Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
There I am splashed all over Sporting World News staring at Ollie next to me in the press box like he hung the damn moon. I look love struck, Ollie looks smug, and that means we’re both completely screwed.
I only catch the headline Strömberg Switching Teams? when my phone starts vibrating with another incoming call.
Kevin.
“Hawkins,” I say into the phone, my voice thick from sleep and worry.
“He’s gay, isn’t he?”
My stomach sinks, and I want to vomit. “What are you talking about?”
Do you really think playing dumb will get you out of this?
“We just need confirmation, man. The article’s already written and ready to go.”
“You can’t do that!” I bolt from the bed and start pacing until pain shoots through my foot and I remember my stupid ankle.
“Why not?” Kevin asks.
“You can’t out someone. Harry won’t go for it. We’re not that type of magazine. Do not print that article.”
“He practically outed himself with the shit he pulled last night.”
I knew sitting with me in the press box was a dumb idea.
My legs give way, and I land my ass on the end of the bed.
Ollie’s going to hate me. Six years he’s played professional hockey. He hid a relationship for four of those, and one night after we get together, his news is all over the damn internet.
“Besides,” Kevin says, “Harry’s already signed off on it.”
“Well, he’s not going to get it from me.”
“What the fuck, Lennon? Is this some sort of us against you people thing?”
You people? I want to scream, but I don’t have a voice.
“Just confirm yes or no.”
“No,” I rasp.
“No as in it’s not true, or no as in you won’t confirm?”
“If Harry runs that story, he can expect my resignation in his inbox within the hour of him publishing it. That’s all I have to say.” I hit the end call button and resist the urge to throw my phone across the room.
I bite back a sob. Not for me—I can worry about what this means for my job later—but for Ollie. This is the one thing he didn’t want—to be thrown out of the closet the same way Matt was. He wanted to do it on his own terms, but I somehow came along and screwed that up without even trying.
I stay perched on the end of the bed, but I can’t bring myself to look at my phone anymore.
This is it. This is all I’m going to get from Ollie. A couple of nights of smoking hot sex, a connection I’ve never felt before, and what I’m sure is going to result in a broken heart when he tells me he never wants to see my face again.
The shower turns off, and I can’t catch my breath. The second Ollie steps out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, his smile drops. There’s no mistaking the guilt written all over me. I think it’s coming out of my pores.
All I can do as I contemplate Ollie hating me is beg. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
OLLIE
My first thought is something has happened to Lennon’s parents or his family or something, but he’s apologizing to me. Why would he need to do that if—
“What happened?” I ask, more frantic than I intend. My mind jumps to the worst conclusions, all of which involve him and his stupid magazine.
“There was a photo,” he whispers. He can’t even look at me.
“Photo?” I croak.
Images of Matt Jackson getting a blowjob flood my mind before I shake them away. I haven’t done anything in public.
“What kind of photo?” I say cautiously.
“Of you and me.”
“No, I was careful. I’m always careful.”
Ask Ash. He was constantly bitching at the lack of PDA.
The treehouse springs to mind, but paparazzi wouldn’t have been able to see in, and that’s if they even knew where my parents lived and if they had a reason to follow me. Which they don’t.
Lennon still refuses to give me eye contact. “The game. The press box.”
“All we did was talk.”
“People are already speculating, and the photo … I look half in love with you, for fuck’s sake.”
“Only half?” I mock.
There has to be some mistake. They can’t come to the gay conclusion just because I sat next to Lennon during the game.
Lennon thrusts his phone in my direction, and it’s open to an article about me supposedly switching teams. And he has a point. The way he’s looking at me … hell, it makes me fall for him even more.
I’m not sure I’m ready for what that means though, and the way my heart beats erratically in my chest, I know I can’t deal with this right now.
That doesn’t stop me from reading the article.
I huff. “Babe, did you actually read this article?”
He lifts his head. “No, but—”
“One of the guys near us in the press box must’ve seen us being close or whatever and figured I was asking questions about being a journalist. It speculates I’m leaving hockey for journalism.” I give his phone back to him to let him read. “Apparently, I only set off gaydars of the queer variety.”