Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Derek walked in a few minutes later with serious bedhead and a sappy looking smile that faded slightly when he saw me.
“Oh. Hi. I didn’t know you were home. Don’t you have practice?” he asked.
“Done for the day. I got home fifteen minutes ago.”
“Oh.” His face went bright red.
I held up a cup just as he was about to turn around. “Want water?”
“Uh…yeah. Thanks.” He licked his lips nervously and leaned against the counter. “I heard about that YouTube thing you’re doing with Mitch. Is that the secret project you’ve been talking about?”
I gave myself a mental pep talk as I handed him a water bottle. Derek was cool, and apparently he was going through the same thing as me. I could do this now.
“Yeah,” I grunted. Lame.
“How’s it going? I haven’t watched any of it, but Chels said you guys look like a very convincing couple.”
“It’s going well. Um…how’s Gabe?”
“Gabe? He’s fine. Why?”
I shrugged. “No reason. Want to play Mortal Kombat? We’re up to part five. We gotta keep going.”
“Yeah, sure.”
We exchanged guarded smiles, then headed for the living room. So much for coming out.
There was a huge difference between fifty followers and three hundred and fifty thousand. Who knew? I had to be one of the last holdouts when it came to social media immersion. I checked a couple of sites once a day and looked at pictures my friends tagged me in. And the only YouTube videos I’d watched had something to do with football or extreme sports, featuring daredevil maneuvers even I wouldn’t attempt. I didn’t post much myself, so it didn’t occur to me to think about who was virtually engaged in my everyday life. Until now.
The buzz grew daily. My meager following exploded overnight. Strangers from all over the world commented on GIFs and photos I’d posted months ago and asked invasive and sometimes inappropriate questions about my relationship with Mitch. How often did we have sex? Did I like giving or receiving blowjobs? Who topped whom? You know, the usual. When a cousin in Italy asked my dad if I was gay, I knew it was a matter of time before one of my teammates or friends asked what the hell I was doing. And because everything happens at the speed of light on the internet, I didn’t have to wait long.
Jonesie cornered me in the locker room after practice the following week.
“What’s with that YouTube thing? I heard you’re playing gay for a real gay dude’s online TV pilot.”
“TV pilot?” I repeated with an eye roll. This was how rumors got started.
“Yeah. My sister said some of those social media dorks make big bucks in advertising. It’s a clever idea, but I don’t know about the gay stuff. Does your girlfriend know?” he asked, pulling his T-shirt over his head.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Jonesie.”
He frowned. “I thought things were getting heavy with you and Nicole.”
“You thought wrong. As far as the YouTube stuff goes…you’re supposed to subscribe to his channel and vote. Is it real? Yes or no?”
“I vote no.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause I’ve seen you with Nicole.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t seen her since—”
“Yesterday at Christian’s barbeque,” he intercepted. “She was all over you, and you fuckin’ loved it.”
Only part of that statement was true. I’d promised Christian I’d swing by his place for an end of season pool party. I’d stayed for a beer and a burger and spent most of the time swapping stories with my teammates. Nicole had been there, and yeah, she was a little handsy and clingy. I’d been friendly but not overly so. I took a few selfies with her and some friends and got the fuck out.
“Wrong again, Jonesie.”
“She said you’re going with her to that fund raiser Saturday.”
“I said I’d go. I didn’t say I’d go with her,” I corrected.
“Hmph. Playin’ it cool. I get it. Whatever. You’re one of us. You play football. You’re not queer, dude.” He made the universal “yuck” face, then hollered across the room. “Hey, what do you guys think? Is di Angelo a fruitcake? Raise your hand if you vote yes.”
The room broke out into a mostly good-natured debate about my sexuality. I was torn between being irate at the personal invasion to sweating bullets. I could come clean here and now. I knew locker room etiquette better than most of these idiots. Taking offense was the worst thing I could do. I had to put together a decent speech, but my brain wasn’t working. And I wasn’t good at talking about my feelings on the best days. Christian was better at this stuff than me, I mused, glancing over at our quarterback.
Christian met my gaze, then looked away. I couldn’t read him, but he didn’t look happy. He was either offended on my behalf or pissed that we’d devolved to sophomoric levels of idiocy. Yes, I had an opportunity to speak out, but this atmosphere was too much like the one I remembered in high school. And something in Christian’s eyes reminded me of Graham.