by Eden Finley
He leans back in his seat. “We’ve been wanting to do a spotlight on gay athletes in sports, and that article you wrote for us last year about Damon King was a great start. The fact you already have Soren on board has us all excited.”
“I’ve also spoken to Matt Jackson about a possible article on him too.” Sure, it was a passing comment, but he did offer.
Greg’s face lights up. “This could work. We could maybe feature one athlete per month over a few months. Matt Jackson and Ollie Strömberg are clients of King, right? Maybe we could use that connection to get Strömberg too.”
The tips of my ears burn. “Umm, well, I’m sure I could get Ollie too. Uh … as long as you’d be okay with there being a conflict of interest when it comes to me.”
He cocks his head.
“He’s, uh, he’s my boyfriend.”
Greg’s lips quirk. “Impressive.”
I frown. “What is?” Is this guy seriously judging me right now on my ability to get hot guys? I mean, I can totally see his point, but—
“I wouldn’t have guessed that from any of your recent articles about his team. In fact, you were pretty harsh on him in your earlier articles.”
I roll my eyes. “Like I don’t hear that from him enough.”
Greg laughs. “You were harsh but fair. You were right about him getting out from under Boston’s hold.”
“Thank you! That’s what I said.”
He purses his lips. “Can I ask why you haven’t offered up his article?”
“I didn’t want to use our relationship to get ahead.”
“I admire that, but we could really use him. The more gay men in sports are normalized, the more accepting the industry will become.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” My heart won’t stop pounding because having any magazine tell me they want me to write my dream articles is amazing let alone Sports-freaking-Illustrated.
“Here’s the catch,” Greg says.
Of course. Too good to be true. “Catch?”
“You mentioned in your email you’re looking for permanent work. This would be a maximum of a couple of articles over a few months unless closet doors start flying open at a rapid rate.”
“There are always other, less popular sports with gay athletes. I could approach them too and see if anyone’s interested in being featured. I think as long as the articles are positive and factual and paint the lives of gay and lesbian athletes the same way we would any hetero athlete, others will sign up.”
“We’d definitely be interested in those if these first few articles do well. We promise to pay you well for the articles we do run, but if we’re talking a permanent arrangement here, that’s not something we can offer right now.”
“That’s completely fine,” I say quickly. What they’re offering is more than I ever expected, and it’ll give me time to line something else up.
“But, we do have a separate role that might fit what you’re looking for. It’s covering baseball.”
My eyes widen. “Listening.”
“On the West Coast. Based out of L.A.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. Taking a job on the West Coast would mean the end of me and Ollie.
My conscious yells at me that it’s a permanent job, and I’m not exactly in a position to be fussy. And it’s Sports Illustrated for fuck’s sake. Ollie would understand. He’s put his career ahead of everything else for six years.
“You need some time to think about it,” Greg says.
“Yeah. Uh, yeah. I’m not sure about relocating right now.”
“I don’t have to tell you the spot won’t be available for long, but you’ve impressed us, and we want to work with you.”
Greg’s right. I can’t turn it down. This is my foot in the door to one of the most reputable sports magazines in the world.
I nod. “I’ll get back to you by tomorrow.”
“Good man.” Greg stands. “Until then, ask that boyfriend of yours if he’s in.”
So many sex jokes ping in my brain, but I remain professional and only grin like an idiot a little bit.
I shake his hand. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
When I leave his office, I take out my phone and stare at the text Ava sent me a few hours ago. We had lunch last week, and she mentioned a job available with the team.
Ava: I spoke to the GM, and the media job’s yours if you want it. I know it’s not journalism but it’s still in sports.
The Dragons want me. Sports Illustrated wants me. One keeps me in New York and super close to Ollie. The other is something I’ve wanted my entire adult life but sends me across the other side of the country.
I’ve never had a serious relationship before because I keep moving for my job, but I also never felt what I do for Ollie with any of the other guys I’ve dated. It’s been easy to choose my career over them. It’s not so easy when it comes to Ollie.
He’s … everything.
So, do I follow my head or my heart? My head tells me it’s stupid to turn down a promising job for a guy. My heart tells me to stop being greedy in the career department. Sports Illustrated wants my articles. At least three of them and more if I do a good job. And I can still write freelance.
With any luck, more gay athletes will start coming out now, and they’ll want to work with me too after I do these articles.
Fuck, sometimes I wish I wasn’t so rational, because I can’t shake the feeling of possible regret when I turn down the job and then Ollie and I break up.
What if you don’t break up?
Full job security with a company I’ve been chasing for years or a low-paying media job writing fluff for my boyfriend’s hockey team.
Ugh. I sound like a puck bunny. I gasp. I’m Ollie’s puck bunny! I chuckle at myself, because even though I’m joking, I don’t actually mind the sound of that. Moving to L.A. doesn’t feel right. Leaving Ollie would be like leaving my heart here and only taking a shell of a human with me. I’d be taking my dream job but giving up my ultimate fantasy.
Deep down, I believe Ollie walked away with a piece of my heart that very first night in Boston, but is it enough?
I have no idea what to do.
The buzzing atmosphere around the stadium is because it’s game seven in the last round of the Stanley Cup, but there’s another reason adrenaline’s fueling the nerves in the pit of my stomach.
You don’t say to a guy you’ve been officially dating only a few weeks “I gave up my dream job on the off chance you and I work out. No pressure! Wanna fuck?”
L.A. might have the type of sports reporting I always thought I’d do, but New York has important networking connections like Damon and a series of articles that mean so much more to me than following baseball on the West Coast. Plus, it has Ollie, and that’s the real selling point. The more time I spend with him, the more I know the truth—I’m stupidly in love with him.
It took a shot or two of scotch and a phone call to Noah for me to make up my mind. I decided almost immediately that I didn’t want to take the L.A. job, but I wanted someone else to tell me I was doing the right thing. Noah said if it was him he wouldn’t take it because nothing was worth leaving Matt for, but it was different for me because Ollie and I aren’t in love.
When I’d opened my mouth to protest but quickly shut it, he’d said “I think you have your answer.”
He knew I was about to defend Ollie and me, and he was right.
Now I just need to tell Ollie.
Damon used his agent connections and managed to score eleven seats for tonight’s game all together in the family section, and we’re all here to support Soren, even Tommy, after getting his ass handed to him by New Jersey in the last round.
Two teams had two gay players in the playoffs this year. That’s an achievement in itself, and we’re all here to celebrate it.
If New Jersey can secure the win over Vegas, we’ll win two for two in the gay athlete coming out only to go on to win the whole season of their sport
.
Good luck, Soren.
We find our seats, which are situated over three rows, and I’m surprised to find Matt’s teammates sitting there waiting for us. You’d think being a sports reporter, I’d get used to being around athletes, but Marcus Talon isn’t just an athlete. He’s Marcus Talon—a quarterback god. The next Tom Brady.
Ollie does his hovering-by-my-side thing—giving those I want to touch you so badly vibes I still haven’t gotten used to. If I close my eyes, I can imagine him slipping his hand into mine and holding tight.
We still haven’t come out to the world about our relationship, but it’s not like we’re hiding it too hard. And with the news I’m sitting on, it won’t matter who knows about us soon.
We get settled in our seats, but Maddox turns around from his and Damon’s in front. “By the way, we’re going to hit up that new gay bar in the city afterward if anyone’s interested.”
“Oh, thanks, but we can’t,” I say. “We have that thing.”
Ollie frowns. “What thing?”
“That thing where I don’t want to go.”
Everyone laughs.
“I met you in a gay bar,” Noah says, confused.
“Yes, but that was to find a hookup. I no longer need to do that.” My hand reaches for Ollie’s. “Bar means dancing and that’s a whole bucket of nope for me.”
“Hang out with Miller and Talon,” Ollie says. “Don’t think they’re gonna get down in a gay bar.”
Talon and Miller share matching smirks.
“That’s not a challenge you want to set for Talon,” Miller says. “Trust me on that one.”
He doesn’t get a chance to clarify before Jet’s pulling on my arm from beside me.
“You have to come,” he says, almost panicked.
“Uh, why?”
“Just … because. You have to.”
Something in his urgent tone tells me to agree, but I don’t know why yet.
“Umm, okay,” I say. “Apparently, being a friend means doing things you don’t want to, so for you, I’ll go.”
“Yay, you’re learning,” Jet says and throws his arm around my shoulder for a side hug.
Ollie nudges me. “Besides, I’ve never been to one, so you have to do the boyfriendly thing and make sure to keep all the twinks off your man.”
“If they’re groping you on the dance floor, you’re on your own.” That doesn’t stop that stupid warm and fuzzy feeling attacking when he calls himself my man. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.
“Lennon, calm down. Your possessiveness of me is a little extreme.”
“Sorry.” I link my arm with his. “Please don’t dance with anyone else tonight? I can’t take it when guys fawn all over you.” I also throw in some batted eyelashes for good measure.
“That’s better,” he says.
When the game starts, New Jersey doesn’t hold any punches. Literally and figuratively. They’re out for blood and in it to win. They have more to prove than Vegas.
Three fights break out in the first period alone, yet the scoreboard still reads 0 – 0 by the time it ends.
I think all of us are hoping New Jersey takes the Cup. “Maybe if the first NFL team to have a gay player wins the Super Bowl and the first NHL team with one wins the Stanley Cup, more athletes will be willing to come out. Surely, there’s more than Ollie, Soren, and Matt,” I say to no one in particular.
Miller starts choking on his drink, and Coke comes out his nose. Talon playfully pats him on the back with a laugh.
During the break, Ollie leans back in his seat, no longer jumping up every two seconds to yell at the ice.
His arm goes around the back of my chair. “Are you okay? You seem like you’re not really here.”
Damn it. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“It’s hockey, what do you expect?” I try to deflect, because I know he’s right. I’m nervous about telling him I’m staying in New York. Not only that, but I turned down my dream job for him. That’s a lot this soon, right?
God, did I make the right decision?
One look at him, and I know I did, but what if he’s not there yet? Awkward.
He stares at me as if trying to decipher something or work something out, and I’m wondering if it’s written all over my face.
Jet taps me on the shoulder. “Uh, guys.” He points up to the screen where the kiss cam is on. And it’s aimed at me and Ollie.
Fuck.
The game announcer says something about a special request from Caleb Sorensen to make Ollie kiss the nearest boy.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Ollie mutters.
“Umm …” I must look horrified because Ollie’s expression softens.
The crowd, surprisingly, appears encouraging. Well, there’s no booing I can hear, at least. That’s something.
“We don’t have to,” Ollie says. “You’re not ready for everyone to know and—”
I swallow hard and go for it, because I won’t even be working in journalism anymore. Not really. And Sports Illustrated has already said they don’t care if I’m with Ollie. We don’t have to hide.
Our mouths meet, and the arena breaks out into hollers and applause.
It’s probably the most surreal moment of my life.
I wish it was one of those times like in a shitty rom-com movie where the world fades away, and it’s just me and him and love and all that shit, but no. I can’t get past nerdy Lennon kissing a jock in front of sixteen thousand people. And they’re cheering.
Yes, folks, I finally got my shit together. Thanks for the encouragement.
The kiss is brief and PG-rated—I feel only the barest flick of Ollie’s tongue against my lips—and when Ollie pulls away, the kiss cam’s moved on to other people.
Ollie stares at me dumbfounded. “You didn’t have to do that. You’ve probably thrust yourself into the media spotlight.”
“I, umm, have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“I got a job. In New York.” I mumble the next part. “With the Dragons.”
His brow furrows. “Huh?”
As if I had my very own spidey senses, I know everyone in our group is eavesdropping right now.
“Ava wants help in the PR department. She wants someone to write press releases and manage the social media accounts and basically write fluff for the team.”
“But … you’re a journalist. You write stories and articles, not fluff.”
I swallow hard. “Right, but the job’s here.” With you. I fumble over those words and can’t get them out.
“You turned down Sports Illustrated?” Noah asks.
And fuck, I knew there was a reason I should’ve been bothered about them listening in. He’s the only one I’ve told.
Ollie’s face lights up. “Sports Illustrated? You got offered a job with Sports Illustrated? That’s amazing.”
“That job’s in L.A.,” I say.
The excitement from a second ago disappears, and he responds the exact same way I did to the offer. “Oh …”
“I turned it down and accepted the job with Ava.”
Ollie blinks rapidly. “I’m going to ask this very slowly, because I need to know. Did you … I mean, did you turn it down … for me?”
“Fucking duh,” Jet says beside me. “And people say I can be oblivious.”
“Yes?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Ollie asks.
“Telling you. I turned it down. For you. So I could stay in New York. For you.”
He doesn’t tear his gaze away but doesn’t say anything either, not even when the next period starts and the players take to the ice once again.
“You … and you … but you …”
I want to laugh, but I’m too scared to. “It’s too much? It’s too much. Never mind. I’ll get a job somewhere else. I don’t have to work for the Dragons.”
“Too much?” Ollie asks, his tone soft. “Are you
kidding me? It’s everything. Part of me is telling me I don’t deserve it. I … I lo—” His mouth slams shut. “Are you sure? You didn’t want to compromise my career for you, so why do you get to do it for me?”
“It’s completely different. I’d be miserable in L.A. knowing you were back here.”
“We could make it work, and—”
I shake my head. “No. It’d be too hard. And I’m not really compromising anything. Sports Illustrated still wants me to write freelance for them, and actually, they want me to write your coming out article. And Soren’s. They also want me to do an article on Matt.”
I glance over Ollie’s head at Matt.
“I’m in,” Matt says.
“I thought you said you couldn’t write about me if we were together.”
“The editor I’ll be working with has already said he doesn’t care about that. This way, I still get my dream job—writing about gay athletes for a massive publication—but I get to stay in New York. I can travel for other stories during your off-season. I’ll get the best of both worlds.”
He’s still not convinced. “You won’t resent me for you turning it down?”
I understand where he’s coming from, because I was scared of the exact same thing when he came out, but this was completely my decision.
“Even if Sports Illustrated is my dream job, you’re my actual dream. Giving us a real shot is what I want.”
His eyes widen slightly. Oh, God, I’m freaking him out.
“Unless you don’t want that. In which case I’m joking. Ha-ha, I’m hilarious. Ooh, look, hockey!”
He’s on me in an instant. “Fuck, I love you.”
Ollie’s mouth crashes to mine, and this time, the world does fade around me, because the only thing I can focus on are those three little words I’ve never heard directed at me before.
It’s like I conjured this guy from pure wishing, and I don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I’m not going to question it. All I want is for us to be together.
We’re finally pulled apart when the crowd starts screaming. The lamp on New Jersey’s end flashes, and Soren’s being attacked by his teammates with back slaps and glove bumps.
He might’ve just scored the winning goal of the fucking Stanley Cup. Maybe. Could still go either way, but with the lack of score so far and how hard everyone’s fighting for it, I think it’s going to be a low-scoring game.
