He actually lets out something near a chuckle. “Yeah. Easy.”
“Just no scandals, public affairs, arrests,” Alyssa says, eyeing her phone. “I believe the lawyers are finalizing the terms now.”
“Clearly, they were thinking of you and not me when they wrote these rules,” I tell Spencer.
“I’ll do my best to abide,” he says dryly.
Alyssa smiles softly as she leans back in the chair, glancing between us. “We’ll acknowledge the wedding was impulsive, but say you’ve been together a couple months. Since immediately after Gabriel’s last public fling. How will that work?”
“Makes sense,” Spencer says. “We’ll have to compare our calendars for the last two months to check for any inconsistencies or problems.”
“I already had my assistant do that,” Alyssa says as she looks at her laptop. Her phone buzzes on the table, and when she looks at, she gives Spencer and me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s my quarterback, and he’s got a game tonight. I need to take this.”
Alyssa walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind her, leaving me and Spencer alone again. He looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do with me, but after a sip of coffee, recovers himself.
“A breakfast date isn’t bad.”
He’s a little guarded again. I was hoping he’d stay relaxed after hooking up.
My instinct is to chase him, flirt to get him to unwind. But I need to be guarding myself, too.
If I were young again, and if I thought I was falling in love with Spencer, this is exactly when I would lose my cool and pour my heart out.
If this were a fling, we’d be parting ways.
Instead, I try to settle in for something different, a platonic commitment.
“A breakfast date isn’t bad,” I agree. “No one can be upset about a breakfast date.”
He huffs out a laugh.
“What?”
“Based on the internet lately, I’m sure people will still find a way to be upset about the breakfast date.”
“Who? Homophobic tennis jocks and #NeverGabriel fanatics?”
“My father, for one,” he says. Spencer immediately looks surprised that he said it and drums his fingers on the table. “Lots of people.”
His father is a famous hockey goalie and, from what I can tell, the epitome of a macho jock. “Your father is mad that you came out of the closet?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says coolly, not showing me his emotions. “He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened.”
Anger bubbles up inside me. Spencer is a wonderful man, actually, and I know that his father is his only living parent. If the old jock can’t get over his own homophobia to give his son a call at a time like this, he doesn’t deserve Spencer.
“That’s wrong,” I say, my fists tight as I lean forward on the table. “He should be there for you. If not, he should go to hell.”
Spencer looks at me, frustrated. “Thank you. But do you think it’s that easy? You think I can just tell him to go to hell and get over it, simple as that?”
I wince. “No. I’m sorry.” I realize that he’s just shared something personal with me in his own roundabout Spencer way, but somehow, we’ve gotten back to the tense dynamic again.
With a deep breath, I give it another try.
“That really sucks,” I tell him. “I know a lot of people who have lost family over coming out. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
Finally, he’s stopped looking away.
“Yeah. Thank you, Gabriel.” Spencer smooths down the front of his already smooth shirt. “I appreciate that.”
