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“Sure.” The guy clears his throat. “The IceQueen is this anonymous student who writes a gossip blog about the BSU hockey team, and today, she posted this long, detailed entry about your…”

“Butt?”

“Yep.”

My face flushes hot with embarrassment. “The Ice Queen wrote a blog post about my butt? Why?!”

“Beats me. She went on and on about how it looks in sweatpants and jeans. She even included some pictures of it.”

“She what?! That’s why everyone’s been staring?”

“You’re the talk of BSU, man. The Ice Queen has declared your butt the finest on campus. That’s high praise coming from her.”

I let my head thump against the stall door, suddenly exhausted. “This cannot be happening. I have a game tonight! How am I supposed to focus on that when everyone is focusing on…that?”

“No idea. But look at it this way—it could always be worse.”

“How? How could it be worse?” I don’t expect the guy to answer my rhetorical question. I mean, he’s not God. He doesn’t have all the answers to life’s problems, especially not the ones concerning my booty. But to my surprise, he does respond after a brief pause.

“You could be known for having a tiny dick instead.”

I snort at that. He’s not wrong. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose being known for my ample behind is better than being known for a baby carrot between my legs.

The following silence is charged with awkward tension, and I realize he probably thinks my lack of response is because he hit the nail on the head. “I can assure you that’s not the case. The hockey gods blessed me inbothdepartments.”

“Good to know,” he replies, a smile in his voice. “Not that I was wondering or anything.”

“Sure you weren’t.” I grin. “I appreciate you filling me in on all this Ice Queen stuff. I feel slightly less crazynow.”

“No problem. And hey, try not to let it get to you too much. People will find something else to gossip about soon enough.”

“I hope so. But knowing my luck, the Ice Queen is probably typing up a sequel as we speak. ‘101 Things I’d Like to do to Gerard Gunnarson’s Glorious Glutes’ or some crap.”

The guy laughs. “If she does, you can always come find me for a recap.”

“True. Thanks again…” Shoot. I don’t know his name.

“Matt,” he supplies. “I’m Matt.”

“Thanks, Matt. I owe you one.” I push off the stall door and unlock it, suddenly lighter than when I first barreled my way in here. Talking to Matt, even through a bathroom stall, has helped ease some of the anxiety swirling in my gut.

I exit the stall and approach the sink to splash some cool water on my heated face. I pat my skin dry with a rough paper towel, and right as I’m about to leave, Matt calls out to me. “Hey, Gerard? I think the best way to get this to blow over is to embrace it.”

“Embrace it? You mean…flaunt my butt?”

Matt chuckles. “Not necessarily flaunt it, but don’t hide it either. Own it, you know? Show everyone that their stares and giggles don’t faze you.”

I consider his words. He has a point. Running away and hiding will only add fuel to the gossip fire. But embracing it? Easier said than done.

“How exactly should I embrace my rear end?”

I spot Matt’s feet moving beneath the stall partition as he readjusts his position on the toilet. “I follow you on social media. You’re always posting pictures of your feet, and your fans go crazy over them.”

I nod slowly, figuring out where he’s going with this. “You think I should post a picture of my butt?”

“Yeah, and caption it with something that acknowledges the Ice Queen’s blog post. Show everyone that you’re cool with the post. That you’re in on the joke.”

“Matt, you’re a genius! What would I do without you?”