Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
As soon as we hit the red carpet, Noah works the media like being in the limelight is just another day for him. He’s casual and his charming smile never falls. I’m convinced I look like a deer in the headlights. These aren’t paparazzi. This is full-blown professional press outlets. My palms still sweat, but Noah doesn’t acknowledge that. He holds my hand tighter, and it grounds me.
Once we’re inside, Damon ushers me over to my PR rep, who proceeds to introduce me around to some people who I should know but don’t. They look at me as if I’m the worst gay person ever. One, a guy named Neil, is the head of the National LGBTQ Network who’s hosting the event, so in retrospect, I should know him.
“We’re so glad you could make it tonight,” he says. “Having you here, supporting us—”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
I know it’s an honor being recognized and appreciated at something like this, but more people start to converge, and I feel like I’m on the spot.
“What’s it like being the first out player in the NFL?” a woman asks.
“Uh, I wouldn’t know. I’m technically not part of the league right now.”
Everyone seems to purse their lips in unison, and their thoughts are clear as day on their faces. They practically scream the unfairness of it all.
“Do you think being gay will affect your chances of playing football again?” Neil asks, but it’s not as intrusive as if a journalist asked. He comes across as concerned more than anything else but also somehow threatening. Like if I were to say yes, he’d sic the gay mafia onto the league. The thought alone has me wanting to laugh, but instead, I’m frozen by the weight of the question.
“There are non-discriminatory laws in place, so it shouldn’t,” I say diplomatically.
“But that doesn’t mean it won’t,” another man says.
I pull on my bowtie that suddenly feels too tight around my throat. “I, uh, didn’t exactly come out in the most … umm … gracious way. I was let go on a morality clause.”
There’s a few awkward laughs, and I tell myself them being entertained at my expense is better than them thinking the same way as the Bulldogs—that I deserved to be let go because of what I did in that club.
“What does society expect when you’re forced to hide who you are?” Neil says, and I decide I like him, even if I’m uncomfortable with this whole conversation.
“If you all just came out, it wouldn’t be a big deal,” the woman says, and I grit my teeth. By all, I assume she means athletes, but I don’t want to ask for clarification.
Noah’s in my line of sight but just out of reach. I try to send a telepathic message asking him to come rescue me, but apparently, I haven’t developed superpowers in the last few hours.
Dang it.
As everyone continues to be determined to talk to me, and I’m introduced to more people I should know, it becomes torturous being so close to Noah but apart. We get no time together. We’re both passed between groups of society’s high elite. Everyone wants to talk to Noah about his father, and I’m bombarded with more questions about being an out football player, and by the end of it, I realize I’ve become the very person I feared I would when I was outed. I’m not seen here as Matt Jackson—football player. I’m Matt Jackson—gay football player. None of my teammates are ever introduced as “that married football player” or “the hetero football player.”
My eyes continue to track Noah through the room as he moves from important person to even more important person. Noah naked is one thing, but Noah in a tux? I almost like it more.
Almost.
By the tenth time I’m stopped by someone I don’t know and forced to talk about my public outing, I’m tempted to drink my ass off. That won’t look good in front of the press, so I stay stone cold sober and hate every minute of it.
The only reassuring factor is knowing that I’ll be in Noah’s bed tonight, hopefully doing unspeakable things to him. Or him to me. Really, whichever. I don’t care. I thought after our Skype session he’d be eager to get inside me, but even during his visit to Philly, where he drove two hours just to fuck me, he chickened out. Not that I protested much. I was worried if I pushed the issue it’d end up with neither of us getting any.
When I finally pull myself away from people by faking needing to go to the bathroom, Maddox finds me hiding in the corner.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“I keep trying to find your boyfriend to ask if I can go home yet.”
“I’d go with you in a heartbeat. Damon’s schmoozing.”