Page 75 of I'm Your Guy
JFC, I can’t believe you have to ask. I’m shook. There is only one right kind of lights for a tree.
OMG a test! Okay. I can do this. I’m closing my eyes. I’m picturing you as a child, in front of a New Jersey Christmas tree. You’re eight, and probably already a broody guy. You want a new pair of skates. And you’re staring up at…
…
Colored lights!
Phew! For a second there I thought maybe we couldn’t be friends. Colored lights are the real ones. White ones are for posers.
I happen to agree with you. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to be accused of buying you a string of Dallas / New Jersey / Boston / Portland lights. I’m not a traitor.
Christmas lights are an exception to the rule because if they’re all on one string, they cancel each other out.
Also there’s no major league team in Portland.
Good to know.
I’m playing great hockey. Finally. I feel loose and not all up in my head. Coach is happy with me.
On the jet home, Tate the publicist stands in the aisle and shows us the revised version of the Pride jerseys that he’s ordered. “These are nothing special, but they get the job done,” he says with a grudge in his voice.
He holds one up, just briefly, but I can tell at a glance that it’s much more attractive. The rainbow tie-die effect is rendered in broad horizontal stripes, from red at the shoulders down to purple at the bottom. And the logo is stitched in white on the front.
“I’ll pass these around so you can get a good look,” he says, tossing the shopping bag to Newgate. “Any last-minute notes I’ll need to hear sooner rather than later.” Then he sits down.
When the bag comes to me, I dump it out in my lap. All three jerseys look the same, but they’re in different sizes. And they all look better than that horror show he’d shown us originally. They look great. Carter’s friend Rigo would kill for one of these, right?
That gives me an idea. An evil one.
Sometimes those are the best kind.
* * *
In the airport, I grab my bag off the luggage carousel, hurrying to get home. It’s not that I’m eager to see Carter, I’m just happy to be home.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
As I’m turning toward the exit, Hudson Newgate calls my name, and I’m forced to turn around again.
“Sorry,” he says, looking sheepish. “There’s something wrong with the starter in my car, and it’s in the shop for another day. Could I get a ride home?”
“Yeah, sure. Actually, there’s something I need you to autograph.”
“Aw, buddy. I’m touched, because I thought you weren’t really a fan of mine.”
I snort. “It’s not for me.”
“Figures.”
After we climb into my SUV, I dig through my carryon. “Could you sign this? And also keep it on the down-low?”
He eyes my bag with an amused glance. “I’m kind of afraid to find out what’s in there.”
I pull a jersey out of the bag. It’s the prototype of the tie-dyed Pride jersey. “Kind of stole this,” I admit.
“From the PR guy?” Hudson barks out a laugh. “Why?”
“He had three of them, and I figure he didn’t need them all. And I know a fan who wants to give his husband a signed jersey for Christmas. But these won’t be available till after.” I hand him a Sharpie. “Do you mind signing?”
