Dex snorts.
“Okay, the real deal is Dex wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to commit because a wedding seemed like a huge thing. He wanted to get a practice run out of the way, but we didn’t know the chapel filed the paperwork. Dex—uh, we thought we had to file it …”
And with every word of the story, Damon’s face morphs from concerned and slightly pissed-off agent to someone who’s trying not to laugh.
When I finish, he takes a moment to compose himself.
I turn to Dex. “He takes my career seriously, I swear.”
Damon waves me off. “The only reason I’m laughing is because this is easy to deal with. Do the year. Get divorced, don’t get divorced … just … play the game, and you’ll be fine.”
“W-what if I’m not completely comfortable with the game?” Dex asks. “I’m a straight guy pretending to be in love with Tripp. It’s … disrespectful.”
My heart pangs as much as I try to ignore it. Even though it is what it is and he could never love me for real, it doesn’t mean hearing it gets any easier.
Damon’s focus darts between the two of us, and then he folds his arms. “Question. Do you love Tripp?”
“What?” Dex shrieks.
“Wow. This doesn’t feel like grade school or anything.”
“I don’t mean romantically,” Damon says. “I’ve seen you guys on the ice, the countless articles about your friendship. You at least love him platonically, don’t you?”
“Of course. He’s …” Dex’s puppy dog eyes meet mine. “He’s everything to me. One of the most important people in my life.”
Urg. I didn’t sign up to be tortured today, thanks.
Damon points. “That. Right there. Tap into that, and you’ll be fine. I’m not going to stand here and give you a lecture about what’s right and what’s wrong, why you did it, or why you can’t get a quickie divorce like anyone else because I could go on hour-long tangents about being in the spotlight and getting situations twisted. Being in the public eye is one of the toughest challenges athletes have to face because people tend to forget they’re human first and foremost. Mistakes are made all the time. The key is to get on top of something that could blow up your careers, your fan base, and squash it before it becomes problematic. Okay?”
Dex relaxes, just a fraction. “Are you sure your client roster is full? I’m a whole lot more at ease now.”
“I’m not here to poach anyone,” Damon says. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Or my partner. He thought he was ‘straight’ until he met me too.” He winks at Dex.
Dex’s mouth drops, but before he has the chance to say anything, Damon opens the door to the conference room and lets the others in.
“We’re ready to go over this.”
We all take a seat, and they run over what we’re doing here. Out Magazine wants to do a feature on us along with a series of photos of us on the ice in our jerseys and jeans, and then afterward, what they call “tasteful skin” shots.
I don’t know if they mean we’re going to be practically naked, fully naked, or they’re going to cover our skin in bacon seasoning.
I can read the subtext that Damon and Graham aren’t saying in front of Russel: we need this to look legit. A magazine feature that showcases how real this is will go a long way toward shutting up anyone who doubts us. The problem is Dex and him selling it when he doesn’t think he can.
When I side-eye him, trying to assess how he’ll handle it all, his expression is closed off. I hate when I can’t read him.
I put my hand on his upper arm. “Hey. If this is too much, we won’t do it.”
“It’s not the photoshoot that scares me. It’s the interview. I’m known for saying stupid things. What if I mess it up?”
“Russel and I will both be there to make sure they know what they are and are not allowed to print,” Damon says. “It’s better doing it this way than an on-air interview.”
Graham nods. “Precisely why we chose this magazine.”
There’s a knock on the glass door, and the receptionist pops her head in. “They’re here.”
“Great,” Graham says. “Send them in. Oh, and get my intern to show the photographer where to set up.”
We all stand to meet the interviewer, Sid Baez—the guy who always covers sports for Out—and his assistant.
Dex has turned mute—not the best time for that to happen, so reflexively, when we sit down, I reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. When I try to take it back, his other hand seals on top of mine.
Sid’s smile is easy as he takes his seat. “How’s married life treating you?”
I blanch. “Getting straight into it, huh?”
“That was actually just a conversational question, but hey, if you want it on the record, we can do that.”
“Oh.” I swallow my tongue. “In that case, it’s good.”
Sid’s still smiling as he says, “Oh, fun. One-word answers look great in articles.”
“Sorry. Umm …” Wow, is this how Dex feels when reporters ask him questions he doesn’t know how to answer?
“New tactic,” Sid says. “Let’s start from the top. When did you two meet?”
Dex beats me to answer, hands tightening painfully around mine. “We’d played against each other a handful of times when Tripp played for Colorado. I remember hearing the news he’d been traded to Vegas, and I was relieved he’d be guarding our net. He wouldn’t let me get a shot past him when we went head-to-head.”
I remember walking into a new arena, with a new team, and Dex practically crash-tackling me into a hug. “I think I might have fallen in love with him a little the day I first entered the Vegas locker room. He made me feel welcome. Like I was needed.”
“That was three years ago,” Sid says. “When did everything change for you two?”
“We were immediate best friends.” I swallow hard. “And I had feelings for him for a long time, but I never said anything because he’d only dated women before.”
“Ah, yes. Up until recently, you were dating Jessica Cox?” Sid locks eyes on Dex.
“I was. She, uh …”
Uh-oh. His first stumble.
“She helped me through my confusing feelings for Tripp,” he says.
“Are you saying she turned you gay?”
Damon cuts in. “Nope. New direction, please.”
“Sorry, I’ll rephrase. How did she help you?”