“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he says, “but I’m actually having fun.”
“Was that so hard to admit?”
“Excruciating. I may need to lie down after.”
I bark out a laugh, delighted by this unexpected playfulness. This is a side of Ryan I’ve only glimpsed before—quick-witted, dry, capable of holding his own in the verbal sparring that defines our friend group. He’s been hiding it behind walls of reserve, but tonight, those walls are crumbling.
Gerard careens past us, having somehow acquired a second partner in the form of a middle-aged woman in a poodle skirt who seems thrilled by his enthusiasm. Elliot trails behind them, having completely given up on reining in his boyfriend.
“Your bestie is making friends,” I observe.
Ryan watches Gerard attempt to dip the woman and nearly drop her. “My bestie is going to start an international incident.”
“Nah. That’s just Gerard being Gerard. The world adjusts.”
The song builds toward its final chorus, the energy in the room cresting. Everyone is moving now—couples, groups, even the staff behind the soda fountain are bobbing along. The band is locked in, the singer giving everything he has, and for one perfect moment, the entire Grotto exists outside of time.
I catch Ryan’s eye, and something shifts inside me—a tectonic movement beneath my ribs that steals my breath and refuses to be categorized. He’s beautiful like this. Not in the conventional way or even the sculpted perfection of magazine covers or the polished charm of leading men. But beautiful in the way that matters. The smile on his face has become a permanent fixture, transforming his features, making him glow. I want to photograph it, frame it, keep it somewhere safe so I can look at it on days when the world is too gray.
“What?” Ryan asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing.”Everything.“Just glad you came tonight.”
The final notes ring out, and the crowd erupts in applause. Gerard whoops loud enough to be heard three blocks away. Drew dips Jackson dramatically, nearly overbalancing and taking them both to the floor. Kyle is actually smiling—a small, reluctant thing, but definitely a smile—while Alex claps beside him.
And Ryan, still slightly breathless, still beaming, turns to me with something new in his eyes. “I’m glad I came too.”
ICE QUEEN BLOG POST #3
I’m Shook, I’m Rattled, but I’m Rolling with It
Posted by The Ice Queen | June 12th | 1:47 a.m.
Hey there, puck bunnies! Ice Queen here, your go-to gal for the coolest takes on all things Barracudas.
I spent five hours at The Grotto in vintage clothing that made my thighs sweat in places they should never. Alas, the sacrifices I make for journalism in order to bring you everything you could ever want. Was it worth it? Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that.
It was fifties night at The Grotto. The band was crooning Sam Cooke. Gerard Gunnarson was wearing leather pants. And there, along with the rest of the gang, were two vintage lovebirds who didn’t realize they were vintage lovebirds. Oliver Jacoby and Ryan Abrams.
I’ve been watching these two circle each other since the skinny-dipping incident, and let me tell you, the tension is palpable. It makes me want to grab them both by their stupidly handsomefaces and scream, “JUST KISS ALREADY.” But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’ll admit I had expectations for how this would unfold. Ryan Abrams struck me as the type to take things glacially slow. The man has spent his entire college career avoiding connection, hiding behind textbooks and telescope lenses, keeping everyone but his roommate at arm’s length. I figured it wouldn’t be until the fifth season of an inevitable book-to-show adaptation that anything would happen between him and Oliver. So color me surprised when Ryan Abrams let Oliver drag him onto the dance floor andlaugh. He twisted. He Watusi’d. He was out there participating, living.
The question now becomes: Where is this going?
I’ve seen this story play out before. Gerard Gunnarson and Elliot Montgomery—strangers to friends to lovers, complete with a forced proximity done out of a care that still makes my heart flutter when I think about it. Drew Larney and Jackson Monroe—the hockey player and the quarterback, proving that love doesn’t care about your sport of choice. Both couples found their happily-ever-after despite the odds, despite the obstacles, despitemybest efforts to stir up drama.
For Oliver and Ryan, anything could happen. Hearts could break. Walls could go back up. The weight of spending years apart could prove too heavy to carry together. But sitting in that booth, watching them share cherry colas and tentative, terrified hope? I found myself rooting for them.
Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.
Until next time,
Ice Queen skatingoff!
P.S. For those of you wondering, Gerard’s leather pants unfortunately survived the night. I had high hopes when he attempted a split during “Great Balls of Fire.”
I set my laptop on the nightstand. The screen dims, then goes dark, taking the comments section with it. Someone named BarracudaBabe03 was already losing her mind about Oliver and Ryan. Another commenter—PuckYeah—called it “the slowest burn since the invention of fire.” They’re not wrong.
