Page 61 of One-Time Shot

“Oh, geez, listen to this. Man develops fungal lung cancer caused by a lifelong habit of smelling…wait for it—dirty socks.”

“That’s…disturbing,” I commented, typing away.

“People are strange as fuck.”

“Agreed.”

She went quiet for a few minutes, caught up in videos of puppies and eyeliner tutorials. “I really should start my own channel. I’m talented, right?”

“Of course you are.”

“You’re my bestie. You’re practically required to assure me that my cat-eye technique is on point,” Layla lamented. “But I know it’s true. Iamgood. It’s a matter of going for it…and coming up with interesting content that people want to tune into. That guy I told you about, Walker What’s-his-face has followers in Japan, Brazil, Australia, Miami, and…everywhere checking in to see what’s new in Smithton. I mean…I live in Smithton and I barely care what’s happening here.”

I saved my work and pushed away from my computer, sensing that my friend required my time more than my thesis did. Discussing makeup wasn’t my forte, though.

“And whatisnew in Smithton?” I asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.

Layla dropped her phone on her lap and raised a pretend microphone to her mouth. “Tonight’s headline: A family of raccoons broke into the trash bins behind the gymnasium. Mayhem ensued, but the perps are too darn cute, not to mention difficult to catch. Charges have been dropped. This just in…three stalls in the girls’ restroom at Bear Depot were cleaned out of toilet paper. Was it a heist? Is there at TP thief on the loose?”

I snickered. “Is that really the type of news that’s reported?”

“I haven’t checked in a while. My bad. I’ve probably missed a ton of locker room interviews with shirtless hotties. That’s Walker’s usual schtick. And now that we’re at freaking Valentine’s season, he’ll be covering hearts and flowers BS. Bitter much? I know. Jealousy has driven me to convince myself the guy is a hack, but…let’s take a peek, shall we?” Layla tapped on her cell. “I doubt it’ll be as entertaining as a band of lawless raccoons or a ring of TP—oh, my God.”

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t reply, but blood had drained from her face and her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “I…um. Oh, fuck, Mal.”

“You’re scaring me. Did someone die or?—”

She pushed her phone at me, a panicked expression marring her features. I pressed Play and immediately wished I hadn’t.

A bubbly redhead wearing a bowtie and a too-bright smile shuffled papers as he swiveled to the camera. “We love love in Smithton, and we love to give props to our campus lovebirds with our sneaky kiss cam. Thanks for sending in some of your favorite photos. Recognize anyone?”

No, not until a blurry picture of Jett and me kissing near the rink popped up. My hands caressing his face, my eyes closed.

It was a sweet stolen moment that someone had made into a weapon.

Bile rose in my throat as I read the comments.

Is that Jett Erickson?

Who is he with?

That’s a dude.

Is Jett gay? Doesn’t he play hockey?

Did anyone know Jett was queer?

It went on and on.

There were other couples featured in the segment, but every single comment was about the star hockey player…kissing a man. Me. I dropped Layla’s phone on the sofa, too shaken to process the enormity of the situation.

“What can I do?” I whispered.

Layla moved to my side and hugged me fiercely. “Call him. Talk.”

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”