“You’re just allergic to fun. I can’t believe I got you to go.”
She’s right. I don’t do much, and when I do, it’s stuff that the old me didn’t care much about—like going out or finding a woman to fuck.
Haven pulls on her G-string, then her tiny black dress.
I grab a black suit from the closet, get dressed, and soonwe’re sliding into the back seat of a luxury sedan, her driver behind the steering wheel.
Haven is a self-made millionaire who’s married to her job even more than I am, which works for me. Don’t get me wrong, she knows how to have fun, but between that and always being on the go, I have no idea when she sleeps.
“Kismet just opened a couple of months ago,” she tells me, “but it’s already making a name for itself.”
“Art galleries make names for themselves?”
She swats my thigh. “Yes, asshole.”
“What does one do at a party at an art gallery?”
“Drink and socialize. Be nice, or I’ll have Leon drop you off right here.”
I chuckle, then immediately feel guilty for letting myself enjoy something. Still, I manage to hide the weight bearing down on me. “That’s not the threat you think it is.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll just blow you to see if that helps your mood.”
Leon laughs from the front seat. From what she’s told me, Leon has been her driver and friend for years, and there’s no one she trusts more.
She doesn’t blow me, though, and that would likely be a step too far for me even in my current wannabe-bad-boy era.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up at the gallery in the Arts District in Downtown LA.
“Have a good night.” Leon smirks at me. “See you next time, Mr. King.”
We’re not leaving together tonight. Haven has a flight to New York after midnight, so Leon will take her to the airport, and I’ll get myself back home. I’m hoping that means she won’t want to stay out late, but knowing Haven, she won’t leave until the last minute.
The gallery is on the bottom floor of a large warehouse. Iwonder if it has roof access… I’d much rather be up there tonight than in a room full of people. The collar on my shirt already feels too tight, and I slip my mask further into place—the mask of the guy who doesn’t care about anything other than football and having a good time. It’s what everyone wants. They don’t want to see me grieving. They want me to be nothing but the Hunter King they’ve always known. I’d do anything to get back to being him too, and not feel so empty all the time.
I place my hand on the small of Haven’s back as she shows the doorman our tickets.
She’s the one the media, fans, and football VIPs would like me to be with. They were never happy about my relationship with Ellis, but when you’re good, that’s all that matters, and I’ve always been good. But Haven is safer in the controlled bubble the league has tried to create. It makes it easier for them to forget I’m queer.
Not far into the gallery, we’re stopped by a man holding a tray with champagne glasses. “Would you like a drink?”
“Thank you,” I say, taking one for me and one for Haven, before we begin to shmooze.
She’s good at it. I am too, when I want to be. It’s something Coach Blake taught me—how to play the game, how to give people what they want, how to say all the right things. He tried so hard to mold me into a mini version of himself because he wanted me to succeed. Ellis was always there for me in that way too because their world was so far from my experience that I often struggled with it. But I don’t anymore. No one would know how much I hate being here, the way I feel like I’m suffocating, that it all feels so fucking fake and useless that it takes everything inside me not to scream for some kind of release.
I finish my champagne, then grab another. We walkaround the gallery, looking at art, Haven speaking to everyone we run across.
They all know who I am too, that’s nothing new. I’m the bisexual running back who was drafted openly queer, spent the first few years breaking records, then lost my boyfriend, and shit’s gone downhill since.
“You going to take us all the way this season?” one of the women Haven is speaking with asks me, and I give her my famous smile.
“Oh, you can count on it.”
“That’s what we want to hear.” She reaches over and touches my arm.
We talk for a while before the women excuse themselves, leaving me alone with Haven.
“You should hook up with her. She wants to fuck you.”
