“Yeah, you couldn’t have done it without all this luck. And me, of course.”
I laugh at his addition, tipping my head back to look at him.
“WithoutNateyou mean.” I wink, reaching out to cup the back of his head and pull him down. His breath tickles along my throat as his lips brush over mine.
Our tongues slide together as his hands wander down over my chest. His fingers tease at my waist, and I grab his wrist before he can sneak too low. Nicko tugs on his hands but eventually relents, leaning back just far enough to look into my eyes.
“We should take this upstairs.”
“Sure,” I tell him, but pull him back in for another one, two short kisses. Finally, he huffs and pushes himself backward away from the couch.
“Come on!”
I get up and follow him to the stairs, turning off the TV and the lights as I go.
“I’ll be right back,” Nicko mutters once we’re upstairs and in front of his room. I tilt my head, but he glances down the hallway. I look after him for a moment, then walk into his room and sit down on the edge of Nicko’s bed.
After a few minutes of waiting, I take out my phone. Opening Instagram again, I do a double take when there’s already dozens of notifications popping up. I lay back on the bed, settling in with a pillow, then take a deep breath before I tap into my inbox. I close my eyes for a moment when it’s exactly what I feared; a whole lot of hate mail now that it will be the Bats, not BostonU, competing to get to the Frozen Four.
Radbrad420:How does YOUR ass feel after taking all that referee d1ck?!
ballin-in-my-skin:Hope the rebels drop you, f4gG0t piece of shit
peachy.katie:You don’t deserve to even smell the ice! Boston deserved to be in the F4!!
2000YardKick:Bet you fucked the referee, dirty fAg! You’re a disgrace to hockey!
I bite my tongue, take another breath. Whenever I make a post, I get hundreds of these comments. I always delete them, most often without even reading them. I certainly don’t engage with their bigotry. Still, it always hurts. Some of those comments already have dozens of likes too.
“Okay, I’m– What’s wrong?”
Of course, Nicko picks that moment to come back, closing the door behind himself. He looks alarmed, but I shake my head before he can worry more.
“It’s nothing,” I hum and scoot over to make room for him.
He disregards all the empty space and slumps down on top of me.
“Liar.”
I huff, debating not to, but in the end show him the screen of my phone. His eyes narrow as he reads the last comment I opened, then his lips part. I shake my head again, putting my hand over his mouth. I can’t take his anger about the comments right now.
Nicko’s brows almost meet, he’s pulling them so far together, but finally he nods and rolls off of me.
I sigh and lock my screen again, letting it drop onto my chest.
“There’s always assholes like that,” I say into the suffocating quiet between us. It’s what I keep telling myself. It just feels worse when only minutes ago I was so excited over New Hampshire’s win.
“...yeah, I guess,” Nicko mutters, shifting to settle in next to me. His shoulder presses against mine, but the topic sits uncomfortably between us.
I continue deleting messages as if that eradicates the problem.
Eventually, Nicko pulls out his own phone, huffing at it. He shows me the dozens of notifications of Nate’s messages. I chuckle and open up the messenger to show him the texts I got earlier.
Nicko hums, then looks back at his own phone. He taps—then his face falls.
“What the hell,” he says out loud.
I stretch my neck to see what makes him upset, blinking when I recognize my own Story. Someone has reposted it with some choice slurs as well as various shit emojis accompanying it.
