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I look at Tyra. Could the rumours be true?
"I'm gay, Avery." Tyra winks with a grin. "As I said, Ryan and I have a lot in common, including our love of women. The only difference is that he can openly pursue the woman he loves and not be ridiculed. I can't."
"That's ridiculous," I yell outranged. "We live in the twenty-first fucking century. Who gives a flying fuck if you're gay? You are an amazing actress. Do people actually think your sexual preference affects the way you act? That's complete bullshit!"
I cannot get over how stupid this sounds. It's acting, for crying out loud. If an actor can be a doctor, an FBI agent, the queen of England, a fucking superhero, or an alien allergic to green space rocks, what's the difference if they’re gay, straight, or something in between, when the camera stops rolling?
I say as much to Tyra, and she gives me a sad smile.
"I couldn't agree with you more. But my agent has all but flat-out said that if I come out, the roles I usually get offered will dry up. Romantic comedies are my bread and butter. Audiences have difficulty accepting a lesbian actress playing a heterosexual love interest."
"They can suspend their disbelief for a murderous, killer clown with a stupid name like Pennywise, but not for a talented, gay actress playing a woman who loves men?"
"That's pretty much it in a nutshell."
"That's a fucked-up nutshell."
"Tell me about it," Tyra sighs, sipping her water. " I'm here to tell you Ryan loves you. He's a loyal friend and won't tell my secret, so I am telling you for him. He's never stopped loving you, and I hope you will give him another chance. He's never told me why you broke things off, but I think you two belong together. People spend their entire lives looking for their soulmates. You found yours as a teenager. Don't let it go to waste. You're one of the lucky ones.”
6?
Corrosive Agents
Avery
On their road trip, the team wins two of three games, beating Columbus before losing in Washington and then rebounding in New Jersey. They're still first in the Eastern Conference, but Tampa Bay is on our tail. At this point in the season, every single point counts.
It's been three days since the team returned, and besides exchanging pleasantries and being friendly, Ryan and I haven't spoken about anything serious. I hope it stays that way. Pleasantries are my jam. I can be his friend. I can! It has to be this way because I'm terrified if I cross the line between friend and lover, I won't be strong enough to walk away again.
I'm still reeling from my impromptu visit from Tyra Price, who, for the record, is quite possibly the nicest person on the planet. She's filming in Toronto for the next two months and asked if Holly and I would be interested in hanging out.
Holly is ecstatic because she loves to say, "I told you so," and she gets to meet Tyra Price. She's totally fangirling.
Tampa is in town tonight, and Tyra is coming to the game. I guarantee the ladies in the WAG—Wives and Girlfriends—box are going to go apeshit. Tyra and Ryan are maintaining the story that they are friendly exes. The whole situation is confusing and weird to me. I don't understand what the big deal is. Is Hollywood still really that backward that Tyra's sexuality is at odds with her career? I can't wrap my mind around how ludicrous it all sounds.
I was annoyed and surprised when I got a call from Tyra's agent, Randy Johnson this afternoon. He has officially dethroned Candy Kane for the most ridiculous name ever because unlike Candy, who’s actually a police officer named Payton, Randy’s name is real. And the asshole wanted me to sign a non-disclosure agreement about Tyra.
First, I would never "out" someone who didn't want it to be public knowledge. That's Tyra's choice, but from what I gather, this situation is more about her agent and movie executives forcing her to stay firmly in the closet.
I honestly don't understand our society. Gay, straight, bi, pan, trans, it doesn't matter. Your sexuality does not impact how you do your job—or anything else. You're either good at what you do or you're not. And Tyra Price is a phenomenal actress. She's fantastic in romantic comedies, but she's also done some great dramas and even won an Emmy for her role in a TV mini-series about mob bosses.
Unfortunately, we live in a fucked-up world where difference is ridiculed. The NHL is one of the only professional sports leagues that's never had an openly gay player. If you do the math, I'm pretty sure the likelihood of every player being straight is statistically impossible. The league is making baby steps, though. Last summer, a minor league player associated with the Nashville Smash came out as gay, which is a massive step in the right direction, but the LGBTQ2+ community needs a big name to stand up for the cause. Theremustbe gay players, but the league is too close-minded to be that open. One day soon, there will be a first. I am sure of it.
I'm gathering my things and changing for the game when I hear a knock at the door. It's not Holly. She's upstairs with Luke doing their pregame ritual—sex.
When I open the door, Ryan smiles and walks in wearing his game-day suit. A shiver of delight shimmies through my body. He's always worn a suit to perfection, and his navy blue and silver tie makes his blue eyes and dark hair more intense.
"Hey, sorry." He grins guiltily, walking into the living room. "I couldn't take the sex soundtrack anymore. Holly is like a sister to me, and no brother should have to listen to that."
"Pot meet kettle!" I laugh while motioning between us. "Tell that to my brothers, Ryan. I'm pretty sure they got an earful of us once upon a time."
Ryan's eyes grow dark. I know that look, and it never fails to make me hot and bothered. He's making the dick eyes at me, instantly and involuntarily making me lick my lips. "Stop making the dick eyes at me."
"I know what you're thinking," he whispers teasingly, stepping so close that I can smell his aftershave—that damned verbena and mint scent. "We used to have a pregame ritual too. Do you remember?"
How could I forget? I always kissed Ryan for good luck before each game. It was innocent enough at first. Just a peck on the lips, but eventually it turned into blissfully long make-out sessions before each game, but never sex. That was always reserved for afterwards. Ryan was sure that waiting for sex until after the game made him play better. Something about pent-up adrenaline.
Before I can feign ignorance, Ryan leans in and captures my lips with his. My body responds instantly, my arms hooking around his neck, pulling him closer. I should push him away. I should stop this insanity, but I can't. I'm too weak. I've gone too long without Ryan's kisses, and I can't help but give in to this craving.
