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Ethan
When we reach the bottom of the elevator, a security guard walks us to the private parking garage beneath the hotel. “You’re going to go right out the exit and follow our SUV down the block. Pull up to the curb outside the venue, and their team will take it from there. No detours.” He directs this at Victor with the same cautious precision someone would use to diffuse a bomb.
Forget the Lambos and Ferraris, the overcompensating rich-boy cars. Victor drives agorgeousblack vintage Jag, restored with all custom details. The dashboard looks like a space capsule, full of unlabeled dials and switches, and the engine lets out the smoothest, throatiest growl as we cruise onto the street. I slouch in my seat, watching Victor’s hand work the gear shift and addingruining my chance to enjoy the most beautiful ride in the worldto the man’s list of sins.
We both jump when his phone rings. He yanks it out of his pocket and tosses it at me so unexpectedly I fumble to keep from dropping it. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Answer it.”
“Hello?” I clear my throat, wondering who on earth I’m talking to. When I recognize Gray’s smooth baritone, I flip the call to speakerphone.
“Someone leaked to the public; there are hundreds of people here vying to be the one who posts the first cell phone video of him in six years.”
There’s a moment of silence. Victor’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. When he sees me watching, he flips me off. “So what?”
Gray sighs. “We’re going ahead, but you need to stick to the security guards and do exactly as they tell you.”
Victor snatches the phone from my hand and hangs up. He turns on the radio, even though we’re only driving two more blocks. It’s blasting Katy Perry, but I don’t think he’s listening. Craning my neck, I can see a swarm of people down the street, flashbulbs lighting up the night air. The security SUV inches its way forward, clearing a path to the curb in front of the conference center.
I flinch back in my seat as someone slaps the window. Crowd control is trying its best to manage the unexpected turnout, but people are slipping through the cracks and trying to grab the car.This is insane.He’s a gay icon, the closest thing the sports world has to a rock star, and the source of one of the biggest controversies in sports history. I wonder how many of these people give a shit about Werner and his dating app. But he’s playing the long game; he’ll get a million downloads and another million hate-downloads every time Victor’s face shows up on TV.
The situation gets more and more controlled as we near the center of the crowd, unruly spectators giving way to press cameras and reporters. I spot Werner and an entourage walking into the building. Victor edges the car to the curb and throws it into park. “You scared?” He’s smirking at me. “You seem like a sensitive guy.”
“Are you? You let every single one of these people down.”
“That sounds like a them problem.” He pats my knee. “If you’re looking for my conscience, you’re about ten years too late.”
Someone opens my door and as I unfold from the car there’s awallof sound, so all-encompassing I feel like I’ve stepped into a thunderstorm, shredded by the lightning of camera flashes that keep burning into my retinas until I can hardly get my bearings. I don’t know what to listen to or who to focus on, like I’ve just been let go after spinning in circles. Trying to get my bearings, I look over the roof of the car at Victor’s blond head.
He’s just standing there, stock still, gripping the top of the door. His pale eyes have almost disappeared behind dilated pupils that keep flicking, unfocused, across the crowd like he’s looking for someone or everyone at once. His lips tremble for a second, like he’s trying to breathe.
“Hey,” I snap. He turns to me, blinks. “Get me the hell out of here.”
So quickly I think I imagined the whole thing, he straightens up and flashes that dazzling smile, the one everybody knows, and the energy on the street skyrockets. People in the distance cheer, punctuated by some booing. He puts both fists in the air, grin widening. “I’m back, bitches!”
I stifle my eye roll just in time, remembering that I’m supposed to be in love with this idiot. I offer him a tepid smile as he circles the car. For all his threats, he barely brushes a hand against the small of my back as we climb the steps.
When we pause in front of the photo opportunity halfway up, I wish someone had told me what to do with my hands. We end up with our arms around each other’s shoulders, more like best pals at summer camp than adult lovers, but no one seems to care. They’re all obsessed with Victor, and the flashbulbs surge every time he brushes his hand through his hair or lifts it in a wave. All I can do is remember Mom’s advice—don’t slouch, make eye contact, smile. If she could see me now. She’d probably just laugh. It’s her life’s mission to get me to laugh more often; she says I have a tendency to forget.
I’m still blinking away the lights in my eyes, a fake smile carved on my face, as we enter a huge lobby hung with banners and dotted with reception tables. TV crews jog back and forth between side doors and the conference room, moving their equipment.
Gray appears out of nowhere and gestures for us to follow him. He keeps glancing at Victor uneasily, until the man bugs his eyes out at him. “I’mfine.”
The conference room looks just like what you see on TV—a bunch of chairs facing a raised table in front of aLang Mediabackdrop. Each seat at the table has a microphone, a bottle of water, and a sheet of paper. I pick mine up as a stage hand shuffles me into place at the end of the table, next to Victor. It says “Tanner Faulks” on the top—my pseudonym—along with a few lines printed in the middle of the page.
How did you two meet?
We met through comeVa. On our first date, I actually spilled coffee on him. (Pause for laughter). It was love at first “Oh God, I’m sorry.” (Pause for more laughter)
What’s it like to date a celebrity?
Our relationship is like any other, despite the fame. ComeVa connects people for their personalities and interests, not who they are, and I’ll always be thankful for that.
Smooth.
“You shouldn’t have to say anything,” Gray explains over my shoulder, looking as cool and unhurried as ever. “But if something happens, this is your backup. Werner will come in and make the announcement, then Victor will field a few short questions, softballs.”
I crane my neck to see Victor’s sheet, but he tilts it away from me. “Don’t cheat.” He clears his throat and pretends to read. “‘I’m really a side piece in my boyfriend’s sugar daddy arrangement with my father.’”
