Icing on the Cake (The Barracudas #1)

Chapter 37

37

GERARD

“ H ey, Gerard. Why the long face?”

I look up from the cup of coffee I’ve been cradling to see Sarah staring at me like I’m a puppy for sale. She’s bundled up in a winter coat, earmuffs, a scarf, and mittens. It’s the coldest day on record in Berkeley Shore, so it’s no surprise she’s almost hidden beneath all her layers.

She sits across from me, removes her hat and earmuffs, and sets them on the table. “Is it Elliot?”

“No. Elliot’s great. He’s hanging out with Jackson today. They’re shopping and then seeing the new Star Wars movie.”

“And you weren’t invited?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually not that much of a Star Wars fan.”

She dramatically clutches her chest. “You’re going to hell, you know that, right?”

I shrug. “Considering what Elliot and I have been getting up to lately, I kind of already figured that’s my fate.”

“So, if it’s not Elliot, what’s got you looking so down in the dumps?”

I take a deep breath, lean back in my chair, and run a hand down my face. “It’s the Ice Queen. ”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. “The Ice Queen? Not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well. Ever since I realized that she’s probably someone I know, I haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

Sarah leans forward, her eyes lighting up with intrigue. “What makes you think you know her?”

“The way she writes about the team. She knows things only someone close to us would know. And the way she describes me…” I trail off as a blush creeps up my neck. “It’s like she’s been watching me, studying me.”

Sarah nods thoughtfully. “So, who do you think it could be?”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. Sorry, Mom. “That’s the problem. I know too many people. She could be a teammate, a coach, or one of the many friends of friends who hang out at the Hockey House. It could even be one of the rink staff.”

Sarah pulls a thermos out of her bag and drinks from it, her eyes never leaving mine. “Okay, then let’s narrow it down. Who has the most to gain from writing about you?”

I pause, considering her question. “I don’t know. What’s there to gain from writing about me? It’s clear that I’m taken.”

Sarah nods. “Maybe someone secretly in love with you and hopes they’ll win you over with their words?”

I almost choke on my coffee. “What? No way. That’s ridiculous.”

Sarah shrugs, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. “Is it, though? Think about it. The way she writes about you, the attention to detail. It’s like she’s obsessed with you.”

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. “But who would be in love with me—aside from Elliot?”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Gerard, have you seen yourself? You’re a walking sex machine”—Now, I choke on my coffee—“I’m pretty sure half the campus is in love with you. We should focus on the people you talked to the most this semester. ”

I nod slowly as my mind races through the possibilities. “Okay, then, let’s start with Drew Larney. He’s our center, and we’ve been tight since freshman year.”

Sarah taps her chin thoughtfully. “Drew’s definitely got the hockey knowledge and the lingo. And he’s always been somewhat of a wild card.”

“True,” I muse, shuddering at Drew’s reputation as a playboy. “But would he risk our friendship like that? And why would he be in love with me?”

Sarah shrugs. “Maybe he’s been hiding his true feelings all this time. Or maybe he’s jealous of your relationship with Elliot.”

I shake my head, unconvinced. “Nah, Drew adores Elliot, if anything. What about Oliver Jacoby? He’s our left winger and probably my best friend on the team.”

“Oliver’s a sweetheart,” Sarah agrees. “And he’s been supportive of you and Elliot. But could that be a cover?”

I frown, trying to picture Oliver secretly pining for me. “I don’t know. He’s never given me any reason to think he’s into me. And we tell each other everything.”

“Maybe that’s just it. He knows everything about you, which means he can write about you intimately.”

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Okay, well, what about Kyle Graham? Our goalie.”

“Kyle’s got the brooding artist vibe going on. And he’s always chilling in the background.”

“Could he be observing me?” I wonder aloud. “But why would he be in love with me? We barely talk outside of practice.”

Sarah shrugs. “Maybe that’s why. He admires you from afar, too shy to make a move.”

I lean back and groan, burying my face in my hands. “This is getting us nowhere. Jackson Monroe is the only other person I’ve been close with this semester.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up, as do mine.

“Okay. Hear me out,” I say, leaning forward. “Jackson’s close with Elliot, so he knows plenty about our relationship. ”

Sarah nods slowly. “That’s true. And he’s not shy about expressing himself. Remember that poem he wrote for the school newspaper last year?”

I chuckle at the memory. “How could I forget? It was an ode to his abs.”

Sarah smirks. “He’s also the vice president of the Gerard Gunnarson fan club.”

I blink. “He has the writing chops, the access, and the obsession…” I trail off as the realization starts to set in.

“He’d have a pretty good idea of how to write from the perspective of someone who’s infatuated with you,” Sarah adds. “Or maybe it’s not Jackson. It could be the president of the fan club. Whoever that is.”

I let out a long sigh. “The president is someone named Ryan Eddington. I looked it up after I found out about Jackson. I’ve never even met the dude.”

“They’re the two biggest Gunnarson devotees. It makes sense that one of them would be behind this.”

I run a hand through my hair, feeling more stressed than when we started. “Now what? Do I confront Jackson? He’s been nothing but supportive?—”

“—and maybe his support has been a way to get closer to you all along,” Sarah finishes.

I slump in my chair, defeated. “I don’t want to accuse anyone without proof. If I’m wrong…”

“If you’re wrong, you’ll still have an answer,” Sarah says. “But if you do nothing, this will keep eating at you.”

I know she’s right, but the thought of potentially ruining friendships makes me queasy. “Why can’t life just be simple?” I mutter.

“Because then it’d be boring.”

My mind frantically spins with ideas of how I’m going to handle these potential candidates.

The last few months with Elliot, the team, and everything else has been an exercise in embracing change. Meanwhile, the Ice Queen’s blog has been a constant background noise in my life—sometimes flattering, sometimes intrusive, but always there.

Could Jackson really be writing those posts? Or Ryan? They’re the most logical suspects now, but logic doesn’t always account for human emotion.

By the time I finish my coffee, I still don’t have a plan. I stare at the ceiling and think about how easy it is for Elliot to balance everything—his friendships, our relationship, his schoolwork—while I’m here struggling with something as simple as a blog.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my hectic thoughts.

Jackson

Had a blast today! Just dropped Elliot off.

I stare at the screen longer than I should before typing back.

Me

Thanks for looking out for him.

Jackson replies almost instantly.

Jackson

No problem :)

I set my phone down and sigh. “Here’s the problem, Sarah. Everyone is possible but also impossible at the same time.”

Sarah tilts her head and studies me with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe the Ice Queen doesn’t want to be discovered. Think about it, Gerard. Wouldn’t she have dropped more obvious hints if she wanted you to know who she was?”

I frown, turning the idea over in my mind. Could Sarah be right? Could the Ice Queen’s plan be to remain undetected? To keep me guessing and obsessing over her identity? The thought is both frustrating and intriguing.

Sarah reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Hey, don’t stress over it too much. The Ice Queen said she’d back off now that you and Elliot are in love, right? Maybe let the mystery be—for now—and focus on what truly matters.”

She’s right. I’ve got the most amazing guy by my side, and that’s what truly matters. The Ice Queen can keep her secrets—for a little while longer.

“Speaking of Elliot,” I say, changing the subject, “he promised to do some karaoke at the Hockey House New Year’s Eve party tonight. You should come. The party starts at nine, but feel free to show up earlier and hang out.”

Sarah nods, gathers her belongings, and stands up. “I’ll be there with bells on. Literally. I have a festive headband with bells on it.”

“I can’t wait to see that. Thanks for the chat, Sarah. You sure know how to put things in perspective.”

“I know.” Sarah smiles, pulling me into a quick hug. “Now, go get ready for your party. And don’t forget to wear something that shows off that hockey butt of yours. Elliot will appreciate it.”

I snort. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you tonight, Sarah.”

Streamers and balloons in glittering golds and silvers hang from every surface, catching the light from the strobes and disco balls. Every room in the house is filled with laughter, chatter, and the pulsing beat of the DJ’s playlist. Right now, our guests are singing and dancing along to “All Night” by Icona Pop.

I weave through the crowd, exchanging fist bumps and high-fives with my teammates and friends. The euphoria of the impending new year is infectious, and I have a permanent grin on my face as I make my way toward the makeshift stage in the living room.

Elliot’s already there, gripping the microphone stand as he waits for the song to end. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his chest rises and falls with every breath. He looks like he’s about to puke, and my heart aches for him.

My sarcastic, guarded Elliot is putting himself out there in front of everyone—for me—because he knows how much I love to hear him sing.

The DJ fiddles with the controls, and his eyes dart around the room, searching for me. When our gazes lock, I give him a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up, trying to convey all my love and support in that simple gesture.

He visibly relaxes, his grip on the mic loosening slightly, and mouths, “I love you.”

I tell him I love him back before the music starts, and he serenades me with Meghan Trainor’s “Like I’m Gonna Lose You.”

Suddenly, nothing else matters. The flashing lights and the thumping bass disappear until it’s only Elliot, his voice, and the words he sings just for me.

His eyes never leave mine as he pours his heart out to me. I don’t know how I got this lucky to end up with him. I’m determined to cherish every moment I spend with Elliot because—as the song says—tomorrow is never promised, and a life without Elliot is not worth living.

When he finishes his performance, he’s met with thunderous applause—mine being the loudest. He jumps off the stage and into my waiting arms, burying his face in my chest as I hold him tight.

“You were amazing.” I press a kiss to his temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

Elliot pulls back, his eyes shining with emotion. “I can’t believe I did that. I was nervous as fuck, but then I saw you, and everything else melted away.”

I cup his face and stroke my thumbs over his cheekbones. “That’s because you’re incredible, Elliot. And I’m the luckiest guy to have you by my side.”

We share a tender kiss, ignoring the whistles and catcalls from our friends. When we break apart, Oliver takes the stage .

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he says into the mic while grinning at the crowd. “I know we’re all here to celebrate the new year, so what do you say we get this party started?!”

The opening notes of Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk” fill the room, and Oliver sways his hips to the beat. He might not have the smoothest voice, but his enthusiasm and stage presence more than makes up for it.

The crowd goes wild, singing and dancing with him as he belts the lyrics. His sensational energy spreads through the room like wildfire. I join in, pulling Elliot close as we move to the music, our bodies pressed together in the best possible way.

After Oliver finishes his set, the crowd takes a moment to catch their breath. I spot Alex by the punch bowl and tell Elliot I’ll be right back. He nods, wiping sweat from his forehead, and heads toward the couch to take a breather.

“Alex,” I call out, waving as I approach. He’s scooping a generous portion of punch into a plastic cup, and his face is flushed from all the dancing.

“Gerard!” He hands me a cup. “Can you believe this turnout? It’s insane!”

I take a sip of the punch—spiked, of course—and nod. “Yeah, it’s one of the best New Year’s parties ever. How’s everything with you?”

Before Alex can answer, someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to find a tall, lanky guy with a mop of strawberry-blond hair beaming at me.

“Hey, Gerard!” He’s practically bouncing on his heels with excitement.

I blink, trying to place him. Nothing. “Uh, hi?”

“I’m Matt,” he announces, sticking out his hand. I take it and give it a polite shake, still totally clueless.

“Nice to meet you, Matt,” I say slowly. “Have we met before?”

He laughs, but there’s a hint of nervousness in it. “Not officially. I’m the guy from the bathroom stall.”

My mind races back to that day after the first Ice Queen blog post about me went live. I remember hiding in the restroom at The Brew, and some dude in the next stall told me to embrace my peach and not worry about what others thought.

“Wait,” I say, realization dawning. “You’re the guy who told me to embrace my peach?”

Matt nods, his smile widening. “Yep. That was me. Looks like you took my advice.”

I’m stunned. This whole time I wondered who that voice belonged to, and now here he is, standing in front of me like some kind of guardian angel.

“Thanks for that,” I say, genuinely grateful. “You really helped more than you know.”

Matt shrugs modestly. “I’m just glad to see you’re doing well. And that you’re not hiding that ass behind baggy clothing.”

I chuckle, scratching the back of my neck. “Yeah, it’s grown on me—literally.”

There’s an awkward pause, and Matt shifts from foot to foot. He has more to say but is unsure how to say it.

I take pity on him and break the silence. “Are you a fan of the team?”

His eyes light up again. “Huge fan! I’ve been following the Barracudas since freshman year.”

That explains why he’s at our party. Still, something about his sudden appearance feels…off. Maybe it’s just the mystery surrounding him.

“Well, it’s always great to meet a fan,” I say. “Enjoy the party!”

He beams. “You too!”

As he walks away, I think about how people come into our lives for a reason. Matt was in the “right place, right time” when I needed help learning to appreciate my booty. And Elliot—he started it all.

Without him, I may have never figured out who I am and who I’ll always be.

A guy who has room in his heart to love anyone, no matter who they are or what they look like.

“Gerard, where are you taking me?”

I’m dragging Elliot down the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. After meeting Matt, I realized something else. I want to make love to Elliot.

Or…er…have him make love to me. I don’t think my dick will fit inside of him without splitting him in two.

“Why are we in our room?” Elliot’s eyes dart around as if something is about to pop out and scare him. Little does he know, something is indeed about to pop out. And it definitely won’t scare him.

It also doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he’s finally called my room “ our room.” It makes me even harder.

I close the door behind us and turn to Elliot, my heart pounding with anticipation as I take his hands in mine. “Elliot, I want you to make love to me.”

His mouth falls open, then shuts, then opens again like a fish out of water. “You…you want me to…Gerard, are you sure? I mean, that’s a big?—”

“I’m sure,” I interrupt, squeezing his hands. “I want to feel your love for me. I want to be closer to you than ever.”

He pulls back and runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it. “Gerard, this is…I don’t even know if I can…”

“Elliot Jerome Montgomery. Please. ”

Silence fills the room, heavy and charged. Elliot takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Okay,” he says, almost whispering. “But we need to take it slow.”

The next thing I know, Elliot has a condom on his dick, and I’m naked in bed and on my back with my feet near my head. I didn’t realize I was this flexible. Maybe all that yoga Coach dragged the team to last year paid off after all.

Elliot hovers over me, his glasses fogged up from the heat of our bodies. He adjusts them with a shaky hand and looks down at me with a mix of fear and determination. “Are you ready?”

I nod and bite my lip in anticipation. My whole body is taut like a bowstring, waiting for the release.

He presses forward slowly— agonizingly too slow, in my opinion —and the head of his lubed-up dick knocks at my entrance, making me flinch. A gasp escapes my lips when he pushes in just enough to stretch me.

My muscles clench around him, and he pauses, breathing hard.

“Gerard, you need to relax. Same as when I put my finger in you, but even more.”

Nodding, I take a deep breath and will my body to loosen up more.

Elliot moves again, inching in deeper, and a low moan escapes from my throat. The initial discomfort blends with something else. Something hotter and more urgent.

His face is a mask of concentration as he fights to keep control. His hands grip the back of my thighs tightly, and his knuckles turn white.

Just when I think I can’t take any more of his dick, he bottoms out.

“Oh God!” My toes curl so hard I think they might break, and they don’t uncurl for the entirety of what comes next. A good, hard screw.

My hands clutch at the sheets, then get tangled up in my hair, then wind up back on the sheets. I don’t know what to do with them; I don’t know what to do with myself . All I can do is feel—feel him inside me, feel the heat building in my core, feel the love radiating from Elliot’s every touch.

His breathing grows ragged and desperate. He thrusts into me harder, faster, and my eyes roll back in my head. The sound of his balls slapping against my butt is loud and obscene and mixes with his moans, my gasps, and the creak of the bed.

I’m lost in it—in him. My love .

With every second that goes by, I’m driven closer to an edge I didn’t know existed. My cock leaks copious amounts of precome onto my stomach, and I don’t have it in me to touch it. My limbs are now jelly, and I fear if I move, I’ll die.

Elliot shifts his body, and his dick hits my prostate dead on. A bolt of lightning shoots through my entire body.

“Fuck!” The word rips out of me with the same raw force as when Elliot fingered me a few days ago.

In the back of my mind, I wonder if my prostate has some kind of curse-inducing power, making me lose all sense of clean language. But the thought is fleeting because Elliot thrusts and hits that spot dead on again, sending another shockwave through me.

A stream of curses pours from my mouth, uncontrolled and primal. “Shit! Oh, fuck! Goddamn!”

My body convulses with each thrust, every nerve ending lit up like a Christmas tree. Elliot keeps the pressure on, driving into me with an almost mechanical precision.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

He stops fucking me long enough to take my hands and place them on his tiny, pert ass. I knead, pushing him deeper into me. He groans, and I feel it vibrate through his entire body and into mine.

Downstairs, voices blend into a drunken symphony, and I catch bits of laughter and shouted conversations. Nobody knows that I’m getting fucked into the new year—literally. Nobody knows that my boyfriend is making love to me. Nobody knows that I’m this close to releasing my own fireworks spectacular.

Nobody can hear me cursing up a motherfucking storm, either. “Fucking shit balls, Elliot. Fuck me harder. Make me your goddamn bitch.”

And for his part, he does just that.

The bed shakes with our movements, and I wonder briefly if it will collapse. Not that I care. Let it crumble beneath us; we’ll keep going on the floor.

“Ten!”

The countdown to 2016 has started. My heart races even faster—if that’s possible.

“Nine!”

Elliot’s hips pick up speed, and my head bobs up and down, my hair flopping around wildly. Holy shit, I’ve become my bobblehead!

“Eight!”

My back arches off the bed, seeking more of the delicious pleasure that only Elliot’s cock inside of me can give.

“Seven!”

Sweat drips from Elliot’s forehead and into my open mouth. It’s salty as I swallow it down, but I don’t care. I love it.

“Six!”

I study Elliot’s face—his fogged glasses, his parted lips, his eyes shut tight in concentration—and my heart swells with love for the beautiful librarian who has given me everything.

“Five!”

A hard slam into my prostate causes my breath to leave me. My vision blurs around the edges, and I realize I’m about to have the most intense orgasm of my life.

“Four!”

Elliot leans down and captures my lips in a kiss. It’s messy and desperate and shuts up my new favorite curse word—motherfucking hell—before God smites me for being so crude.

“Three!”

Elliot whispers my name in my ear, and my toes curl even more. I don’t know how it’s possible; it just is.

“Two!”

The world slows to a standstill, and all I see is Elliot. All I hear is his broken gasps, his balls smacking my ass, and my high-pitched, drawn-out whine as I reach the point of no return.

“One! Happy New Year!”

The room explodes with noise as the party downstairs hits its peak. Fireworks crackle outside the window, casting colorful shadows on the walls.

Elliot lets out a strangled cry and throws his head back as he thrusts deep one last time. I feel his dick pulse inside me as he comes, and I explode, my eyes rolling back so far I think I can see my brain.

My cock shoots out load after load without me even touching it. It ends up everywhere—my chest, my stomach, even my face. The heat of it mixes with the sweat already coating my skin, creating a slick, sticky mess.

Elliot collapses onto my chest, and the sudden impact of his belly on my cock makes it spurt one final time. It’s a weak but satisfying last “hurrah!”

My eyes roll back to their natural state, and I chuckle. Elliot’s glasses are askew and fogged beyond use. We make out slowly. Our tongues dance around each other’s, and it’s the most sensual kiss ever.

Elliot breaks the kiss and pulls out of me. He gingerly helps me unfold my body, and my muscles scream.

“God, Gerard?”

“What?”

“How in the world are you still hard?”

I glance down to see my dick still standing at attention and shrug. “I dunno. Must be you.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Must be.”

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you, too.” He reaches for my discarded shirt on the floor and wipes off my chest and face before resting his head on it and falling asleep.

Fireworks continue to explode outside, while downstairs, the DJ blasts “Somebody to You” by The Vamps.

My hand finds its way onto Elliot’s back, and I trace lazy circles between his shoulder blades with my thumb as I reflect on the past few months.

When this semester began, I never imagined it would end with me in a committed relationship, let alone a same-sex one. And while my future is still as uncertain as it’s always been, I can at least take comfort in the fact that I no longer have to go about it alone.

Because now I have Elliot.

And that’s enough for me.