I’m slouched in the bend of the sectional between Dorian and Barbie with one of Delilah’s teammates, Sierra Browne, sitting on the floor in front of me, leaning against my knees. She’s been nearby all night. I don’t think she’s following me, necessarily. She just really wants to talk about hockey. And the fact that whenever the camera pans over the arena in the Bruins–Sabres game playing on the TV, my dad’s name is visible hanging from the rafters.
I chew on the rim of my empty plastic cup. I was raised a Sabres fan. Played with the kids of Dad’s former teammates, lived with one of his former teammates, Mr. Vinter. Went to every home game, dreamed of lifting the Cup in the blue and gold, having my number retired next to Dad’s.
But Cauler’s a Boston boy, a die-hard Bruins fan, and watching the way he sits on the very edge of the couch, leaning forward, ready to jump out of his seat at any moment and scream in rage or excitement is almost enough to make me a Bruins fan myself. And that is utter blasphemy coming from a Buffalonian. I watch Cauler more than the game, keeping my face forward while my eyes wander to the spectacle that is Jaysen Caulfield riled up on hockey.
I just wish he would pause for a second and check his damn phone. He’s practically levitating from the adrenaline, shaking Colie by the shoulder and shouting, “Shoot the puck, holy shit, you had a wide-open lane!”
“It’s not gonna happen, Cauler,” Colie says seriously. “The Sabres’ PK is filthy this year, and the Bruins’ powerplay’s been lacking.”
“It’s a five on three, you mother—AH!” Cauler shoves Colie before putting both hands on top of his head. “Are you kidding me? How did he miss that! God, I’d trade him for a fucking camel right now.”
Dorian snorts and Barbie says, “Really, Cauler? A camel?”
“Don’t start with me, Barboza.” Cauler points a finger in our direction without looking over.
“Dream bigger, Cauler,” Sierra says. “They could at least get a fifth-round pick for him.”
“Um, excuse me?” Barbie sounds genuinely offended. “You saying I’m not worth more than that?”
Sierra throws her head back in laughter, knocking into my knees. She leans forward and rubs the back of her head, still laughing. “Sorry, bro. Forgot you were a fifth-rounder.”
“I might be a fifth-rounder but I still wouldn’t’ve missed that shot. Seriously, he had the top, like, eighty percent of the net.”
“Pretty sure you missed a shot on a completely empty net before, Barbs,” Dorian reminds him. “Like, the goalie was pulled and everything.”
“In bantam! This guy’s supposed to be a professional!”
They keep arguing over my head, but I tune it out when Cauler leans back into the couch with a sigh, finally checking his phone. He doesn’t look at me when he reads the message, but his eyebrows come together and he frowns as he types something. A moment later, my phone vibrates in my hands. I sink down and pull it close to my face so Dorian and Barbie can’t read over my shoulder.
Jaysen: That sounds ominous
Mickey: Ok not horrible like seriously horrible
Just horrible in a cringey kind of way
Attic?
I have to fight my way off the couch between the alcohol and the bodies pressed all around me, but they’re too busy arguing to say anything about me leaving. I stop by the kitchen to sneak another shot behind Delilah’s back before heading upstairs. Cauler takes his time, making our mutual disappearance a little less suspicious. He slides into the attic silently, glasses slipping down his nose and his hat crooked. I can’t help but think of that insult game we played up here. It’s only been a couple months, but I couldn’t even imagine saying things like that to him now.
Cauler smiles as he presses me down into the couch with a hard kiss and rough hands under my shirt. The same couch we woke up on together after that party.
We have to take these moments when we can get them. It’s straight-up torture how much time we spend together unable to touch each other. We’re with each other for hours at a time every single day, but never alone like this.
It’d be easy to get carried away, but Cauler pushes off me after a few minutes, sitting cross-legged on the couch next to me. “Let’s see this cringe material.”
I sit up, tucking a leg under me and adjusting my hat as a wave of dizziness surges through my head. I rub my eyes and blink a few times before it passes, then pull out my phone and bring up the fic.
Cauler traces a finger around my knee as it loads.
Maybe I shouldn’t show him. What if it scares him off? Just the thought of people shipping us for their own entertainment feels a little dangerous when it hits that close to the truth. Like every one of our public interactions’ll be scrutinized to the point where someone will figure us out.
But who am I kidding? What we’re doing doesn’t make for an epic fantasy love story. There’s nothing close to the truth about it.
I hand my phone off to Cauler and rest my head on the back of the couch to watch his face as he reads. As soon as he sees the site, his eyebrows go up. “You find Kovy’s Dragon Age fics?”
He goes back to reading before I can answer, his face going through phases of confusion, understanding, and then … Absolute. Joy. He gives me the most ridiculous smile I’ve ever seen on him, his nose scrunched up and his eyes half-closed. My heart feels like it’s trying to compress itself into nonexistence.
“They made you an elf,” he says, laughing. “Perfect.”
I glare at him.
He laughs some more. “Oh, that’s a good one. Kinda hot. Much hotter than the corpse look you usually got going on.”
I narrow my eyes, but he doesn’t stop smiling, even when he reaches forward and brushes a thumb over my lip, pulling me in for a kiss. He laughs against my mouth.
“You know you made it big when people write fanfiction about you,” he says.
I huff a breath. “We haven’t even been drafted yet.”
“Even better. We can only go up from here.”
“You don’t think it’s creepy? Like at all?”
“It’s hilarious, are you kidding? I can’t believe they made me the prince and you the assassin. Amazing.”
Oh my god. Is he serious right now? He keeps a hand up by my jaw and goes right back to reading, and I am full of regret. I groan. “Showing you was a mistake, wasn’t it.”
“Not at all. I’m gonna bookmark this.”
I lunge forward and snatch my phone away from him, drop it on the floor, and crawl into his lap. “You were supposed to cringe with me.”
He gives me a crooked grin and pushes a hand through my hair, knocking my hat off my head. “We’ll see how it goes when I actually read it.”
We kiss like that for a few minutes, me in his lap, his hand in my hair, until there’s an uproar downstairs that has both of us looking to the door.
“Bruins probably scored,” Cauler says all smugly. I roll my eyes and stand up. We’ve been up here too long already. I adjust my clothes, fix the mess he’s made of my hair, and put my hat back on. Make myself look like I didn’t just have someone else’s tongue in my mouth.
Cauler gives me this soft, almost loving last kiss before heading downstairs, and I just feel so … sad all of a sudden. The kind of sad I felt watching Dad go through security at the airport without me when I was ten. My mom and sisters leaving me behind as they drove off ahead of the moving truck.
Cauler and I will never be more than this. And the worst part is I know he wants more. And I think I do, too. But the prospect of what happens when we mess it up is just too much to handle.
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth like it’ll erase the memory of Cauler’s lips on mine and go to the kitchen for another drink.
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, I’m in the longest keg stand of my life. Barbie and Kovy hold my legs up while Delilah reluctantly works the valve, Dorian and Zero screaming right in my face. I’m not in it to break Colie’s house record. I’m in it to stop feeling.
The two probably go hand in hand.
By the time I’m back on my feet, barely holding myself upright, my name’s replaced Colie’s on the whiteboard hanging over the pong table. Might as well replace more names.
“Lilah?” I say, motioning toward the pong table where Dorian and Barbie have already taken a side.
She frowns as she looks me up and down, taking in my probably glassy eyes, the way I can’t hold my head up straight.