Page 30 of Icing on the Cake

Jackson clasps his hand on my thigh and squeezes, startling me out of my Gerard-induced haze. He’s grinning from ear to ear, and his brown eyes sparkle under the lights.

“Can you believe it’s finally here? The season opener, baby!” He has to shout to be heard over the din of the crowd. “I’ve been counting down the days all summer.”

I nod and feign enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s pretty exciting.”

“Are you still going to introduce me to Gerard after the game?”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of my head. “For the last time, we talked for like five minutes. He’s probably already forgotten about me.”

Jackson scoffs. “Please. Have you seen yourself, Elliot? You’reunforgettable.”

He says it with such sincerity that I turn as red as a tomato. “Even if he did remember me, which he doesn’t, how exactly am I supposed to introduce you? It’s not like I have backstage passes or anything.”

Jackson’s grin turns sly. “Oh, don’t worry about that, bud. I have my ways.”

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. “What did you do?”

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Nothing illegal, I swear! I just pulled some strings with the athletic department, called in a few favors, and…”

Jackson reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfurls it with a flourish, revealing a detailed blueprint of Infinity Arena.

My eyes widen in disbelief. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Jackson winks at me conspiratorially. “I told you, I have my ways.”

He lays the blueprint flat on his lap and starts tracinghis finger along the intricate lines and symbols. His nail is perfectly manicured, the cuticles pushed back, and the edges filed into a neat oval shape. It’s the hand of someone who has never done a day of manual labor in his life.

“Okay, so here’s the plan.” Jackson lowers his voice to a whisper, and I lean in to hear him better. “After the game, we’re going to slip away from the crowd and find this hallway here.” He taps a long, winding corridor that snakes deep into the heart of the building. “It’ll take us directly to the locker room.”

I study the blueprint skeptically. The hallway is a far cry from the straightforward route the players take from the bench.

“Are you sure about this? What if we get lost?”

Jackson waves away my worries with a flick of his wrist. “Please, I’ve got this memorized like the back of my hand. I could navigate it with my eyes closed.”

I shoot him a dubious look. “Okay, Tom Cruise. This isn’tMission Impossible. We’re not trained spies.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jackson retorts with a grin. “I’ve been preparing for this moment my whole life. I was born to sneak into locker rooms and charm the pants off hockey players.”

I laugh at his audacity. “Alright, fine. We’ll do it your way. But if we get caught, I’m saying you kidnapped me and forced me to be your accomplice.”

Jackson clutches his chest in mock offense. “Elliot! I thought our friendship meant more to you than that.”

“Our friendship meansthe worldto me,” I assure him. “Which is why I don’t want to see you get arrested for trespassing. Or worse, expelled.”

Jackson’s expression softens, and he squeezes my thigh again. “Hey, don’t worry. We’re not going to get caught. Trust me, I’ve thought of everything.”

ICE QUEEN BLOG POST #2

It’s Hockey Season, Baby!

Hey there, puck bunnies! Ice Queen here, your go-to gal for the coolest takes on all things Barracudas.

College hockey is back, baby! Raise your hand if you’re as excited as me!

Now, for those of you who spent the last year in a coma—or worse, studying—let’s do a quick refresher on where we left off: Our boys made it all the way to the Frozen Four, and in a nail-biting, heart-stopping, make-your-grandma-swear-like-a-sailor final game, they brought home the championship.

The hero of the hour? None other than Gerard Gunnarson, whose last-second goal—the third of the night—not only sealed the win but also caused a seismic event measurable on the Richter scale. That, or it was just the entire campus jumping for joy. Hard to say.

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