Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“News flash, everyone defines everyone. Everyone makes snap judgments when they don’t know you. Especially on the internet.”

“Is it weird I’m okay with them doing it when it comes to hockey or something stupid I might’ve said in a press interview, but when it comes to who I sleep with, I want them all to fuck off?”

I think we’ve all been there, though maybe not at the same level. “That’s understandable, and comments are inevitable, so I get being private about it. But I want to point out that Foster is managing a balance.”

“And what if when I come out, it explodes everywhere, and I can’t rein it back in?”

“And you call me egotistical,” I tease. “Why are you more important than anyone else who’s ever come out in hockey?”

He sighs. “I guess I’m not. But I’m having the best season of my life so far, and sure, it’s still early, but if I do end this season with my highest-scoring record—”

“Duuuuude.” I tap the solid wood coffee table a couple of times.

“Hypothetically—”

“Even hypotheticals are bad juju.”

“Fine. Rephrase. What will happen if I achieve even a remotely decent season, and then I come out? What will everyone focus on?”

I adjust how I’m sitting so I’m facing him. “You have a point, but … what if you come out now and then have the season of your life?”

“They’ll say that coming out was the whole reason I played well because I did it as myself or some bullshit instead of what it’s really from and that’s years of hard work. There’s no winning.”

“I agree it sucks, and please don’t think this is me pressuring you or whatever because I’m not, but can I point out one more teeny-tiny, small thing?”

“Is it your dick?”

“Hey, whoa, below the belt.”

Anton snorts. “Literally. What’s this teeny-tiny point?”

“Ollie, Tripp, Foster … the media doesn’t care about their sexuality anymore. For me, it’s a separate thing. There’s my hockey playing and my antics off the ice. Once the Band-Aid is ripped off, yeah, it’ll sting for a while, but eventually, the attention will fade away.”

“Unless I fuck a different guy every weekend and get photographed with them.”

I scoff. “Please. You could never be a fuckboy like me. To get laid that often you need something called charisma.”

Anton throws a piece of banh khot at me, but I catch it with my mouth.

“Mm, tasty.”

“How did your dad react when you came out?” Anton asks out of nowhere.

For the second time in a few minutes, food gets stuck in my throat. “Hello, random subject change.”

“Not really. We are talking about coming out.”

“We’re talking about you coming out. Not me.”

Anton cocks his head. “What’s with the sudden recoil? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Somewhat of a friendship in amongst all the sex?”

My neck is suddenly itchy, and I’m not hungry anymore.

I shuffle back and lean against the couch. “He’s … traditional. When I go over to Poland to see his family, none of them ever speak of it. For a few years after I came out, they’d still ask if I’d found a woman to settle down with. But even saying all that, they accept me for being gay now. They don’t accept me for other reasons, but that’s a whole other story.”

“I have nothing but time and an understanding for parents who accept you but encourage you to keep your private life to yourself.”

“Are your parents part of the reason you haven’t come out publicly?”

“Yes and no. They love me. They accept me. They took my coming out as well as any gay kid could ask for. But then Dad asked if I was planning to tell the league. And it’s like I can feel it, every time I visit them over the summer, it’s like he’s waiting for me to tell him I’m going to do it, so he cuts me off and reminds me how different it will be and how I’ll be opening myself up for ridicule and embarrassment.”

“Ouch. He said the word ‘embarrassment’?”

“Yep.”

“You said you visit them in the summer? They don’t live in Massachusetts anymore?”

“Nope. Moved to South Carolina a few years back to take care of my grandmother.”

Anton’s sharing, which feels like a step in the right direction, but he’s staring at me like he wants to ask more questions, and this conversation is getting a little too real for me.

I’m the Goldilocks of fuck buddy relationships. I want attention but not too much attention. I want a connection deeper than sex, but I don’t want to get too personal.

I’m being an asshole. I called Anton out earlier for not treating me like a friend, but it’s not like I’m giving him anything real either, am I?

Anton eventually goes back to his food, but I find myself saying, “When I came out, Dad was silent for a minute, and then he said, ‘At least you won’t get some gold-digging whore pregnant like I did.’”