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“I’ll drink to that,” I say as Nate whispers something to his husband. Something I can’t make out.
I lift a hand to signal the server who’s circling by. After she takes our orders I thank her, then hand her my credit card. “This round’s on me,” I tell the guys.
“Because you had a better date?” Tanner asks when she leaves, still sounding wary.
“Nah, because I want to,” I say.
“Thanks, man,” Tanner says, no barbs, no trash talk.
I pat his shoulder. “Anytime.”
Then I squeeze it again. Well, it’s nice and firm. Very grippable and all.
When I let go, Nate’s smiling at me like he’s won the Super Bowl. Again.
I wiggle my fingers at him. “’Fess up.”
“I have an idea,” he says, all Cheshire cat.
“What is it?” Tanner asks, cautious but clearly curious.
“A surefire way for each of you to have a great date,” Nate continues, like a salesman about to close a deal.
Hunter smiles devilishly. “It’s rather brilliant, if you ask me.”
Oh, the games married dudes play.
I cross my arms, giving them an I’m waiting look.
Nate draws a deep breath. “Remington, since you missed the San Francisco players’ auction last fall, you can make up for it this weekend at the summer auction.”
I stare at him bug-eyed. “Dude, I am making up for it. I’m emceeing the event,” I remind him. When the organizers asked me to emcee, I jumped at the chance so fast. I’m not a rookie, but the city still sees me as the new guy. Understandably. But chances like this can help establish me as the go-to guy, the quarterback who’ll be around. I just signed with a new agent and I’m eager to chat with him about going after an early contract extension for me, so I’ve been taking the initiative to raise my profile any way I can. “What are you getting at?”
Tanner leans forward. “Yeah, I’d like to know too, since I’m in the auction.”
Nate’s grin grows impossibly wider. “Exactly. This weekend is like a do-over.”
Even though I didn’t make it to that auction in the fall, I heard all about it. Some hot dude in a suit bid a pretty penny on Tanner, since he was in California then, and entered at the last minute.
Earlier this year, we were all here at Gin Joint, recapping the event. Tanner had said he went out with the guy and it was “nice.”
“Nice? It was nice? That sounds soooo promising,” I’d teased. “For fifteen thousand dollars, I bet he wanted more than a nice date.”
“And maybe nice is a euphemism,” Tanner had said, and it felt a little like a taunt. Pointed at me.
“Well, I like nice dates too then,” I’d said, taking the bait.
Tanner surprised me with his next words: “Maybe next time, come out and bid more than fifteen thousand.”
For a few seconds, I’d been floored. For a few more, I’d imagined bidding on him. But then I’d forced myself to stop that train of thought from going down the dating tracks.
Tanner was joking. I was sure he’d been joking. That’s what we do. We rib each other. We poke and we prod. Like he did last week at Rapture. That I dare you to dance is proof. Tanner lives to dare me. I live to show him I won’t back down.
I won’t back down from Nate’s comment either. I turn to the married guys and ask, “What are the Mr. and Mr. getting at? What’s this do-over?”
“At the players’ auction Friday night,” he says, pointing to me, “you should bid on Tanner.”
I scoff.
Tanner scoffs harder.
They’re nuts. And it’s not because I’m the emcee. It’s because I can’t bid on my friend. I can’t go on a date with my friend. Friendship is sacred. Friendship means everything to me.
Nate crosses his arms, smiles slyly, and goes for the kill. “I dare you.”
3
A TRIPLE WIN
Tanner
I’ve never known Luke to back down from a dare. Not the time over poker last year when I dared him to put his whole fist in his mouth.
Nor the time in Los Angeles a couple summers ago when we went to an agency party, and I dared him to play valet. Well, that was practically a favor for him. Luke loves fast cars, so he snagged a valet jacket, and since he wasn’t a starter then or easily recognizable, he parked a few Jags, Beemers, and even a McLaren, dubbing the last one his hot new boyfriend.
“Someday, when I stop warming the bench, I’m going to get one of these bad boys and drive the fuck out of it,” he’d declared, after he’d stepped out of the sleek red ride.
“How do you make everything sound sexual?” I’d asked.
“It’s my special skill,” he’d replied.
Truer words.
But this dare? To bid on me at the auction?
It hits a little too close to home. Too close to the thoughts that swirled briefly through my head at Rapture.
