Gabriel shrugs his jacket off. “Easy, right? There’s an event photographer, but those photos are just for Fox and his husband Owen’s personal collection. And we’re supposed to call Alyssa?”
I pull out my phone. “She and Fox were working on something together, but she was still arranging details this afternoon.” When I hit her name, she answers immediately with her video on.
“Great tie,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“You’re at the party?”
I turn the video to show her, and Gabriel waves. “Hi, Alyssa.”
“Gabriel,” she says. “Looking sharp as usual.”
I turn her back to me. Alyssa is in the back of the car and wearing a red dress with a high neckline.
“Formal event this evening?”
“Ballet,” she says. “It was a long one. And I’ve got your assignment.”
“Please.”
“You know Evo Starshine, the pop star?”
“Not really, but sure.”
“Evo is going to take a picture with you, Gabriel, Everett, Everett’s husband, and Fox and his husband Owen. It will go on Evo’s social media, and we’ll make sure it goes viral. It’s cleared with everyone’s teams.Rolling Stonewill buy the exclusive rights to a second photo that Evo will also take at the same time.”
Gabriel’s arm goes over my shoulder, surprising me. “Damn. Do you know that you’re very good at your job?” he asks her.
“Yes, I do,” she says pleasantly. “This little audience-building exercise will be a good boost for all of you.” She raises her eyebrows. “Oh. Pardon me, but that is a handsome man who just walked behind you.”
I glance discretely over my shoulder, seeing the tall, heavily tattooed man.
“That’s Domingo,” Gabriel says. “You met his husband, Marco, atLive & Late.”
“Marco. Right,” she says. “I liked him. I looked him up later. He’s got quite the career, but horrible PR. I wonder if he would consider changing up his team.”
“I could ask him,” Gabriel offers.
Alyssa squints at her phone. “Shit. Sorry. I have to take this call. Find Everett and the pop star! Take your photo!” she says before hanging up.
Gabriel finally pulls his arm away. “A photo with a pop star, huh? We can swing that.”
Except my mind is still working over one detail. I’m so used to avoiding Everett, the only out gay tennis player, until recently at least. My instincts tell me to flee whenever he’s around, not to track him down and take a photo with him.
Not to mention there are only a handful of people in the world at our level of tennis. We’ve been rivaling each other for top spots for years.
But if our PR teams have all decided we need a friendly photo together, I can be adult enough to put those feelings aside. It makes sense for our careers to take advantage of this moment, and I do like the message it sends to the public.
I am an out gay athlete now, and this solidifies the fact that Everett and I support each other.
Anyway, this is Gabriel’s world I’m mixing in tonight. I want to make a good impression on his behalf and to show up for him the ways I think he’s been trying to show up for me.
“Are we still bourbon men?” Gabriel asks me.
“We’re still bourbon men,” I agree, and he turns to find the bar.
While he’s gone, I pull up a picture of this pop star. He’s twenty, often dressed in metallic clothes, and his long, straight hair seems to be a different color in every photo. When I read that he’s known for his romantic songs, the PR stunt makes a slight bit more sense.
