Chapter 22
22
ELLIOT
A s far as my eyes can see, sexy cops are grinding on sexy firefighters, sexy nurses are tending to sexy doctors, and sexy Ghostfaces are murdering sexy cheerleaders. The DJ is playing “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic,” and I’m in the corner, dancing like I’m one of the Peanuts gang.
I’ve never been a great dancer. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I was born with two left feet. That’s how terrible I am at synchronizing my body with the beat. But after having several drinks, I don’t care how I look or what people think. All I care about is letting loose and enjoying myself for once.
It’s Halloween. The one night of the year when you can be whoever you want to be. And tonight, I am a bumblebee.
I’m in a black and yellow striped shirt, black leggings I borrowed from Sarah, and an antennae headband. It’s not the craftiest costume, considering what some people came here dressed as, but it is the most comfy.
Right as I’m really grooving to the music, someone bumps into my back. I turn around to find the culprit is a dude in a “This is my Halloween Costume” T-shirt. He leers at me with glassy eyes. “Hey there, bumblebee. Wanna pollinate my flower?”
I resist the urge to throw up on his feet when he grips his dick through his jeans. “Sorry, I’m allergic to cheesy pickup lines.”
He blinks at me, clearly not getting it. “What?”
“Never mind. If you’ll excuse me…”
I try to push past him, but he grabs my arm tight enough to leave a bruise. “Hey, where you going? The party’s just getting started!”
Panic settles deep in my bones as I try to pull away, but he’s too strong. I’m prepared to knee him in the balls when a large hand clamps down on the guy’s shoulder.
“Is there a problem here?”
Wait. I know that voice.
I look up, and relief floods through me. Gerard looms over us with a murderous expression.
The guy blanches when he sees who it is, and he releases my arm as if it’s suddenly radioactive. “No, no problem, bro. We were just talking.”
Gerard’s eyes narrow. “Really? Because it looked to me like you were harassing a harmless bee here.”
The guy holds up his hands in surrender and backs away. “Hey, my bad. I didn’t know he was with you.”
I laugh as the guy scampers off like a cockroach exposed to light until I realize I’m left with Gerard. He’s dressed as a murdered football player, and the costume is tight enough that it highlights every dip and curve of his godlike body. If possible, it makes him sexier than usual.
Having Gerard next to me every night has been a lesson in self-control. His body heat has kept me warm, and waking up each morning with his scent surrounding me has stirred up emotions I’ve never experienced—safety, comfort, and desire.
I know this is more than a crush now. So much more. I crave him. I want to explore every inch of his sculpted physique with my hands and mouth. I want his weight pressing me into the mattress as our bodies move together in a sensual dance older than time. I want to fall asleep in his embrace and wake up to his beautiful face every day for the rest of my life.
I’m falling for him. Hard. And it terrifies me.
“Elliot? You okay?” Gerard’s deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue.”
He smiles, revealing his adorable dimples. “Anytime. You make a cute bumblebee, by the way.”
My blush deepens. “Thanks. You make a sexy dead football player.”
His eyes darken as he steps closer and crowds into my personal space. “Oh yeah? Does this zombie jock get your honey flowing?”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “That was terrible.”
“But it made you laugh.” He reaches out to lightly stroke my arm where that creep grabbed me. “I’m sorry that guy was bothering you. I should have gotten here sooner.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
“Me too.” His hand trails down to mine, but he pulls it away before our fingers interlock.
“So, what brings you here?” I ask, desperate to fill the silence between us.
Gerard cocks his head and furrows his brow. “I live here. You know that.”
“I meant here with me. Why are you here with me?”
Gerard’s eyes widen. “Oh! I wanted to tell you something about Drew and?—”
“Elliot! There you are!” Jackson appears out of nowhere, looking worse for wear. His Julius Caesar laurel wreath is askew, and his face is flushed. He grabs my arm, pulling me away from Gerard. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Hey!” Gerard cries out. “I wanted to be the one to tell Elliot!”
“Tell me what?”
Jackson drags me through the crowd of gyrating bodies down the hall and into a deserted bedroom that belongs to Nathan Paisley. I know this because there’s a giant box of pink hair dye on the dresser.
I plop down on Nathan’s bed, wincing as the springs dig into my butt. Jackson remains standing, pacing back and forth in an uneven line. He keeps running his hands through his hair, and I fight the urge to tell him to stop. He’s stressing me out just watching him.
“Okay, here’s the thing.” Jackson’s words are slightly slurred. “Sometimes in life, you gotta try new things, right? Step outside your comfort zone. Expand your horizons.”
I nod slowly, not really following. “Uh-huh. And what exactly are these new things you’re trying?”
Jackson waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, you know. This and that. The point is that change can be good. Great even! It opens doors to possibilities you never considered before.”
“Right…” I’m still completely lost. Jackson’s drunken ramblings make as much sense as a screen door on a submarine. I let him keep talking because it’s providing me with some entertainment.
“I mean, take Drew, for example,” Jackson continues. “He’s dipped his toe in both ends of the pool.”
“More like his entire body. Jackson, Drew’s smack dab in the center of the Kinsey Scale.”
“Right, right. And that was even more transparent when he…he…” Jackson trails off, his eyes glazing over as a goofy grin spreads across his face.
I snap my fingers in front of him. “Hey, Earth to Jackson! What did Drew do?”
Jackson blinks and shakes his head. “Oh, uh, never mind. Not important. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that one shouldn’t be afraid to color outside the lines sometimes. They might be surprised by what they find.”
I stare at him blankly. “Dude, no offense, but you’re speaking gibberish. Are you sure you’re okay? How much have you had to drink?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jackson waves me off the way one would a bee, which I guess, under the circumstances, is appropriate. “Just a wee bit tipsy, is all. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you and a certain tall, blond, and handsome hockey player, shall we?”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of Gerard. “W-what do you mean? There’s nothing to talk about.”
Jackson snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. I may be drunk, but I’m not blind. I saw how you two were standing out there, all close and personal-like. The air was thick with sexual tension.”
My face turns beet red. Was it really that obvious? I thought I was being subtle, but apparently, I’m as transparent as a window. “Look, it’s not what you think. Gerard and I are friends. Roommates. That’s all.”
Jackson flashes me a knowing smirk. “Sure. And I’m the King of Football. Come on, Elliot. I’ve known you for how long now?”
“Too long,” I mutter.
“What you and Gerard are might be none of my business, but you can’t tell me you’re not loving sharing a bed with him. Seeing him day in and out. Basking in the glow of his awesomeness.”
“Sounds to me it’s you who has the hots for him.”
“Who said anything about having the hots?”
Damn it. Jackson flashes me the smuggest grin, and I want to slap it off his face. He sits down next to me and tosses an arm around my shoulders.
“So, spill, buddy. What’s Gerard Gunnarson like between the sheets?”
“We’re not sleeping together, Jackson. Not like that, anyway. He’s a great guy, and he makes me feel seen, you know? Like I’m not just some nerdy librarian who doesn’t belong here.”
Jackson’s expression softens, and he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I think he’s more than a friend to you, Elliot. ”
“Maybe,” I admit quietly. “But it doesn’t matter. There’s no way he feels the same way about me.”
Jackson scoffs. “Please. Have you seen the way he looks at you? You’re the only person who matters to him here.”
I shake my head. I don’t dare to let myself hope. “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk.”
“Drunk words are sober thoughts, my friend,” Jackson says sagely. “Trust me, Gerard is into you. And who could blame him? You’re a catch, Elliot Montgomery.”
“Hardly…but thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Of course, buddy. Now, let’s talk about something else.”
“Like…”
“Have you gotten a peek at the goods?” Jackson waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Is he as impressive below the belt as he is above it?”
“Jackson!” I smack his chest. “What are you, a girl? I am not discussing Gerard’s anatomy with you.”
Jackson holds his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other, about six inches apart. “Is it this big?”
I let out the world’s longest sigh. Jackson won’t drop it until I give him an answer. Damn him and his drunken persistence. Also, damn Gerard for having morning wood—and being terrible at hiding it from me—and, therefore, giving me a guesstimate to go off.
“Bigger,” I mutter.
Jackson’s eyes widen, and he moves his hands further apart. “This big?”
I shake my head. “Bigger.”
“No fucking way.” Jackson gapes at me in gleeful disbelief as he spreads his hands wider. “This big?!”
I laugh at the awed expression on his face. “Maybe a teeny bit smaller than that. But not by much.”
Jackson stares at his hands, trying to imagine a dick that size. “Damn, Elliot. How does he walk around with that between his legs without toppling over? ”
I snort, imagining Gerard strutting around the locker room with a massive hard-on. It’s a funny, not-at-all realistic image that’s also strangely arousing.
“Wait a second.” Jackson holds up his hand and frowns. “If Gerard’s packing that much heat, how the hell is it supposed to fit in you? No offense, buddy, but you’re kind of tiny.”
I gape at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying. You’re a small dude. And Gerard’s dick is…the size of a fucking python. It has to be a logistical nightmare.”
My face burns from anger or mortification or maybe both. I stand up abruptly and glower at Jackson. “Okay, that’s enough. I am not continuing this conversation.”
Jackson pouts like a kicked puppy. “Aw, come on, Elliot. I’m only trying to look out for you. It’s my duty as your best friend to make sure you don’t get split in half by a monster cock.”
That’s it. I’ve hit my limit with Jackson’s drunken antics. Without thinking, I rear back and smack him right in the balls with an open palm.
Jackson yelps and doubles over in agony. A twisted sense of satisfaction runs through me at being the cause of it. “What the fuck, Elliot?!”
“I’m leaving. You do whatever the hell you want.”
I yank open the door and storm out, leaving Jackson whimpering and clutching his balls. Serves him right. I may be small, but my slap is mighty.
I stomp down the hallway, my antennae bobbing with each angry step. The nerve of Jackson. Just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean he has the right to?—
“Oof!” I bump into a solid wall of muscle and stumble back. Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. I know those hands. They’re the same hands that prepare our homemade dinners every week. They’re just not usually green.
“Whoa there, little bee,” Oliver chuckles. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry, Oliver. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No worries,” he replies, letting go of me. “You okay, though? You’re a bit…frazzled. More so than usual.”
I run a hand through my hair, and my fingers snag on my antennae. I pull them off with a frustrated groan.
“I’m fine,” I lie, preferring not to share the details of my conversation with Jackson. “Just needed some air.”
“I feel you. These parties can be overwhelming, especially for introverts.” I appreciate his empathy. I can see why they made him captain this season. He’s the most level-headed guy on the team— sorry, Gerard, but it’s true —and also one of the most mature— sorry, Gerard, but it’s true . “Did you know Gerard’s looking for you? He said Jackson absconded with you.”
“Really? He said the word ‘absconded?’”
Oliver belly laughs. “Well, no. I said that. I believe he said, ‘bee-napped.’”
That sounds more like Gerard. “Did he say where he was going?”
Oliver jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “The baseball players challenged him to an apple-bobbing competition in the kitchen.”
“Bobbing for apples? Really? Can they be any more cliché?”
Oliver shrugs. “What can I say? The man loves a challenge. And he’s quite good with his mouth.”
I cough uncontrollably as images of Gerard’s mouth wrapped around something decidedly not apple-shaped flash through my mind.
Oliver pats me on my back until I catch my breath. Then he gently nudges me toward the kitchen. “Go find your man. And try to have some fun, yeah? It’s Halloween, after all.”
He claps me on the shoulder and disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the muffled sounds of the party close by.
Okay, Elliot. You can do this . It’s Gerard. Your friend. Your very attractive, very tall, very muscular friend who has a big dick and a gift for oral activities. No big deal .
I put my antennae back on, take one last fortifying breath, and walk into the kitchen, only to freeze at the sight before me. Gerard’s massive frame is folded in half, and his thick torso is parallel to the floor. Water splashes everywhere as he repeatedly plunges his head into the tub, determined to snatch an apple with his teeth before the other guys. His long fingers grip the edge of the tub, and I suddenly wish it was me he was gripping, not an inanimate object. His knuckles are white, and his fingernails dig into the metal.
Gerard’s face is flushed from the exertion as he comes up briefly for air, his wavy blond hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes shine with determination before he plunges his head back into the tub with renewed vigor.
I drag my gaze from Gerard’s Herculean efforts to scope out his competition. Two other guys are bobbing alongside him—a lean brunette dressed as a race car driver and a stocky redhead dressed as Pennywise the Clown. They enthusiastically attack the apples, but even to my untrained eye, it’s clear that Gerard has them beat. His powerful shoulders and neck strain as he twists and turns his head, trying to grasp an elusive fruit.
The redhead comes up empty-handed and red-faced, his makeup running down his face. He steps back in defeat and watches Gerard and the brunette duke it out.
Seconds tick by, and my heart pounds. Come on, Gerard. You got this.
Suddenly, Gerard rears up, tossing his head back. There, clenched between his perfect white teeth, is a shiny red apple. It’s the single most sexy thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Watching droplets of water cascade down his strong neck and over his bobbing Adam’s apple…my mouth goes dry, and my palms start to sweat.
Gerard Gunnarson is a Greek god come to life.
The small crowd that had gathered to watch erupts into cheers and applause. Gerard releases the apple into his hand and takes a dramatic bow, grinning from ear to ear. The cold water has soaked his jersey through, and I can make out just how erect his nipples are.
I want to suck on them. Nibble on them. Flick them and see if it makes Gerard’s eyes roll back.
Fuck.
Gerard’s eyes lock on mine, and his face brightens considerably. He makes his way through the crowd of congratulatory fans straight toward me. My pulse kicks into overdrive. Oh God. What do I do? What do I say? I’m so turned on right now I can barely think straight.
Before I can fully compose myself, Gerard stops in front of me with a triumphant smile on his handsome face. He holds up the apple like a trophy. “Did you see that, Elliot? I freakin’ dominated!”
“Y-yeah, you did,” I choke out. “That was…impressive.”
“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without my lucky charm.” He glances down at his feet, then back up at me through his lashes. Is he…shy? The big bad Gerard Gunnarson is suddenly bashful?
I want to analyze this further, but the music from the living room grows considerably louder, and Gerard shrieks so loud that my eardrums nearly burst. “Oh! ‘Black Magic!’ I love this song!”
He dashes toward the living room, the apple rolling from his hand and onto the floor. I watch it go, blinking in confusion. Did Gerard just squeal like a preteen girl at a boy band concert over a Little Mix song?
Curiosity overtakes me, and I follow the sound of Gerard’s whoops into the crowded living room. I push through the mass of bodies to see Gerard performing a choreographed dance that he no doubt made up on the spot.
His body moves in ways I never thought possible for someone of his size and stature. A manic grin lights up his face as he shimmies, shakes, and, yes, even twerks.
When the chorus hits, he drops it low, pops back up, and twirls like a ballerina on steroids. The whole thing is bizarre and unexpected, and I don’t know what to make of it. Part of me wants to laugh and gouge my eyes out, but another part wants to film this for posterity—to watch over and over till the day I die.
The crowd cheers him on and even tries to copy his wild moves. Gerard soaks up the attention like a sponge, his grin widening with each chant of his name. He thrives on being the center of attention, and it explains why he loves hockey, why he has no problems with the Ice Queen writing nonstop about him, and even why he can always be this carefree and happy.
Our eyes meet from across the room in a cliché rom-com way. His smile morphs into something more intimate, and he beckons me to him with a crook of his long finger.
My heart skips a beat. He wants me to join him? Out there, in front of everyone?
I don’t mind dancing foolishly. But there’s no way I won’t go unnoticed dancing next to Gerard.
Or with Gerard.
I want to run away, but a large hand presses on the small of my back and pushes me none-too-gently toward Gerard. I stumble forward and nearly face-plant into the sticky floor. I whirl around to see who dared to push me.
Jackson grins at me. Et tu, Jackson?
He gives me an exaggerated wink before disappearing back into the crowd.
I don’t have time to plot revenge because Gerard grabs my hands and pulls me close. “Dance with me, Elliot!”
“I’m not a good dancer,” I protest weakly, even as I let him pull me into the middle of the makeshift dance floor.
“Nonsense!” Gerard spins me under his arm as if I weigh nothing. “You just have to feel the music and let your body move.”
I try to mimic Gerard’s untroubled movements, but I’m stiff and awkward in comparison. My arms flail about like I’m being electrocuted, and my feet keep getting tangled together. I’m a hot mess, but Gerard doesn’t mind.
If anything, my ineptitude amuses him. “Relax, Elliot. Don’t think, just feel.”
Easy for him to say. His body is made for dancing. Mine is made for curling up with a good book.
But as the song goes on, I finally loosen up. Gerard’s enthusiasm is infectious, and soon, I’m shimmying and shaking right along with him. We’re ridiculous—a hulking jock and a scrawny nerd trying to out-dance each other—but I don’t care. For once, I’m not overthinking things. I’m enjoying the moment and letting the music take control.
Gerard spins me again, and I’m ready for it this time. I twirl under his arm and come back to face him, our chests pressed together. His hands settle on my hips, large and warm through the thin material of my shirt. My hands grip his broad shoulders, and the muscles flex beneath my palms.
We’re close. Closer than we’ve ever been before when not asleep. I can count every one of his long eyelashes. Can see the faint freckles dusting his nose and cheeks. Can feel the heat of his body seeping into mine.
The air between us crackles with electricity, with all the things we’ve left unsaid. All the lingering glances and casual touches, all the conversations and jokes. It’s all led to this moment, this dance.
As the final chorus kicks in, Gerard twirls me out and then pulls me back in, dipping me low enough for my antennae to brush the floor. I cling to him, my heart hammering in my chest as I stare into his stunning blue eyes.
Time slows to a crawl, and the rest of the world fades away until it’s only us. Gerard’s gaze drops to my lips, and I watch as his tongue darts out to wet his own. Anticipation coils tight in my belly.
“Elliot,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with want. “I… ”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Because the next thing I know, he leans down and presses his lips to mine.
Fireworks explode behind my eyes as I melt into the kiss. Gerard’s lips are soft and plush and taste faintly of apples. He pulls me impossibly closer, and I wind my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and hardly daring to believe that this is finally happening.