Page 10 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

This would be so much easier if I hadn’t spent my teenage years lying in bed thinking about him, wondering if I wasthatway, and then deciding that yes, I definitely, definitely was.

God, I never should have kissed him then.

Why didn’t it occur to me that one day he might be in the NHL, and I’d be the reporter writing about him?

But I can’t tell anyone the reason why I’m reluctant to take the story. I’m sure they would want to add that salacious detail, and besides the fact I’m sure Jason would hate the story to break, and it would be super uncool of me to share it, I’m alsonot eager to be known as the guy who kissed Jason and turned him vehemently against the concept of same-sex relations.

“I’ll get the story,” I promise.

“Good. I expect a feature,” Rex says. “Homophobia in hockey. Multiple players in the Blizzards are in relationships with men. Some with each other.” He shakes his head in wonder. “But no other player in any other NHL team is out. No other AHL player is out.”

I nod. “On it.”

Rex assigns more tasks to my new colleagues. This will be awkward, but fine. Maybe Jason doesn’t even remember I kissed him. Maybe he wants to complain about the Blizzards, and if so, I’ll be there to record each homophobic word so the public can know exactly who he is.

When I got into reporting, I thought I would be talking about plays on television. This isn’t about the game or strategy though.

I return to my desk and find Jason’s address. Apparently, he just bought an apartment in Seaport, the shiny, swanky side of Boston. I stand up and head for his apartment.

I grab my coat and accessories and hurry from the sleek modern Sports Sphere headquarters. Keyboards click, voices rumble on phones, and sports highlights play constantly on the large screens helpfully dotted around the office floor.

Boston’s chilly air soon assaults me, and I check to make sure my scarf is wrapped as tightly as possible.

God, I’m going to talk to Jason again.

Will he remember me?

Finally, Seaport Luxury Haven looms before me: elegant, imposing, and designed to make people like me feel small. The wind is stronger here, gusts tumbling from the Atlantic.

My apartment building doesn’t compare. It has no lobby, no amenities. Just faded painted wooden floors and the kind of third-floor walk-up that creaks in protest with every step.There’s no elevator, no glint of marble and brass. It’s all chipped paint and drafty windows. I love it anyway. It’s in the North End, and the brick walls inside make me smile every time I see them. I share the apartment with Jeremy, another reporter clawing his way up.

As I wait, I try to avoid the curious glances of well-dressed Bostonians flaunting designer bags and even more expensive designer dogs that look like they’ve just pranced from the Best in Show circuit. I wonder if Jason slept with any of his female neighbors. They move confidently, with rich women confidence, maneuvering the slush and icy surface in their heeled boots with ballerina grace.

I don’t belong here. I should never have allowed myself to crush on Jason. My sixteen-year-old self was ridiculously romantic and outrageously optimistic—and stupid enough to act on my feelings.

But I’m not sixteen anymore.

When the sliding doors open, and a businessman marches out, I don’t hesitate.

I enter the building.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jason

I storm into my apartment, drop my gym bag at the entrance like it’s been contaminated with Ebola, and pretend I didn’t notice the disappointed look from my security guard.

The news is officially out.

Buying an apartment in Seaport Luxury Haven seemed like a good idea when Finn first told me he lived here. He’s a winger like me. Unlike me, he’s on the first line and is pretty much the star of the Blizzards. Evan is still in more magazines—he’s the captain, after all, but Finn dominates social media. He has an active health vlog that’s only gone more viral in the last few months.

Finn married a rookie three days after the guy showed up on the team, even though the general consensus was that Noah did the worst performance of any person new to the NHL.

I joined the NHL from Rhode Island too. Got called up from the AHL and never left.

I didn’t mess up. Not like Noah, who turned up hungover and fell in his first ten seconds on the ice.

Noah is an awesome teammate now. But Finn and Noah are poster boys for same-sex romance, and obviously, I couldn’t continue to go to Finn’s parties after that.