Page 51 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

The bubble pops up to show he’s typing, then goes away, then pops up again. A message finally comes through, but it’s not a reply, it’s a PDF attachment. He’d better not be sending a virus to my phone, that would be such a dick move. I decide to risk it and click on the file. It’s titled: VESPER D’AMORE, “WOW, SO YOU’RE A GAY HOCKEY PLAYER?” FAQ. I snort a laugh and scroll to read it.

QUESTION: How does it work? Do you flip a coin to decide who takes it up the ass?

ANSWER: Sometimes, but mostly I spread my legs and bend over like the cock slut I am and squeal like a little piggy when a guy shoves it in.

QUESTION: Do you check out the other guys in the locker room?

ANSWER: No. If I wanted to stare at sweaty, unwashed balls, I’d skip showers and bask in the funk of my own.

QUESTION: Guys though, really? I could never do that.

ANSWER: Cool story, bro. I bet your mom has a lot of nice things to say about you.

My pedaling rhythm falters as I wheeze with laughter reading the FAQ. It definitely confirms what a pain in the ass it would be to tell anyone that I’m bi, at least while I’m playing… maybe ever if they’re going to ask dumb shit like “Don’t you want to have kids?” which is question number six in the PDF.

SHOW: Well, that was… enlightening.

D’AMORE: Happy to help. Hope that cleared a few things up.

SHOW: Ha, yeah, mostly that it’s obviously not worth it to be out.

It’s not until I hit send that I realize that I’m basically coming out to him without actually saying it. My heart pounds with nerves as he types back. He wouldn’t spread that around, would he?

D’AMORE: I wouldn’t say that. It has its downsides, but answering stupid questions and dealing with the occasional dickhead on the ice or in the locker room is better than hiding and living a lie. For me, anyway.

I swallow hard and read his response several times. I don’t know, it seems like a lot of extra bullshit to deal with, but maybe that’s just because I’m already at my limit for bullshit today.

SHOW: Thanks.

D’AMORE: No problem. Good luck…

I “like” the message and finally hop off the stationary bike, feeling the tiniest bit lighter than I did before. Beau is still gone and everything still sucks, but some little part of me feels hopeful. Since I don’t have anyone around to spot me, I avoid the free weights and do a circuit on the machines for a while. A text from Klaussen makes my phone vibrate while I’m in between leg press sets.

KLAUS: Some of us were thinking about getting together at Replay to watch the Huskies play the Magnets, you in?

I close the message without responding. Obviously, I’m going to watch Beau’s game tonight, I’m just not sure I want to do it at a bar with everyone else.

I finish up my workout and get changed back into my street clothes. As soon as I step back out onto the street, my phone vibrates in my pocket again. I pull it out and see Beau’s name and a selfie I took of us after winning a game a couple of years ago, our hair matted down with sweat and massive smiles on both our faces. My heart leaps and I answer the call.

“How was the flight?” I ask, not bothering with a hello.

“Not bad. Quick, at least.”

“Good.” Fuck, I hate how awkward this feels. I grip my phone a little tighter. “How’d the crisis go?”

Beau chuckles. “Quick and painless. I’m pretty sure I’m bi, and I’m fine with that. But also that makes shit complicated as hell and I’m not so sure I want to deal with telling anyone or coming out publicly or anything.”

“Pretty much where I landed too.” I’m not going to ask where that leaves us, because I’m not sure I can deal with the answer right now, no matter what it is. I reach my building and head inside, leaning against the back wall of the elevator once I step on. “Send me a pic?”

He laughs again and a second later, there’s a little ping in my ear letting me know that a new message just came through. I pull the phone away and click on it.

“Dude, why would I want a picture of a generic-ass hotel room?” I snort.

“I don’t know, you said to send a picture, you weren’t specific.” Another second passes and another image comes through. This one is a selfie of Beau with hotel white walls behind him and a crooked half smile tilting his lips. Fuck, I want to kiss him.

I save the picture.

“That’s better.”