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“All right.” I incline my head in agreement. “When do we start?”
“In a month,” Sal says with a smile. “October first will be the premier.”
“Who’s the bachelor?” I ask, already thinking of the food we can prepare for the show.
“London is.” As soon as the words leave Sal’s mouth, I immediately shift my attention in London’s direction.
He jumps like a startled kid, and asks, “I’m what?”
“I’d like you to be the bachelor, and I have a special request. More of a preference, really.” Sal shrugs.
“Okay?” London drags out the word like a question, seeming nervous.
“There’s a rumor out there that you swing both ways.”
London’s eyebrows shoot up, almost reaching his hairline. “I’m not—”
“No one cares.” Sal interrupts, dismissing his concerns with a wave of his hand.
“The league cares,” he objects vehemently. “The guys on the circuit care.”
“You’re retired, London,” Sal reminds him.
“Yeah, and?” London snaps, directing his attention to me.
“I promise you—no one cares.” Sal approaches him, clapping a reassuring hand on his back. “We’d like to have both men and women vying for your attention.”
He looks panicked as he volleys his gaze between the pair of us.
“London, we don’t care who you are,” I say kindly, squeezing his shoulder.
“I’m not sure what people will think.” Now he just seems deflated.
“Fuck them,” Sal counters. “Anyone who has a problem with you isn’t worth your time.”
“I agree,” I encourage him.
London hangs his head for a moment before addressing us. “I’ll do it,” he reluctantly concedes, “but the moment it becomes an issue, I’m done.”
“Perfect.” Sal grins. “I’ll be in touch. And we’ll be at the party tomorrow.”
“See ya.” I wave him off, and then notice that London has his head down again. “London?”
“I’m really worried about what people will think.” He lifts his eyes to me, true wariness evident in his gaze.
“They’ll think you’re awesome,” I tell him honestly.
He chuckles. “You’re biased.”
“I am, but I promise we’ll have your back, no matter what.”
“I’m done,” Snow says as she enters the kitchen and sits at the table.
“Almost done. We’ll eat and then we go.” I start on breakfast, and London appears relieved to not be in the hot seat.
I know I’m right—no one will care.
