I thank him and promise to get some good sleep before hanging up, full of doubt.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
TROY
Mel and I stand in the empty media department, cleared of employees for the day. There’s a major tech update underway, with new computers half unpacked and another delivery set for tomorrow. We came up an hour ago to print some photos, but we haven’t made it back downstairs to the office yet.
We both hang up calls at the same moment.
“Any movement on the sneaker sponsorship?” she asks immediately.
“No.” I frown. “Red accept the job offer?”
“Yes. And I still haven’t heard a whisper about your man, you’ll be glad to know.”
I clamp my mouth shut. I’ve disappointed my partner by getting us in this mess, and talking things out with her has forced me to continue facing the truth.
I’ve got to get this shit under control. I can’t keep entertaining ridiculous fantasies like I’m some teenager with a crush. I live in reality, and reality says that Orlando and I are a bad idea.
I push a cardboard box aside and sit on the edge of a long table. “How do I help you out?” I ask Mel. “Let me take some of the load. Outside of keeping my distance from Orlando, of course.”
“You can help by figuring out what client we’re going to sign instead of Marshall and Patel. It’s time for some of your jock-whispering talent.”
I grunt. It’s been long enough since we retracted our last offer. The silence has turned us both back toward pessimism.
“If something went wrong,” I tell her, “word about me and Orlando got out, we might lose some clients.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Even if we didn’t lose any clients ,” I continue, “some would probably have a problem with me.”
Mel gives me a sympathetic nod. “Maybe. Probably. Sports aren’t famously gay-friendly.” She considers me. “Outside of the business implications, does that bother you?”
I grunt. “No,” I answer, and in a lot of ways, it doesn’t. People can think whatever the fuck they want about me. I don’t let it change who I am.
But it does make me start wondering who specifically might get weird. And when I think about any nasty comments they might make about me or Orlando, my hands tighten into fists.
“I don’t want any conflict,” I tell her. “That’s all.”
“Maybe you’ll be ready to face conflict like that some day. Maybe you’ll meet a guy and have a relationship, and the cost will be worth it. I just hope you’ll get to do it on your own terms. And if you run into homophobia, the agency will have your back.”
I bristle. The idea that I could be with someone who isn’t Orlando irritates me, but I appreciate the reassurance from Mel.
I wipe my hand over my mouth. “That’s for some other day,” I say brusquely. “Now’s about playing agent during the MLS Cup. And like I told you, I got this. No more risks. I’m not meeting up with him unless it’s strictly necessary.”
There’s no time for weakness or missteps now. Now is the time for decision. It hurts like hell to not see Orlando, but I know it’s what’s right for his game, so I grit my teeth through the burn.
Mel’s phone lights up, and her eyebrows raise before she turns to show it to me.
Marshall’s name flashes across the screen.
With a smile, she answers and puts him on speaker. “Marshall. Good to hear from you. I’m here with Troy.”
I grunt to show my presence.
“We’re all looking forward to watching you pitch tonight,” Mel continues. “What can we do for you?”
“Just calling to confirm that you’ll both be there.”
