Page 48 of Icing on the Cake

Close Encounters of the Gerard Kind

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

Do I have a story for you! After the game on Friday night, I retired to my room and decided to check my inbox. I was expecting the usual Negative Nellys and was fully prepared to “Delete All.” But something told me to keep scrolling.

And I’m glad I did because, lo and behold, Gerard Gunnarson had slid into my DMs! Or should I say, skated into them? After much running around my room, flapping my arms like a chicken trying to take flight, I calmed down enough to read what the hockey hunk said.

First, he expressed his flattery at my appreciation. Then he talked about how he was shocked to see his backside go viral. At first, Gerard wasn’t sure about all the attention, but he quickly realized that being known for having such a bodacious booty wasn’t such a bad thing.

But that’s not all! Gerard sent me a gift. And let me tell you, this man knows how to make a girl feel special. The rest of the night, I was on cloud nine. Gerard Gunnarson acknowledged my existenceandgave me his blessing to keep spilling the tea on his life.

Stay tuned for more sizzling updates on Gunnarson the Great, y’all, because something tells me this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship between BSU’s bona fide superstar and me.

Until next time.

Ice Queen skating off!

10

ELLIOT

“Ugh.” Sarah slams a stack of books down on the circulation desk and pulls up a chair beside me. “I hate the rain.”

“Really? I love it.” A smile forms on my face as I listen to the sounds of the rain hitting the windows and thunder booming off in the distance. It never fails to make me happy. It reminds me of back home, curled up on the living room couch with a good book and a plate of my mom’s freshly baked cookies as a storm rages.

Sarah stares at me, bewildered. “You’re a strange man, Elliot.”

I shrug. I’ve been called worse things.

The library doors burst open, and a rowdy group of students rush in, looking like a pack of drenched rats. Their wet shoes squeak against the polished floors, leaving a trail of puddles in their wake. I cringe as one of the guys, a tall, muscular dude with a mop of curly black hair, shakes his head like a dog. Water droplets fly through the air and land on a stack of books on display. I imagine the books crying out in horror and distress.

Another guy, this one with a backward baseball cap and a cocky swagger, laughs and slaps his friend on the back. “Nice one, bro! You got me good.”

They make their way deeper into the library and leave a path of destruction in their wake.

I want to look away, but I can’t. My heart aches for the poor, defenseless books that are being subjected to such callous treatment. They deserve better than this.

A flash of lightning illuminates the dark sky outside, and a boom of thunder sounds at the same time that my phone buzzes.

Jackson

Bro! Emergency!

I sigh. The last “emergency” Jackson had was when we went to the movies a few weeks ago, and he got stuck in a stall with no toilet paper.Will this one be more dire?

There’s only one way to find out. I swipe open the message and respond.

Me

What now?

Jackson

Stuck at the gym without an umbrella :(

Me

How is this my problem?

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