Page 7 of Breakout Year

“ Maybe means yes . Let’s go.”

They wound up at a bar in Long Island City that Williams claimed had good beer and a rooftop view.

Inside, people packed onto long benches and shouted to be heard under the pressed tin ceiling.

The group migrated to the bar: Williams, Botts, Vientos, a handful of other bench players and bullpen guys.

Eitan was in the process of leaning all five-ten-ish of himself over to signal for the bartender when he received a look from the guy on the barstool next him, a visual inspection that began at Eitan’s ankles and worked its way up.

A cluster of women had already begun waving to Williams from the other side of the bar.

Botts practically catapulted himself across the room toward them.

Vientos was shaking his head and muttering that Botts needed a little bit of chill, but he followed, displaying his wedding ring as if in deterrence to the group.

Only Williams lingered. “You coming?” he asked Eitan.

“Think I might stick here.”

Williams gave him a look Eitan couldn’t read, a slight narrowing of his eyes punctuated by a glance at the guy on the barstool next to Eitan. Apathy? Disapproval? “Sure, see you around, man.”

Once Williams had cleared out, Eitan turned to the guy. He was lanky—certainly lankier than Eitan—with light hair and dark eyes. Eitan wasn’t quite sure what his type was but this guy might have been close to it. “What’re you drinking?” Eitan asked.

The guy lifted his mostly full beer. It was possible Eitan had misunderstood. “You can buy my next one,” the guy said. Or it was possible Eitan hadn’t misunderstood at all.

A stool opened up, and Eitan sat, accepted his card back along with his beer that tasted like—he took a sip—expensive mouthwash. “I’m Eitan.” He extended a hand.

The guy smiled around his beer. “I know.”

Well, that either made things easier or a lot more complicated. “I don’t get a name?”

“Logan.” Another smile. “Thanks for the future beer.”

Eitan wasn’t sure if there was something he should be saying, an, I like guys, I think signal he should be emitting like some kind of queer echolocation.

“So,” Logan said, after a minute, “you come here often?”

Eitan chuckled, shook his head. “Not sure if you heard, but I’m kinda new in town.”

“How’re you liking New York?”

“It’s loud.”

Logan laughed at that—a nice laugh from what Eitan could hear over the din.

Eitan watched the long line of his throat, the shake in his gym-toned shoulders that looked to be the exact size of Eitan’s hands.

A flick of a thought, a little fluttery thing like the first flame of a campfire in its kindling.

“Yeah, it can get pretty noisy,” Logan said.

“I think there’s a rooftop bar, if you want to check it out.”

For a moment, Logan studied him. Please be gay or at least into men or at least into me . A nervousness Eitan rarely felt even on those first few dates with Kiley.

“Sure,” Logan said, finally, as if he was agreeing to more than a drink at a different location.

Upstairs, the patio was open to a warm summer night. Across the river, Manhattan sparkled. Eitan corralled two chairs around a table.

Logan sat. His chair tipped to one side as if there was a wobble in the leg.

Eitan jumped up. “Here, let me get you a different one.”

“It’s fine.” Said less like it actually was fine and more like Eitan was being ridiculous for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

Eitan sat. Fiddled with the paper napkin wrapped around his beer. Tapped his toe against the floor. Shifted in his chair.

Logan yawned. Somehow, Eitan was fucking this up already. “Sorry,” Logan said, “I’m still on teacher hours and this is way past my bedtime.”

At least that was an opening. Eitan didn’t know much—anything really—about dating men other than he possibly wanted to do it in a way he couldn’t fully articulate to himself, a thrumming energy that sat somewhere between his ribs and his belly.

He didn’t even know if this counted as dating-adjacent.

But he was there, trying. “What grade do you teach?”

Logan’s smile tipped up the corner of his mouth.

Oh he’s good-looking . A thought Eitan had had before about guys in the clubhouse that he’d always put down to aesthetic appreciation.

Different here, sitting up on the roof in a warm summer wind.

“It’s summer school right now,” Logan said.

“Mostly kids who want to avoid repeating a grade, but a few are taking enrichment courses…” And then he was off and going, and all Eitan needed to do was ask the right questions at the right moment.

“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” Logan said after a while.

Eitan glanced down as if the logo on his shirt had suddenly rearranged to say First Time Hitting On A Man. “How so?”

“My ex only talked about himself, but that’s probably why he’s my ex.”

“So you are gay,” Eitan blurted, then attempted to sink through the metal surface of his chair.

The corner of Logan’s mouth—and Eitan didn’t necessarily think he had a thing for lips, but maybe Eitan also didn’t know what he had a thing for generally—pressed inward as if in slight dismay. “Yes,” Logan said simply.

“Oh.” Eitan picked at the napkin that was more and more a wet paper clump. “Uh, good.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem new to this.”

“I’ve never really spent time in New York before,” Eitan said, like he’d simply misunderstood what Logan had meant.

He was new. Apparently obviously so. He’d watched enough porn to know this whole thing he was feeling wasn’t wildly off-base.

He’d been in his message requests folder on Insta long enough to determine that he should never do that again.

He just didn’t know…how to do any of the rest of this or who could answer his approximately one million questions and not immediately rat him out to the press.

His heart didn’t so much sink as capsize.

Logan hummed over his beer—his second beer, that Eitan had gotten him from the rooftop bar—then yawned again. “It’s getting pretty late. I should get going.”

Which could be real or an out. “I’ll walk you to the train,” Eitan offered.

“You’re sweet.” Logan said it in a way that didn’t entirely sound like a compliment, like Eitan had rolled into New York with hay sticking from his hair rather than coming from the second-largest city in Ohio. Which might as well be the same thing.

“If you give me your number, I’ll call you,” Eitan said, but Logan was already peeling himself up from his chair.

They’d only gotten about five feet outside the bar when a flash went off in Eitan’s face. “Fucking hell,” Eitan said. “I should’ve warned you.”

Logan ducked a look around. “What was that?”

Eitan shook his head. “Press.” They weren’t even touching—just two guys who happened to be exiting a bar at the same time.

Eitan could not—would not—do what he wanted to and break Dave’s camera.

Dave was just doing his job, shitty though it might be.

Except Dave had brought friends or competition, judging by the guys milling around next to him.

“I’m gonna go tell them to knock it off,” Eitan said.

“Hey.” Logan tapped his arm. “I can make it to the train. It was really great to meet you. Enjoy New York.”

And he’d already walked off before Eitan realized that he’d never actually gotten his number.

Later, when Eitan was back at his apartment, still too new to think of as home , when he’d drunk his oat milk, listened to ten minutes of his audiobook to decompress, and counted all the ways dating someone might be a series of exciting firsts for Eitan and never-ending media scrutiny for his potential boyfriend—when he’d realized that he’d left his hope for normal back in Cleveland, along with his aspirations for a contract extension and his dream to be loved by his hometown—he took out the card for the modeling agency Isabel had given him and flipped it around a few times.

Reaching out on his own felt terrifying, so he did what he usually did in times of crisis and texted Gabe a call me , not expecting an immediate response.

Eitan’s FaceTime began ringing almost instantly. He clicked to accept the call. Judging by the pillow crease on his face that extended up to his shaved-bald scalp, Gabe must have been asleep. He had two ex-wives who he’d sometimes reconcile with for a while, but neither was in evidence.

“It’s not an emergency,” Eitan said. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

Gabe suppressed a yawn. “Well, I’m awake now.”

“The team offered to set me up with a fake girlfriend from a modeling agency.” Eitan held up the card illustratively.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it.” And before he could lose his nerve, Eitan added, “But I think I’d prefer a fake boyfriend.”