Page 124 of I'm Your Guy
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” My phone pings in my pocket, and I pull it out. I read the text and then laugh. “You guys—can I choose our destination? You’re not going to want to miss this.”
* * *
By the time we maneuver through the post-game carmaggedon, a half hour has passed. And when we arrive at Sportsballs, the place is packed, with the whole crowd facing toward the back corner, where a lineup of hockey players has arranged themselves at high-top tables.
Every queer sports fan in the Denver metro area has formed a line waiting to meet them.
“Wow,” Buck says as we take in the queue of fans snaking around the bar, waiting to talk to the hockey players. “This is epic! I’m gonna get more signatures on my jersey.”
“Do we get a beer first? Or do we get in line?” Rigo wonders aloud.
I raise my hand. “One vote for beer. My treat. We can drink while we wait.”
“Oh no, he didn’t,” Buck says, pulling his credit card out of his pocket. “Best night of my life. Your money is no good here.”
“Hey!” Rigo yelps. “I thought our wedding night was at the top of your list.”
“Second best!” Buck calls over his shoulder.
Rigo shakes his head. “The Cougars’ publicist should get a raise for this.”
“Why?”
Rigo waves a hand. “Look how happy these fans are? The guys on the team need to see this. It’s an antidote to all those nasty comments on Twitter.”
I stiffen. “What comments? Is it bad?”
“Same old crap. Lots of the f-word. Lots of complaints that sports teams shouldn’t be—” He makes finger quotes. “—‘political.’ The world is full of trolls, and they’re willing to say anything. The more vile, the better. But you already knew that.”
My heart sags anyway. “A guy came out, and then he won a fucking game. What more could they want?”
Rigo shrugs. “They want to make their tiny penises look bigger, Carter. And putting us down is sure to do the trick.”
I’ve been alive long enough to know that he’s right, but I wonder if Tommaso saw all those comments, and I wonder how much that hurt.
Buck comes back with three beers and a big grin. “Drink up, boys! Let’s get me some autographs.”
We join the line, and I sip my beer. Sportsballs is loud and joyful. They’re already replaying tonight’s game on all the TVs. If I had to bet, that game will play on a continuous loop in this bar for the foreseeable future.
When the crowd shifts, I spot Tommaso’s dark head bent over something he’s signing. Then he lifts his handsome face and shakes the hand of the hockey fan in front of him.
That’s my guy. I can’t help thinking it, even if it’s not quite true.
But I want it to be.
Just as I’m forming this thought, Tommaso raises his eyes. I see the moment he finds me in the crowd, his gaze locking onto mine.
And then he smiles—and it’s that same unguarded smile I used to get first thing in the morning. The one that’s just for me.
Come here, he mouths, and I hear it in a sex voice inside my head.
Yes sir. Coming sir.
Tommaso beckons to me, as if I haven’t understood. But I have. I’m just too busy experiencing an honest-to-god sexual reaction right here in the middle of a sports bar.
“Ooh! Carter has been summoned.” Rigo cackles. “Go get it, boy. I’ll hold your beer.”
I glance around the crowded room, wondering if it’s even possible to cut the line without being shanked. Word must have gotten out about tonight’s famous visitors, because the doors keep opening to admit more fans to join the line.
