When sunlight begins to peek through the blinds, I groan and pick up my phone. Already close to seven and sleep eluded me most of the night. Today is going to be miserable. I hope I can stay awake. We don’t have any concerts this weekend and the season opener is still a couple of weeks away. Maybe I can leave a little early and get some rest. Damn Mike for getting inside my head again. And damn me for allowing it to happen.
SIX
ISAAC
The parking lot at Club Tango is almost full and there is a line for the valet. Instead of waiting in line, I choose to self-park. I don’t want to be here, but I promised Tyson and the guys I’d join them one night before the season starts. We have less than two weeks, so it’s time to make good on my word. I drove so I’ll have an excuse to not drink. As long as I stay sober, I can sneak off when the others get wasted and start pairing off with their random hookups.
After putting the car in park, I lean my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes.
“You can do this. It’s one night then you’re off the hook until February,” I give myself a little pep talk. “Go inside. Pretend to flirt with a few girls then call it a night.”
Slowly, I open the car door and climb out, dragging my feet to the door. It’s only nine-thirty and the line to get in is around the corner. Thankful for small favors, I pass the line and walk up to the door guy. He sees me coming and movesthe velvet rope blocking the VIP entrance. Perks of being a Dolphins’ player.
“Hey, man, good to see you,” he greets as I pass. I’ve known Damien for a few years. I don’t go out much, but this is always our first stop and often the only one.
“What’s up?” I respond with a quick handshake as I pass.
Music blasts from every corner of the large room. The club is mostly dark with neon lights illuminating the dance floor. On the left side is a huge bar that spans the room from one wall to the other. Between the bar and dance floor are a few tables scattered around and private booths line the wall. Upstairs are the VIP suites, several smaller rooms with floor to ceiling windows, so those inside can hear and see what’s happening in the club. The walkway outside of the suites wraps around the entire upstairs and the center in open so you can look over the railing onto the dance floor.
I make my way up to our regular suite, the one Tyson has reserved for every Friday night of the year, whether we use it or not. I don’t know how much he pays to keep it on reserve, but it’s worth it. Once inside the room, it’s a little quieter. The room is decked out in high-end leather couches and chairs, a few tables, a bar with personal bartender, and a private bathroom.
When I walk in, I find several guys from the team are here along with some groupies. That might not be the right word, but these are girls who don’t care anything about football and probably don’t know the difference between a football and a baseball. They are here for the money and status. They don’t come to any games, but they always find their way to Club Tango on Friday night and end up in our suite. Tyson talks shit about a few of them even though he’s hooked up with most of them and currently has a scantily dressed girl on each arm. He’s smiling and laughing, laying on the charm.
“No, shit, you did show up.” Tyson lets go of the girls when he spots me, making his way over. He claps me on the back. “What are you drinking?”
“Water. I’m driving.”
“You’re driving? Why didn’t you call for a car?”
“Yeah, Old Man,” Carter adds, joining our conversation. “You can’t come to the land of plenty,” he continues, spreading his arms to indicate all the girls around the room, “and not have a few drinks. Come on, it will loosen you up then maybe we can get you laid for once.”
“I do fine on my own,” I growl.
“Yeah, but your hand must be getting tired.” I glare at Carter, the little asshole, ready to make some asinine comment back, but Tyson steps in.
“Enough, Carter. Give the boy a break.” At Tyson’s words, Carter shrugs and steps away, following a girl in a short, pink skirt, and I meanshort. I can see her ass cheeks hanging out the bottom and she is definitely not wearing underwear.
By the time I face Tyson, Carter already has an arm wrapped around Pink Skirt. “I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.”
“I get it, but thanks for gracing us with your presence, oh mighty Old Man.”
“Bitch.”
Tyson laughs. “Come on, let’s get you something resembling a drink, so no one gives you shit for the rest of the week.”
“Or season.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
I follow Tyson to the bar, and he orders himself a beer and a shot of tequila and me a club soda with a lime. Tyson is the only one on the team who knows I’m gay. He talks to me about girls and pretends he’s always trying to get melaid in an effort to keep my secret. I tried to keep it from him, but I was struggling with my sexuality and being new to the team at such a young age. Tyson took me out to dinner one day a couple of weeks after practice started to make sure I was doing alright. I confided in him that night that I was struggling being on my own for the first time and I was a little homesick. He didn’t make fun of me or tell anyone else. Over the next few months, we built a strong friendship, and I started trusting him. Eventually, I told him the truth. He supported me and told me he’d keep my secret. For the past six years, he’s made good on that promise.
“Here you go.” Tyson hands me my drink then downs his shot of tequila before picking up his beer and motioning for me to follow him. He leads me to a small table with two chairs away from everyone else. The table is in the corner near the bathroom and rarely gets used. I don’t come often, but it’s basically the same night with most of the same girls every time I’m here. These boys need to branch out a little.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, while Tyson sips his beer and I watch the crowd gathering in the room. More guys from the team show up and a few have girls with them.
“I know this isn’t your scene, but I’m glad you’re here,” Tyson breaks the silence.
“Yeah,” is all I manage to say. How do I respond to him? He’s right, this isn’t my scene. The loud techno and dance music, the drunk girls, having to hide who I am – sometimes it’s all too much. It’s the reason I don’t like to come out. Keeping my secret is easier when I stick to playing football and going home.