Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Nine [Liam]

"Easy for you to say, when everyone there looks like you already," Mack spits out.

It all registers in the lucid background of my mind. It's a technique that spawned from years of practice. It's quite easy after a few tries too. I can listen to everything without letting it take up the front and center position of my brain, leaving plenty of room for my mental ramblings of the utmost importance.

"Okay, hold up," Gus squeaks, clapping his hands together. "I'm not saying representation isn't important, because, girlfriend, I know. I just think it's totally unnecessary to make it the focus of it all. Like, I get the man was black, but that's not why he was a great president, and people shouldn't reference him as 'the only black president' all the time."

"He was the only black president, though," Chloe speaks evenly.

"I think I get Gus's point," Nat says in that ever-so-reasonable, peace-making tone that I know drives Mack crazy.

Normally, I would've shot her a knowing grin, relishing in the sight of my oldest friend holding in the eye roll with headache-inducing levels of effort. But something far too distracting happens a few tables over, in the belly of the hockey elite, where the loud dark-haired left winger — I've been doing my research on ice hockey positions — tries to steal Eli Blake's beanie. Eli grabs his wrist before the crime can unfold, twisting his teammate's arm to press him down against the table.

The uproar around them indicates this sort of reaction is not only appropriate, in their hockey-numbed brains, but admirable. Because boys will be boys, I guess.

Personally, I just like how it throws the muscles in Eli's arms into delectable relief past the short sleeves of his t-shirt. Especially that one hard line of his triceps. I would be lying if I said my brain didn't take me to some really interesting places, thinking how else he could use those arms to pin people down over tables. Maybe against a wall. Or a window...

"...great president because he was smart and competent, not just because of the historical implications his election had on this country. He's more than just a symbol, he's a person who was great at his job, because he worked for it," Nat's voice tunes back in, eloquent and rational.

I mean, call me a jerk, but it's kind of a turn-off.

"Exactly! Thank you." Gus's arms wave frantically in my peripheral vision as I watch Eli let go of his teammate, before they both share a bro hand-bump moment and sit back down.

"But he is a symbol," Mack insists. Over her head, I watch Eli adjust the beanie on his head, tucking a few strands of caramel-brown hair in and pulling a few others out. "Pointing it out is important too. The only people who have a problem with highlighting representation are the ones who've never been under-represented."

"Excuse me," Gus shrieks, and that brings me out of my sweet trance for just a second. I shoot him a sideways glance, past Chloe, to see him take a dramatic hand to his chest. "You think I've never been under-represented?"

"Oh, please." Mack rolls her eyes. "The media is bursting at the seams with representation of white queer men these days."

"I beg to differ."

"Beg all you want, it's still true."

I zero in on the hockey table again, watching the wonder trio — Owen Holmes and his ever-loyal sidekicks — engage in their usual quiet lunchtime conversation. The edges of Eli's lips twitch upward when Dean Miller seems to use his fork as a miniature stick and a tater tot as a makeshift puck to demonstrate... something hockey-ish.

"You're lecturing my gay ass on oppressed minorities?" Gus raises his voice. "Have you forgotten you're white, rich and cis?"

That brings me into the conversation mentally for just a second. Because Gus is also white, rich and cis. And I'm sure that's what Mack would've shot back at him, if Natalie hadn't spoken instead.