Page 23 of I'm Your Guy
“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “We’re using odorless primer and paint, and I’ll have a fan going. You won’t have any trouble with the air quality.”
“Thanks,” I’d muttered before peeling my eyes off his backside as he bent over to straighten the cloth. “I’m from New Jersey, remember? We don’t worry too much about air quality.”
“Naturally.”
God, I’d been flirting. So that’s when I’d made myself walk toward the door. “Thanks for this.”
“No problem, Jersey.”
The nickname had made me smirk.
“I’m expecting a helper at any minute,” he’d said. “We should make a lot of headway by the time you’re back from work. But it’s still a two-day job.”
“No problem.”
I’d gotten into my car and driven away. But my mind didn’t make the trip with me. So when the lights finally come on in the video room, I can’t even remember which clips we’ve just watched.
“Don’t get up just yet, boys,” Coach says. “Your teammate needs a moment of your time before you head home.”
Hudson Newgate stands up and faces the room.
“Wait,” Stoney asks. “Is this about Girl Scout cookies? My nutritionist is asking me to cut back on sugar. She says I need to develop some willpower. So if Jordyn is selling thin mints again, imma have to step out of the room.”
Newgate snorts. “You’re safe until February, Stoney. But her Brooklyn troop is still singing your praises from last year.”
“Hang on.” Ted Kapski, our team captain, raises his hand. “Stoney—you’re cutting out sugar. But didn’t I just see you drink a Frappuccino?” He points at the big cup on the table in front of my teammate.
“That’s coffee,” my teammate sputters. “Don’t mess with a man’s caffeine supply.”
Kapski rolls his eyes. “Right. What was I even thinking? Go ahead, Newgate.”
Newgate crosses his arms and smiles at us. “I just want to say up front that you guys have been incredible these last few months, since Gavin and Jordyn moved to Colorado to be with me. I’d been really worried about coming out, but you’ve made us feel welcome.”
“Damn straight!” Stoney calls out.
“Nice choice of words, dingus,” someone hoots.
“Dingus is a slur,” Stoney says testily. “I don’t feel safe right now.”
Someone throws a napkin at him.
Newgate ignores them. “This is just a head’s up. Today I let management know that I intend to come out publicly during the holidays.”
If my brain had a soundtrack, there would be a loud record scratch right about now. Newgate is going to do what?
“The publicity department has been ready with their statement for months. But I liked the idea of letting some time go by before I made any kind of public acknowledgment. And I don’t want to hold a press conference, because that implies that my personal life is newsworthy, when it shouldn’t be.”
Our coach claps from the first row of seats. “Hear, hear.”
“Someday, a queer dude in sports won’t be the kind of thing people hold press conferences about.” Hudson shrugs. “So I’ve chosen a talented hockey journalist, and I’ll give her an exclusive interview. She’ll write her story, and that will be that. Any questions?”
Volkov—our big Russian goalie—raises his hand, and then asks a question in heavily accented English. “How bad do I fuck up first guy who is dick about this?”
“That’s my question, too,” someone else calls out.
Hudson is already shaking his head. “Don’t overthink this, guys. Anyone who trolls me isn’t worth our attention. Besides—this isn’t going to be a big deal. I bet nobody cares.”
My stomach drops, because he’s wrong. People care. A lot.
