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Oliver holds his hands up in surrender and grins. “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t resist. But seriously, G, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. So what if people are appreciating your ass? Own it.”

“That’s what Matt said too,” I mutter, more to myself than to Oliver.

Oliver’s brows furrow in confusion. “Who’s Matt?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Some guy I met in the bathroom at The Brew. He overheard me freaking out and gave me some advice.”

“Advice, huh? What kind of advice?” Oliver waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I roll my eyes and sit up to punch him in the arm. “Not that kind of advice, you perv. He said I should embrace the attention instead of hiding from it.”

“Matt sounds like a smart guy.”

“He is,” I say with a smile. “That’s not all he suggested, either. He also said I should, uh, post a picture. Of my butt. On social media.”

Oliver’s eyes widen comically before he bursts out laughing. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. Some random dude you met in a bathroom told you to post a picture of your ass online, and you did?”

I duck my head, suddenly feeling silly for taking the advice of a stranger. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But I don’t know, Ollie. It made sense at the time. If everyone’s already talking about my butt, I might as well give the people what they want, right?”

Oliver shakes his head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe you, G. You’ve got some serious balls, my friend.” He reaches for my phone, which sits on the bed between us. “Let me see this masterpiece.”

He quickly unlocks it, knowing my password by heart after years of friendship. I watch nervously as he navigates to my social media profile and finds the post.

“Holy shit, Gerard!” His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he stares at the screen. “This is…wow. I mean, I’ve seen your ass plenty of times, but damn. You sure know how to work those angles, huh?”

I snatch my phone back from him as my entire face flushes crimson. “Shut up.” I toss the device aside. “It’s not like I make a habit of taking butt selfies.”

“Could’ve fooled me. That photo is practically professional quality. The lighting, the pose, the way your shorts cling to your cheeks? I’m impressed, G. Truly.”

I bury my face in my hands and wish the mattress would swallow me whole. “I can’t believe I posted that. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that you have a fantastic ass, and it’s about time the world knew it,” Oliver says matter-of-factly. He pries my hands away from my face and forces me to look at him. “Seriously, Gerard. I know this whole Ice Queen thing isn’t something you need right now, but you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Your butt is great, and if people want to appreciate it, let them. It doesn’t change who you are as a person or a player.”

I search Oliver’s eyes for any hint of mockery or judgment, but all I see is sincerity, a touch of pride, and maybe lust. The dude’s as queer as a three-dollar bill, and my butt is the size of Mount Everest. Can’t say I blame him for being a tad horny.

He’s right, though. I can’t let this Ice Queen situation get to me. So what if the whole campus is suddenly obsessed with my butt? It doesn’t define me as a person or an athlete. I’m still the same Gerard Gunnarson—college hockey player and all-around good guy. Just with a little extra junk in the trunk. “Thanks, Ollie. You always know what to say to talk me off the ledge.”

Oliver claps me on the shoulder. “What are best friends for? Besides, someone’s gotta keep that big head of yours from exploding.” He stands up and adjusts his apron, which has ridden up to reveal a sliver of his toned abs. “Speaking of big heads, I better head down to the kitchen before Drew starts a fire. We have a hungry hockey team to feed.”

“Since when does Drew cook?”

“I’m punishing him for that prank he pulled on Nathan last week.”

I chuckle at the memory of Drew replacing Nathan Paisley’s protein shake with a concoction of his own making, complete with a generous helping of laxatives. The poor guy had to sprint off the ice mid-drill to avoid crapping his pants in front of the entire team. Classic Drew. “Good luck with that.”

He pauses at the door and glances back at me, his expression turning serious. “But for real, G, you good?”

I nod and give him a thumbs-up. “I’m good, Cap. Thanks again for the pep talk.”

“Anytime, bud. Anytime.” With a final smile, Oliver disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.

I flop back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling, letting the events of the morning replay in my head. From my missing hockey stick to the stares and whispers on the quad. From my impromptu bathroom confessional with Matt to Oliver’s unexpected but much-needed words of wisdom. Man, it’s been a day already, and it’s not even noon.

In a flash of inspiration, I realize there’s one other person I need to thank for all this butt-related hullabaloo—the mastermind herself, the Ice Queen.

Grabbing my laptop, I boot it up and visit her infamous blog. It takes some scrolling past posts about locker room pranks, post-game keggers, and speculations about which players are hooking up with guys on the baseball team, but I finally find the “Contact Me” link buried at the bottom of the page.

I click it and watch as a blank email pops up on my screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I contemplate what to say to the mysterious blogger who’s turned my butt into the most talked-about body part on campus.