Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(83)

We hold hands and wade through the crowd, because we can do that now—hold hands in public. And while it’s ruined by camera flashes blinding us and people yelling inappropriate questions at us, we’re facing it together like we promised.

It’s not easy—not by a fucking long shot—but it’s out there now, and we just have to deal with it.

Talon and I wake up next to each other knowing whatever comes we’re ready for it. When either of us worry it’s getting too much, the other is there to block tabloid sites and hit us over the head to snap out of it.

Which I might need right now as we step into the safety of the bar and away from the cameras, because I’m freaking out again.

Talon squeezes my hand. “You still with me?”

I nod, unable to form words, which he picks up on and immediately knows I’m lying. Of course.

He pulls me close to him. “What do you need from me? To give you an out, tell you to snap out of it, or hold your hand tighter?”

Talon couldn’t be more perfect. His willingness to give me what I need without hesitation still amazes me, even though it shouldn’t. Talon’s always been like that even when we were just friends. I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Just don’t leave my side.”

“Done. Let’s get this over with.”

As much as I’d like to keep holding his hand, I know it’s not smart. We should ease the guys into this and not throw it in their face.

Approaching the tables with a lump in my throat, I’m thankful Jackson didn’t end up coming with us, because when we’re spotted, the whole group goes silent, and as if sensing the tension in the air, the entire bar seems to quiet down too.

I quickly do a head count, and of the main guys from the team, only about half are here. Fifty-fifty isn’t bad, but it’s not really what I was hoping for. I’ve been hoping one thing we expected would surprise us by being the opposite or not as bad as we’d thought, but nope. Hasn’t happened yet.

“There’s one way to make an entrance,” Talon says and forces a laugh. “We’re gonna go get drinks.”

Talon pulls me by my shirt sleeve toward the bar.

“Chicken out?” I ask.

“Yup. You? You didn’t say anything.”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t Jackson want to come when we’re having so much fun already?”

I snort.

“Okay, I got an idea.” Talon gets the bartender’s attention and orders a shot for everyone back at the group of tables they’ve taken up.

“We’re gonna get them drunk?” I ask. “Because giving angry, testosterone-filled guys liquor might not be the best idea to get them on our side.”

“The way I figure it, they made the effort to come here, so they’re willing to hear us out, at least. We’ll give them a peace offering and tell them we’re still the same guys we were last season.”

It’s a solid plan, but when does my man ever stick to those?

We place the trays of shots down on the tables, and the guys are more welcoming this time, so the first part of the plan works.

But as they go to reach for the drinks, Talon says loudly “Go ahead. Unless you’re scared being attracted to guys is in the alcohol and you might catch it.”

I try not to laugh, and I have to cover my mouth.

A few of the guys pause, and I’m two seconds away from thinking calling them out on their shit is gonna backfire. I give a hopeful glance toward the married guys on the team, but surprising me, DeShawn Jenkins is the first to take a shot.

“Give me as many of these as you want,” he says. “No amount of alcohol will make any of you uglies hot.”

It’s the perfect icebreaker. If anyone doesn’t take a drink, they’re admitting that, with enough alcohol, they could be tempted. I think Talon and I let out simultaneous relieved breaths when the others hold up their drinks before knocking them back.

Talon smiles and crosses his arms. “Good. Is this sorted or do we need to stand here and tell you our whole story?”

“We’ve read the articles and seen the tabloids,” Bell says. “You both like guys and girls but love each other.” He shrugs. “Whatever, man, don’t really care. All I care about is kicking ass on the field again this year.”

There’re shouts of agreements all round.

“Good, because if anyone doesn’t like it, you can all go bitch and moan quietly—or not so quietly—with Henderson and Carter.”

“Hey, what did I do?” a voice yells from somewhere.

We turn and see Carter at the end of one of the tables.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were here. We just figured—”

“I already told Jackson I was sorry for the way I acted last season, and I meant it. We’re all here for football, and I can admit when I’m wrong. I was wrong to think Jackson was using his sexuality as a gimmick, and I sure as fuck know you two aren’t with how much heat you’ve brought on yourselves and the rest of the team. No one willingly does that.”

“Heat?” I ask. The team’s been getting heat from it? I know we’ve been hit pretty hard on Twitter, but I’ve spoken to Damon a few times, and he hasn’t said anything about Warriors’ management worrying too much past ticket sales.