I answer quietly, feeling my cheeks flush, “Yeah, that’s me. Do you watch football? Wait…I should probably ask your name.”
He winks. "Yeah, I think that might be a nice thing to do. I'm Paul. And yes, we gays do watch football. Who doesn't love watching hot, sweaty, straight men tackle each other? Yum."
I laugh. He's ridiculous, and I kind of love it. Knowing he thinks I'm straight helps me relax. While Paul rambles, the rest of the group finds a spot near the bar. We head over.
After five vodka sodas, I don’t stop talking. I bounce from person to person, rambling about Harry Potter theories, my obsession with The Office, and how unfair it is that we can’t draft ourselves in fantasy football. Eventually, I land on Marcus.
Just as I’m about to start talking about this candle-making kit I saw on Amazon, Marcus cuts in: “So, I got some news. Ormaybenews. Coach pulled me aside and said he sees a future for me here. Said I’ll likely make the final roster if I keep working hard.”
I grin. “Well, this is the perfect place to break the news; next round’s on you, Mr. Big Shot.” I lean in, still buzzing. “Not to steal your thunder, but Coach said something similar to me. This could be big. Are we both about to make the final roster for the Hawks? If so, the league better watch out.”
When I woke up this morning, I never thought I'd be at a gay bar celebrating with Marcus. We clink shot glasses just as Paul appears out of nowhere, yelling, "More!"
Marcus and I laugh. I ask Paul, “You mean one more shot?”
“Nope,” he says without hesitation. “We’re doing two. This is a celebration.”
“Celebrating what?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” he grins, “but we’re doing them anyway.”
After two more shots, Marcus explains what we’re celebrating. Paul tries to push for a third, but Marcus shuts that down. Then he whispers that he needs to pee, which makes me giggle. Why whisper that like it’s a secret?
By 10 p.m., the bar is packed. The rest of the group decides to head out, but Paul pulls me aside.
“Any chance you’ll stay and be my wingman? HavingtheCarter Elliot with me: broad shoulders, clean-shaven, perfect hair; would really help."
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I say yes without thinking. I wave the others off and head to the bar with Paul for one more drink. I’m eight drinks deep and didn’t eat dinner, so my lips are loose.
I keep pointing out guys. “Is that your type? What about him? Or him?”
Paul whispers, “Shut the fuck up. The third guy? That’s my type.”
I giggle as he stumbles over to a nerdy, stumpy-looking guy. Definitely not my type, but thank God it’s his. I was getting nervous he might be into me, and I really just want a new friend. My entire social life revolves around football. I need more friends outside of football.
Within a few minutes, a tall, broad-shouldered man makes his way over to the man Paul is chatting with. Paul mutters something, clearly mortified, then stumbles back toward me.
“He has a boyfriend,” he says, flushed and looking defeated.
I just nod. I’ve been there. More times than I care to count.
Eventually, the red drains from his face. Before I can say anything, Paul changes the subject: “So, Mr. Football Star, what’s it like being famous? Girls drool over you daily, right?”
The question catches me off guard. I hesitate. Lying has gotten hard with age and alcohol. And man, the confidence just seeps out of Paul. Being around someone like that makes me feel braver.
“I’ve had a few experiences with women,” I admit. “But…they weren’t great.”
Paul claps a hand to his heart. “Oh, honey. You’ll find a girl who wants you for you. Gotta weed out those Jersey Chasers.”
I laugh, but he doesn't know the real reason. I'm not into girls. And for some reason, maybe the drinks, maybe the setting, I just say it: “I’m gay!”
It comes out louder than I meant, and Paul’s eyes dart around. Thankfully, no one heard.
"Wow," he says, surprised. "Not what I expected. I mean, it's a total stereotype, but you do not read as gay. You seem like a borderline alcoholic jock."
I laugh. “Well, I’m very gay. Always have been. I didn’t think I’d make a new friend tonight…let alone come out to him.”
“I’m honored,” Paul grins. “Didn’t expect a jacked football player to out himself to me either.”
