“I understand.”
“We can’t kiss,” he continues.
“I know.”
“We have to act like we’re nothing more than two friendshanging out. In the likely event that I get recognized, you might have to step aside while I take photos. There may even be some flirting involved with women we pass.”
“Isaac,” I say firmly, getting him to stop talking, “I understand all of this, and I knew these things, well, not the flirting with women part, but everything else. I knew all of that when I said yes to the date. I understand why you aren’t out and would never do anything to make it appear like we’re more than friends in public. It’s not my place to decide if and when you come out. Only you can make that decision, and I will support you no matter what you decide.”
Isaac breathes a huge sigh of relief as his features soften and his muscles relax. “Thank you. I rarely date for that reason. There are a few private clubs where discretion and privacy are required, but it’s hard to find someone who wants a relationship at one of those clubs. Most of the men are looking for a hookup, nothing more. The last guy I dated lost his shit on me when I told him I wanted to keep things private, and then he threatened to expose me. That was three years ago. I haven’t been on a date since. I hit one of the clubs to take care of my needs then go home alone.”
“That’s terrible. What a jerk for doing that to you. I see why you are worried about today and how things will go with us. No matter what happens between us, you never have to worry about me revealing your secret. Even if things don’t work out.”
“I appreciate you saying that, Evan. From the talks we had last night, I believed you felt that way which is why I was eager to take you out. As the morning went on and my excitement grew, so did my anxiety. Then the voices screaming at me to take you home and not trust you, got a little too loud. You’re not like most guys I meet. I never know if people like me or my status.”
“I’d like you even if you weren’t some football god. That’s just an added bonus,” I tease, causing him to laugh.
“Football god,” he repeats, reverence in his voice. “I like it.”
“I’m not calling you ‘god,’” I deadpan, causing him to laugh even harder.
He sobers and firmly says, “Don’t be so sure about that.”
Aaaand now I’m hard. The smirk on Isaac’s face tells me he knows exactly what he did.
“Payback’s a bitch,” I mumble with a satisfied smirk as Isaac busts out laughing. Challenge accepted.
TWELVE
ISAAC
The area I want to show Evan is more crowded than usual. We drive around for almost fifteen minutes before getting lucky and finding a parking spot in the lot closest to where the food trucks usually park. Thankfully, I did a second pass through the lot as someone was pulling out. I pay at the kiosk then fall in step next to Evan. The September sun beats down on us and I’m grateful I opted for shorts and a T-shirt instead of jeans. It never gets cold in Miami, but at least in the winter months, the humidity isn’t quite as bad.
We walk two blocks north and turn right toward the beaches. As soon as we turn, we are met with a packed street. Several city blocks are barricaded, and vendors are set up along the street. I forgot it was Labor Day weekend and they were having the street festival today. No wonder I had trouble finding a parking space.
“What’s all this?” Evan asks with a look of amazement.
“Street festival. They have it most holiday weekends,” Iexplain. “Do you want to look at some of the booths?” I ask him.
“Absolutely!” Evan takes off toward the one closest to us, weaving through a few people to get a closer look. It takes me a minute to catch up to him because I get stopped twice for photos. When I reach Evan, he is talking to the vendor about some old WWII photograph.
“My dad was a journalist during the war. These are prints of some of the photos he took,” the man explains.
“They’re fantastic. I’ll take these two,” Evan says, handing the prints to the gentleman. “My dad will love them. He’s a history buff, especially anything to do with war and he loves planes.”
“Would you like them framed?”
“No, thank you.”
The man wraps the photos in tissue paper even though they are already in sealed plastic sleeves, then carefully places them in a bag.
“That’ll be thirty dollars. I take cash or cards.”
Evan hands over his credit card and the man completes the transaction. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”
“You, too.” Evan smiles and waves as we start toward the next booth.
“Sorry about that. I had to take a few pictures and sign some autographs.”