Page 110

“Gerard, all I want is for Elliot to be happy. That’s it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. He deserves to be treated as a king—worshipped, adored, and cherished.”

With every word he says, my head bobs up and down like my bobblehead. “I know, Jackson. I know. And I want to be the one to give him all of that. I want to be the one to make him smile. I want to be his person, the one he comes to when he’s had a bad day or when he’s excited about a new book at the library.”

Jackson studies me for another long moment. It unnerves me, but I force myself to hold his gaze. I need him to see how serious I am about this. About Elliot.

After an eternity, Jackson’s face softens. “Okay.”

I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to threaten to shove your foot up my butt if I hurt him?”

Jackson laughs. “No, Gerard. I’m not going to do that. But I can’t promise I won’t be tempted.”

I stand up and hold out my hand for a shake. “This means a lot to me, Jackson. Thank you.”

He gets off the bed and grips my hand. “Give him the world, Gerard.”

“I’ll give him the whole universe if he lets me.”

24

GERARD

Dinner & Skate with the Barracudas Nighthas been a tradition for as long as anyone can remember. Old-timers say it started back in the 1970s, and every year, it gets bigger and better.

It’s the one night where we get to dress up in tuxedos, hang out with our fans, eat a ton of food, listen to orchestral covers of popular songs, and maybe even make a few new friends. The event is held at a fancy banquet hall in downtown Berkeley Shore, and it’s always packed.

Most of the guys on the team love this night. Sure, the food is great—we’re talking all-you-can-eat pasta and meatballs, with a dessert table that would make your grandma cry—but it’s the skating part that really gets everyone excited. After dinner, there’s a raffle where people can put their names in to win a chance to skate around Infinity Arena with their favorite player.

The thing is, the people who get picked are usually huge fans. And by huge fans, I mean puck bunnies. For a lot of the guys, it’s a great way to get lucky. At least, that’s what they say in the locker room.

Of course, sometimes a dude gets picked instead of a girl, which can be awkward if the player is straight. But most of us aregood sports about it. We all know how much these fans care, and it’s cool to see their faces light up when they hit the ice with us.

I’m not going to lie—I’ve had my fair share of fun at these events. Last year, a girl named Tiffany won the raffle and got to skate with me. She was cute and super flirty, and we ended up hanging out a few times after that. But this year is different. This year, I’m not interested in a puck bunny. I’m interested in Elliot.

I wish he were here tonight. He’d look amazing in a tux, his dark hair slicked back, those soulful brown eyes sparkling behind his glasses. But he told me earlier that he has to work. Something about the person who was supposed to close with Sarah coming down with food poisoning.

That’s one of the many things I like about Elliot. He’s always so dedicated to his job, even if it means missing out on nights like this.

I sigh, adjusting my bowtie in the restroom mirror. The guys are all rowdy over by the urinals, talking about which girls they hope are picked in the raffle. I’m secretly hoping I get a straight dude, not a puck bunny or gay guy. Someone who won’t make Elliot jealous. The last thing I want is for him to feel threatened or insecure about our blossoming…whatever it is we have.

As I head out to the banquet hall, I spot Jackson across the room. He’s looking sharp in his black suit, his messy hair tamed for once. He probably submitted his name in Drew’s raffle basket a hundred times. Ever since Halloween, when Drew boldly sucked his finger, the two of them have become inseparable.

I’ve never seen Drew so smitten. He’s always been the biggest flirt on the team, but since Jackson entered our lives, he’s been different.

I make my way to the table, dodging waiters carrying trays of steaming pasta. Drew is telling a fantastical story, and Jackson listens intently, his crooked grin glued to his face.

As I take my seat, I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Elliot with a goofy selfie for good measure.He brings out a side of me I never knew existed. A softer, more vulnerable side that I’m slowly learning to embrace.

The rest of the dinner passes in a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and heaping plates of food. I try to stay engaged in the conversation, but my mind keeps drifting to Elliot. I wonder what he’s doing right now.

Is he helping some frazzled student find an obscure journal article? Is he reshelving books in the quiet stacks? Is he scowling at the jocks putting their dirty shoes on the tables?

“Yo, G-man,” Drew says, nudging me with his elbow. “You gonna finish that?” He points at my plate, which is still half full of spaghetti.

“Knock yourself out,” I say, sliding it over to him while frowning at my phone because Elliot hasn’t texted back yet.

Drew shrugs and digs in. Between bites, he asks, “Do you think the Ice Queen is here?”

I scan the room. No one knows who the Ice Queen is—not even me—but we have our suspicions. She’s been writing about the team for almost three years now, and her blog has a huge following. She gained even more fans after that post about my butt at the start of the season.