I siton the couch in the hotel room, scrolling through social media on my laptop. Normally, I try to stay off the internet. Fans love to speculate about upcoming tennis matches and talk strategy, and the hot takes can mess with my head.
Ever since the brunch date, though, I’ve been caving to curiosity a few times a day.
Thankfully, the photo op worked like magic. The initial shock and scandal of our wedding photos has passed, and the general tone of the conversation has shifted. We look sweet together, apparently, and I’m surprised to find a lot of people rooting for us.
Although there’s still ample hate. I scroll past the homophobic crap mainly from the sports fans as fast as I can. They’ve decided that my game has always been bad, but I won’t let that shake me. I know I’m the same athlete I was before all of this.
But the homophobia does sting when I glance at it, and it reminds me yet again that my father has failed to pick up my phone calls.
Just as often, though, I find myself upset by the cruel comments directed toward Gabriel.
They talk like he’s played me, manipulated me, or that he’s destined to betray me. They act like I’m a powerless, horny closet case and he’s a two-faced seducer, only looking for sex. And the explicit biphobia is out of control, people sneering that he’s “decided” to be gay after all, even tying his promiscuity to his sexuality.
It makes me mad as hell.
Even if Gabriel had led the way of the seduction in Vegas, I know that I wouldn’t go along with something I didn’t want. And just as firmly, I know that Gabriel isn’t a player. Not like that. He’s been straightforward about who he is and what he wants from the start, including the fact that he—like me—was never looking for a committed relationship.
I throw the phone aside. It’s been two days since brunch. The photos worked so well, we’ve been avoiding any other headlines, wanting the new story about us to take hold. Thank god because it means I’ve actually been able to focus on training, despite the constant distractions.
There’s almost always a crowd outside the hotel now, and even on the short walk from the car to my trainer’s private gym, someone always recognizes me.
The pressure around my game is building, too. Every sports and tennis magazine has an article about me and what they expect this year. When the season starts up again, I’m not only going to be Spencer Wilchins, rising tennis star and son of the hockey great. I’m going to be a gay professional athlete, and the scrutiny will be more intense than ever.
A knock on the front door pulls me from my thoughts. I walk over, answering in my sweats and a T-shirt, and am surprised to find Gabriel there instead of hotel staff.
“Hey. Come in,” I say, stepping aside.
As he brushes past, relief washes through me. Gabriel is at the heart of my current problems, but he’s also one of the best allies I have at the moment. We’re a team now.
And there was something undeniably nice about the way he treated me at brunch. He navigated the press with all his suave confidence, and I felt safe with him. He’s cocky, but he had my interests in mind. He seemed to genuinely care about my comfort, maybe similar to how I catch myself caring about his happiness, too.
Marriage is a head trip.
He slings his jacket over his shoulder. “Productive day at the tennis courts?”
“As good as any,” I say, shutting the door. “Still trying to push my serve to the next level. What brings you over? Don’t tell me there’s another scandal already.”
He chuckles as he makes his way to the mini bar. “Can’t I just stop by to visit my husband after a long day at the studio?” He turns to look at me. “Just kidding. I’ve got some notes ahead ofLive & Late. You want a drink to ease the pain?”
I tighten my brow. “Is it that bad?”
“Not at all.” He pulls out a fizzy water. “Start with bubbly?”
He’s acting charming, all casual smiles, and it does help relax me.
And the man is easy on the eyes. I can’t deny that any longer.
Now that I’ve had sex again, it seems like my cock is finding it much more difficult to behave. The part of me that I had tried to shut down is awake.
I swallow. “Bubbly water would be great.”
Gabriel opens and pours it into two glasses. “Fox sent Alyssa my outfit for the evening to clear it by her. Apparently she helps dress you?” He hands me a glass. “I usually dress myself.”
I clink my glass with his. “I can tell.”
Gabriel laughs. “You don’t pick out your own sweats?"
“I dress myself. But I use Alyssa’s suit guy for my formal events,” I explain. “I grew up going to galas, remember? I know how to style an outfit.” I eye him. “What will you be wearing? A vint—”
