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PROLOGUE

AN ICE QUEEN BLOG POST

Out with the Old. In with the New.

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

Ferris Bueller was right; life sure does move pretty fast. Wasn’t it only yesterday that we were gearing up for the first puck drop of the season? And now, we’re basking in the afterglow of another incredible Frozen Four victory.

I know! I couldn’t believe it either, and yet, it happened. Our boys skated to the top, leaving behind a trail of shattered records and broken hearts.

It’s been an absolute pleasure following their journey over the past two years, and I couldn’t be prouder of what they’ve accomplished. But amid all the glory and the confetti, one player has captured my attention like no other.

Gerard Gunnarson, or as his most devoted fans call him, Gunnarson the Great.

He’s a legacy-in-waiting; his father traversed the same rink twenty-something years before. While Gerard possesses the same skills, he’s been able to distinguish himself from his father in ways other legacy children have never.

Now, what has made Gerard the apple of my eye? Perhaps it’s his smoldering good looks. Or the way he commands the ice with a single stride. Or, maybe it’s the hint of mystery surrounding him.

Gerard’s a private guy. He has no girlfriend, and no one has ever caught a puck bunny sneaking out of his bedroom the morning after a raucous party at the Hockey House. And if he’s not partying or playing hockey, he’s attending all his classes like a good college student.

So, what gives? There’s gotta be more to this power(ful) forward than simply his killer slapshots and knockout smile, right?

While prying into someone’s life isn’t my day job, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about shaking things up on my blog. After all, we’re entering year three at BSU. Change can be a good thing if we embrace it.

So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the summer sun. Because once the leaves change and the water freezes…I’ll be back!

Until next time.

Ice Queen skating off!

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GERARD

At two in the morning, I stumbled down the hallway like a naked, sleep-deprived zombie to use the bathroom. Five hours later, I’m still awake and staring at a mess of epic proportions.

Jeans and shirts carpet the hardwood floor. Sweatshirts in shades of blue and gray huddle under the dim light. And my colorful socks, those not-so-little balled-up devils, have transformed into makeshift landmines.

I’ve never been the tidiest person. Just ask my mom; she probably had ten aneurysms a month cleaning up after me when I was a kid. In my defense, what boy wants to clean his room when he can be chasing after a puck on the ice?

A gust of chilly air from the open window brushes over my skin, but it does nothing to soothe my anxiety.

Where on earth could that darn hockey stick have vanished to?

Keeping track of my belongings has never been my strong suit. Going to class without my cell phone is about as common for me as scoring goals on the ice, which is all the time.

But forgetting a phone makes sense. It’s small and compact and can easily get misplaced. A hockey stick, on the other hand, is big and long and—oh my gosh, am I describing my penis?

I glance down, and…indeed I am.

Focus, Gerard.

My hockey stick, my loyal companion on the ice,mightbe buried under Mount Clothesmore. Or it’s lodged between Wall Jeans and the Fortress of Solitude—that’s my bed, by the way.

There’s only one way to find out.

I lower myself to the ground and start an army crawl through the treacherous landscape of socks, where every inch is filled with peril and the potential for explosive discoveries.