My controller slips in my sweaty hands. “You guys discussedJackson’sass?”
“Are you kidding? His butt resembles a pair of melons. The cheeks are strangely symmetrical. I voted for him to be second-best, but Oliver said I was biased because he’s my boyfriend’s best friend. Though he’s also my teammate’s best friend, and no one else was labeledbiased.”
“What was the final verdict?” My voice cracks on the last word.
“Hung jury. We’re waiting for spring training to make a final determination. Shorts season provides better data. You should join us. It’s bound to be a cheeky good time.”
My toes curl in my socks at the thought of attending spring training solely to scope out my best friend’s ass. A part of me wants to say yes, but rationally, I know that nothing good can come from judging asses.
ICE QUEEN BLOG POST #1
Cold Hard Package: A Deep Freeze Analysis of BSU’s Polar Bear Plunge
Posted by The Ice Queen | January 12th | 11:19 AM
Hey there, puck bunnies! Ice Queen here, your go-to gal for the coolest takes on all things Barracudas.
I’ve returned from the frozen shores of Berkeley Shore Beach with frostbitten fingers and enough material to keep us warm through the rest of winter. I was stationed at the first annual Polar Bear Plunge with my phone, a thermos of coffee, and the dedication of a wildlife photographer.
Let’s start with the appetizers before we get to the main course, shall we?
The football team was there, wearing swimming trunks in every garish color imaginable. Special shout-out to Jason Freeman, whose tie-dyed bathing suit assaulted my eyes. The baseball team showed up in nothing but jockstraps, giving us an unfettered view of whose ass is the hairiest (it’s RobertHorton’s). The rugby team, God bless their shameless souls, strutted around in Speedos that left nothing to the imagination. And I do mean nothing. I’ve seen less revealing anatomy textbooks.
But the pièce de résistance was, of course, our beloved hockey team.
Gerard Gunnarson wore pink trunks that were brighter than a thousand suns. When he emerged from the Atlantic, water cascading down those infamous glutes, I watched multiple people walk into each other. And the way those trunks clung to his thick thighs, I’d dare say Michelangelo would’ve wept, and Bernini would’ve quit sculpting. There was even a sophomore from Delta Gamma who fainted, though if you ask her, she’ll say it was from the cold.Sure, Jan.
Oliver Jacoby wore black trunks that gave off serious “dark romance novel cover” energy. And when he rose from the sealikea mythical god, holy eggplant emoji, Batman. The clinging bathing suit revealed a package that explains why he walks with such confidence. It’s not arrogance, my friends. I’m thinking of creating a GoFundMe for his future back problems.
Kyle Graham, our mean, lean goalie, stared at the ocean as if he wanted to murder it. His red trunks hung low on his hips, his entire body rigid with what I can only describe as pure rage at the existence of cold water. When he finished his plunge, he immediately stalked over to Drew’s pickup truck, not caring who could make out his junk.
The real reason for this post, however, is Drew Larney and Jackson Monroe. They ran into that water as though they wereheading into battle and came out new men. And that’s when things got interesting.
Look, I’ve been documenting the sexual tension between various BSU students for some time now. It’s what I do. But Drew Larney and Jackson Monroe? They weren’t even on my radar last semester. While I was busy chronicling Gerard’s bisexual awakening and Elliot’s tsundere meltdown, those two were just…there. Background noise. Drew hitting on anything with a pulse. Jackson being the golden retriever quarterback everyone loves.
I saw them together constantly—at parties, at games, at The Brew—and thought nothing of it. Friends. Buddies. Bros being bros. But then the Polar Bear Plunge happened, and apparently, I missed the memo that they’ve been eye-fucking each other this whole time. My inbox is currently experiencing what can only be described as a Category 5 hurricane of messages. “Ice Queen, did you see them sharing a blanket? They were spooning! Drackson is real!”
The evidence is compelling, I’ll admit. The way they stumbled out of the water and immediately gravitated toward each other. How Drew’s arm wrapped around Jackson’s shoulders with practiced ease. The little glances here and there. But here’s the thing—they’re both in the comments section, denying everything with the desperation of politicians caught in a scandal.
Drew Larney commented 47 minutes ago:We’re friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. Google it.
Jackson Monroe commented 45 minutes ago:Hypothermia prevention is not foreplay.
Drew Larney replied 44 minutes ago:What he said.
Jackson Monroe replied 43 minutes ago:Stop making this weird, people.
Do I think they’re dating? The jury’s still out. On one hand, the chemistry is undeniable. On the other hand, Drew’s chat history (don’t ask how I know) suggests he’s been sampling the entire Eastern Seaboard’s dating pool. And Jackson gives off straight-boy energy. But after last semester’s Gerard and Elliot saga, I’m taking a wait-and-see approach. The truth always reveals itself. And considering how defensive they’re being? I give it two weeks at most before something interesting happens.
Speaking of interesting happenings, let’s get back to Nathan Paisley for a moment. Our freshman phenom spent the entire plunge staring at Gerard’s ass with the intensity of someone trying to solve world hunger. When Gerard bent over to brush sand off his feet, I witnessed Nathan’s soul leave his body. Someone might want to tell him that the Gunnarson ship has not only sailed but also reached its destination at the house of Montgomery.
Also spotted: Oliver Jacoby having what appeared to be an emotional reunion with Jackson’s roommate, Ryan Abrams. They hugged for a solid thirty seconds while everyone else froze their balls off. The plot thickens, readers.
But I digress. The real story here is whatever’s happening—or not happening—between Drew and Jackson. The entire campus has collectively decided they’re together; evidence be damned. The BSU social media pages are practically a Drackson fan convention. Someone’s already selling “I Ship It” shirts outside the student center. And our boys are handling it with all the grace of newborn giraffes on ice, which is to say, with none at all.
I refreshed Drew’s social media earlier (for research purposes) and watched him delete three photos where he and Jackson were standing too close to each other. Jackson’s is now private after someone dug up a tweet from October where he called Drew “annoyingly attractive.” The context was clearly about Drew stealing all the girls at a party, but context is dead, and speculation killed it.
Will they crack under the pressure? Will one of them slip up? Will Drew’s commitment issues clash with Jackson’s apparent straightness in a spectacular explosion of repressed emotion? I don’t know, but I’ll be watching. After all, I didn’t get to where I am today by missing the story of the semester.
