Page 123 of I'm Your Guy
He blinks. “Great game tonight, DiCosta. Thanks for your time.”
When he walks away, I sit on the bench in front of my stall and shove my feet into my shoes.
Tate threads his way through the crowd, and I brace myself for a question about that interview. But that’s not why he’s here.
“DiCosta, Hessler—I got a bus outside. It’s leaving in five minutes for the afterparty,” Tate says. “I need as many guys on it as possible.”
“Where’s the party?” Hessler asks.
“A gay bar called Sportsballs,” Tate says. “They had a huge crowd tonight for the game. I called over there and said we’d swing by for an hour of beer and autographs.”
“Sportsballs?” Hessler laughs. “Okay, I gotta see this place.”
“DiCosta?” Tate says, flashing his teeth at me. “I think you should come with us. It’ll be good for your image.”
Well, crap. “Yeah, maybe…” What if Carter is waiting for me outside? I want to see him so bad.
“Maybe nothing,” Tate says. “Get your ass on that bus. And I hope you realize that the Trenton game is only two days from now. We never officially said no to the photo op. I still think you should do it.”
This again. “I’ll get on the bus to the bar. But the Trenton game could be a goddamn disaster.”
“You let me worry about that,” Tate says firmly. “Focus on tonight. I need hockey players signing autographs at a gay bar, and I need it now.”
“File that under things I never expected to hear a publicist say,” Coach Powers says, buttoning his jacket. “Where’s this bus? There’ll be beer, right?”
“You know it,” Tate says. “Right this way.”
I reach for my phone and text Carter. You’ll never guess where I’m going…
FORTY-FOUR
Carter
Mrs. DiCosta moves slowly, so it takes us a long time to get to the car that’s waiting outside for her. After I help her find the sedan in the taxi line, I open one of the back doors for her, like a valet. “It was great meeting you. I had a great time tonight. And thank you for explaining the icing rule.”
She laughs. Then she lunges, pulling me into a hug. “It was amazing to meet you! Maybe you should come by for breakfast tomorrow. Do you like waffles? The DiCostas make really good waffles.”
I stop myself from blurting that I’m familiar with those waffles. “That’s a really nice offer, but I’m not sure where I’ll be tomorrow.”
She stands back, patting my arm. “Well, I’ll get Tommy to text you about it, anyway. I have a feeling I’ll see you again sometime soon.”
“Absolutely,” I say, hoping she’s right. “I’m so glad you made it out to Denver. I can tell how close you two are.”
“Are we, though?” she asks, her face turning sad. “I used to think so. But my boy has been suffering, and I couldn’t see it.”
I don’t know what to say, because I think that’s true. But I also think Mrs. DiCosta is a hall-of-fame kind of mom.
Before I can answer, the driver rolls down his window and glares at us. “We going any time soon?”
Tommaso’s mother rolls her eyes and then climbs into the car. “Good night, Carter. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Good night and be well.” I close the door and watch the car slide off into the night. Then I turn around and head back to find Rigo and Buck. I’d promised to have a drink with the two of them, and they’d promised to help me figure out my next move.
I find them leaning against the door, their blue face-paint smeared. Buck is a little drunk, and Rigo—the designated driver—is merely high on life.
“You’re staying with us tonight,” Buck says sloppily.
“We’ll figure out your life tomorrow,” Rigo says. “Over lunch.”
