpack growing heavier with each step. As I pass by the student center, a flyer catches my eye.

“Need a place to stay?” it reads in bold, colorful letters. “The Hockey House has a room available! Inquire within.”

I blink, then blink again. This has to be a joke, right? Some sort of cosmic prank or something Gerard did, knowing I walk this way all the time ?

I tear my gaze away from the flyer and quicken my pace, determined to put as much distance between myself and that accursed piece of paper as possible.

As I round the corner near the dining hall, I nearly collide with a group of students huddled around a bulletin board. Mumbling an apology, I try to sidestep them, but something on the board snags my attention. There, smack dab in the center, is another flyer, identical to the other one.

“For crying out loud,” I mutter, my eye twitching. Is the Hockey House stalking me?

This is ridiculous. I’m not going to let a couple of stupid flyers sway me. I’ve made up my mind, and that’s that. Except, apparently, it’s not.

I cut through the fine arts building, hoping to take a shortcut to the gym, and stumble upon a group of theater students rehearsing a scene. Normally, I wouldn’t pay them any mind, but the dialogue makes me freeze.

“But where will you go?” one of the actors cries, clutching his scene partner’s arm.

“I don’t know,” the other replies. “But I can’t stay here. I have to find a new place to call home.”

I run out of the building, my breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. Everywhere I turn, the universe is screaming at me to move into the Hockey House.

But I can’t. I won’t.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even realize where my feet are taking me until I’m in front of a familiar building.

The Hockey House.

On the roof of the porch is a “Home Sweet Home” banner.

“No,” I whisper, taking a step backward. Large hands settle on my shoulders, and I glance up to see Gerard looming over me.

“Yes.” His face is serious, but his eyes are kind.

I narrow mine at Gerard. “Were you behind those flyers? And that suspiciously on-the-nose scene from the acting class?”

A bashful smile spreads across Gerard’s face, and he ducks his head. “Guilty.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Unbelievable. You can’t take no for an answer, can you?”

“Nope.” His bashful smile turns into an outright grin. “Not when I know it’s the right thing for you.”

My shoulders slump in defeat. I hate that Gerard’s persistence is wearing me down. And if I’m being honest with myself, living in the Hockey House is starting to sound less of a nightmare and more of a dream come true.

“Fine,” I grumble. “You win. I’ll move in with you and your band of merry men.”

Gerard pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. “You won’t regret this, Elliot. I promise.”

I huff out a laugh as my face gets smooshed against his broad chest. “We’ll see about that.”

He releases me, and I step back, adjusting my glasses. “But if we’re doing this, I need you to take me to the storage unit downtown to get the rest of my clothes.”

“No problem. We can take my car.”

Gerard gestures to the Subaru parked in the driveway. It’s an older model, but it doesn’t appear to be on its last legs. Thank fuck for that.

We climb inside, and Gerard starts the engine. When we pull out of the driveway, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. The sun streaming through the windshield highlights the strong lines of his jaw. His large hands grip the steering wheel, and the sight makes my stomach flip. I quickly turn my head before he can see my reddening cheeks. Get it together, Elliot. You’re roommates now.

To distract myself from what’s to come, I study the interior of the car. It’s a time capsule from the early 2000s. The cloth seats are worn and faded, with a few small tears haphazardly patched with duct tape. The floorboards are littered with old fast-food wrappers and empty energy drink cans .

I run my hand along the cracked dashboard. The texture of the sun-damaged plastic beneath my fingertips reminds me of one of my parents’ cars. “Did you buy this thing used?”

Gerard nods his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’ve had Betsy since I started at BSU.”

“Betsy?” I snort. “You named your car Betsy?”

Gerard pats the steering wheel affectionately. “Yep. She’s been with me through thick and thin. We’ve got a special bond, Betsy and I.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s endearing, in a weird way, how much Gerard loves this car.

Pulling onto the freeway, I take in the rest of the vehicle. The radio is an ancient cassette player, and a shoebox filled with tapes is shoved underneath the passenger seat. I pull it out and rifle through the collection, my eyes widening at each title I read.

“Celine Dion? Shania Twain? Ricky Martin?” I hold up one of the tapes, my voice laced with disbelief. “Gerard, your taste in music is…something else.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of eclectic tastes.”

Placing the box back where I found it, I make a mental note to introduce Gerard to the wonders of Top 40 music later.

The sun visor above my head is pulled down, and I spot the remnants of old parking passes and ski lift tickets tucked into the elastic band. There’s even a faded photograph of a younger Gerard, gap-toothed and grinning, with his arm slung around a boy half his size.

“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to the picture.

Gerard glances at it briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “That’s my cousin, Freddy. He’s five years younger than me. That was taken the summer before I started high school.”

I inspect the photograph more closely. Now that he mentions it, I can see the resemblance in their eyes and easy smiles. They’re happy in a way that only comes with the innocence of youth.

“You two are close?” I ask as I snap the sun visor back into place .

“We were,” Gerard says, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Were?”

“He moved to Europe. His dad got a promotion at some Fortune 500 company. Haven’t seen him since.”

The rest of the drive is filled with easy conversation and pop music on the radio. I dutifully ignore the fact that two songs about crushes play back to back. As much as I love Mandy Moore and Jennifer Paige, the universe can go fuck itself for meddling.

When we get to the storage unit, I’m grateful that Gerard doesn’t comment on the fact that all my clothes fit into only a few duffel bags. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.

We store everything in the trunk, and before I know it, we’re back at the Hockey House.

Gerard helps me carry my bags up the driveway, which is stuffed with more cars than a fucking car lot. As we step through the front door, I’m hit with déjà vu. That is until I see the welcoming committee in the living room.

The BSU hockey team is spread out over the living room, their expressions ranging from mildly annoyed to disgruntled. A few of them perk up when they see Gerard, but their faces fall when they notice me trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

I can practically hear their collective internal groan of displeasure. My moving in probably wasn’t a request as much as it was a royal decree handed down by their fearless star player . I wouldn’t be surprised if they started kissing his purple-socked feet.

They’re peeved, and I don’t blame them. I’m the antithesis of everything they stand for. In my world, the gentle rustle of book pages and the occasional clack of a keyboard is considered soothing. I thrive in the realm of ideas and exploring the depths of literature. Of savoring the nuanced beauty of a well-crafted sentence and enjoying the classics.

Hockey players, on the other hand, thrive in a universe of chaos and testosterone. They’re wired to love adrenaline rushes and eat every food known to mankind, regardless of if it’s questionable.

And now, I’m going to be the newest member of the Hockey House, all because a blond golden retriever man-child followed me “home.”

As I walk further into the living room, I recognize the overwhelming scent of Axe body spray before I realize how crazy it is that the entire hockey team can fit in this room. They’re all wearing hoodies and sweatpants. A few are barefoot, but most have socks or Ugg slippers on.

I’m oddly grateful that no one is naked or in their underwear, but I’m sure I’ll be subjected to that particular brand of torture soon enough.

“I want to thank everyone for getting here on such short notice,” Gerard says, stepping up beside me, completely oblivious to the tension brewing in the room. “I know we have practice soon, so I’ll make this quick. You all remember Elliot, right? I introduced you to him a couple of weeks ago.”

A burly guy with a neck thicker than my thigh grunts in acknowledgment. He’s sitting on the couch, his massive frame taking up two cushions. His dark hair is buzzed short, and his nose appears to have been broken one too many times. He eyes me with suspicion, trying to determine whether I’m a threat or an annoyance.

I think back to the hundreds of jerseys I’ve seen around campus, and if memory serves, his name is Taylor Colson.

Next to him is a skinny redhead—Will Dixon, I believe—with a spattering of freckles across his cheeks. He’s slumped low enough in his seat that he’s practically horizontal. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and he gives me a halfhearted wave before returning his attention to his phone.

Perched on the arm of the couch is a blond with a chiseled jawline that could cut glass. He’s the only one who’s genuinely happy to see me. He hops to his feet and bounds over with his hand outstretched .

“Welcome to the madhouse, Elliot!” He pumps my hand enthusiastically. “I’m Jordan Chase, but everyone calls me Jordan.”

I wince as he crushes my fingers. I’m also afraid that he’s going to rip my arm out of its socket.

“Nice to meet you,” I mumble, trying to extricate my hand from his vise-like grip.

The rest of the team remains where they are, making no move to greet me the way Jordan did. They all have the same beefy, muscular builds as Gerard, with broad shoulders and thick, powerful legs. I’ve stumbled into a meeting of the Incredible Hulk fan club.

A large hand shoots up into the air, and Gerard says his name—Mason. “Who is he going to room with? We’re all doubled up already.”

“Some of us tripled,” another guy scoffs.

“He’ll be rooming with me,” Gerard says, and I swear I hear a hint of excitement in his voice. “And before you ask, he’ll be sharing my bathroom slot and doing chores, same as the rest of us.”

The players exchange glances. Some shrug, while others are still unconvinced.

“I dunno, man,” a Hispanic guy named Francisco Ruiz says as he runs a hand through his shaggy black hair. “No offense to Elliot, but we don’t know him. What if he’s a total slob or something?”

I open my mouth to assure them I’m probably the neatest person they’ll ever meet, but Gerard is faster.

“Guys, come on.” His voice takes on a firm edge. “Elliot is my friend, and I’m vouching for him. He’s a good guy, and he needs a place to stay. I have the biggest bed because I’m the biggest guy here. It makes sense for him to move in with me—I mean, us. I know this is unexpected, but I’m asking you to trust me and do me a solid. Okay? ”

Slowly, the players nod, and their expressions shift as they look at me anew.

“Okay, G.” Nathan Paisley steps forward to clap Gerard on the back. His hair is still as pink as the last time I saw him. “I know he’s a good egg.”

I smile gratefully at him before Gerard steers me out of the living room and up the staircase to the third floor and my new home.