Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend 4)

“I don’t want sex,” I blurt.

“Holy shit. That is weird.”

“All I want is to hold your hand, kiss you, and claim you as mine.”

“Aww, Marc. I am yours. Wholly and completely yours. Have been for years.”

We lean over the center console, and our lips come together in a kiss unlike we’ve shared so far. It feels like permanence and a promise to each other.

Miller’s tongue lazily strokes mine in an act of comfort and support. It’s not urgent and needy, and I’m thankful for the tinted windows.

“Fuck,” Miller whispers. “You might not want sex, but I do.”

I chuckle. “Later. You told the guys we’ll meet them.”

“We can blow it off and blow each other instead.”

“As fun as that sounds, we probably should make an appearance. That Lennon guy is there, and we have to make sure we want him to do our interview.”

Something like hesitance crosses Miller’s face. “Right. The interview.”

“Having doubts?”

He forces a smile, and he must forget I know him well enough to know when he’s about to bullshit me.

“Not about us,” he says.

That doesn’t really answer my question.

“Let’s just go talk to this Lennon dude and see if we even gel with him.”

“And if we get photographed going into a gay bar?”

“We follow what Damon says. We don’t admit anything but don’t deny it either. If there are unconfirmed rumors circulating, it’ll make the fallout more cushion-y.”

Miller shakes his head. “I still can’t believe this is a conversation, you know?”

I shrug. “I went through something similar with Moxie, but that was more scheduling outings so we were intentionally photographed to make the world know our relationship was still going strong, even when it wasn’t. It was kinda exhausting.”

“It’ll probably be the same for us once it’s all out. You ready for that?”

Part of me thinks he’s hoping I say no. I squeeze Miller’s hand. “I’m more than ready, because it’s different with you. With her, it felt like an obligation. With you, it’s a necessary evil I’ll gladly do because it means I get to be with you.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

MILLER

Talon and I converge on poor Lennon while the others hit the dance floor. That Soren guy is sitting at our high-top table, but his gaze is firmly planted on Ollie who’s dancing with Jackson’s little brother. The tabloids are pushing for Soren and Ollie to get together, but from what I’ve seen tonight, Ollie and Lennon seem solid. Public I-love-yous give that impression.

While I know Talon and I can’t have that relationship yet, we are taking steps to get there. I keep flip-flopping between wanting to do it and running the other way. We went from knowing this can’t happen to organizing coming-out interviews in what feels like the blink of an eye.

And I don’t know if I’m ready.

But we’re here now, there was no paparazzi outside the bar, and this Lennon guy is right in front of us.

“Hey.” I push a drink in front of him. “For you.”

His eyes widen behind thick-rimmed glasses. “Thank you.”

“So, the Sports Illustrated thing,” Talon says. “That’s cool.”

Lennon’s face lights up. “It’s been my dream to write these kinds of articles ever since becoming a reporter, and it’s awesome they’re letting me do these editorial pieces. It’s a brand-new avenue for the magazine. They’re going to be more personal and call out industry problems when it comes to LGBTQ players, so it’s an honor to be involved.”

Score one for Lennon.

Talon and I share a glance.

I nod. “It’s important, that’s for sure.”

Lennon’s eyes get a sad shine to them. “Matt said what’s been going on with the team behind his back. It’s annoying it’s still an issue.”

“Yup.” My throat goes dry, because it’s one of those things, isn’t it? It’s something we’re supposed to accept, but it’s a hard pill to swallow. To be with the person I love, I have to take measures to make sure I don’t lose my job over it.

And until the meeting we had with Damon, I hadn’t thought of everything else to consider either—like the Warriors’ ticket sales. They were steady this past year after Jackson came out, but we had a really good season. What will happen when the news gets out that we not only play for the same team, but we … play for the same team, so to speak?

Lennon stares at me as if he said something, but I’d tuned out.

“Sorry, what?”

“How’s your recovery going?”

I go to answer when I think better of it. “Off the record?”

“That bad? I promise it’s off the record. I technically don’t have a job right now. Well, I do, but it’s for Ollie’s team doing press releases. The Sports Illustrated gig is freelance, and it’s restricted to queer men in sports, so you’re safe.” He winks.

“I, uh, well, yeah …”

He must confuse my stammering for a recovery issue. Not the second thing. “I’m sorry. It must suck not playing. Do you think you’ll be ready for the season?”