Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (5 page)

“
I know,” I say. “But I’m not out at work yet, and I don’t want all the attention. People would ask questions about how you were drafted, you know?” I feel him shift away from me. I know what he’s thinking. “You made it on your own. But people will talk.”

His ears come up. His nose brushes my cheek. “Okay.” He takes his phone out, thumbs a number, and puts it to his ear. “Hi, Fish.”

I can hear Fisher’s voice, faintly. Dev asks if he’s still up for dinner, and I tune them out as they decide on a place, letting my eyes drift to the window. I can see more stars now, appearing in the sky one by one, as the sunset fades to a wash of orange and deep red. My paw creeps toward my purse and nudges aside the phone, reaching for the bottle of feminine scent.

?

“
Did you get any calls?” he asks on the way to the restaurant. It’s a short drive away for him, a longer one for Fisher. Fisher’s wife Gena is going to join us.

“
Salim,” I tell him. “And my folks.” No sense worrying him about my job just yet. “And I met this reporter.”

I tell him about Hal, his desperation for an exposé, and my thoughts that having a reporter on our side might be useful. I don’t mention that he knows Corcoran. I don’t want Dev to worry about being traded. “You don’t have to call a press conference.” Dev watches the road. “You don’t have to come out at all, I guess.”

I watch his muzzle, but he doesn’t look resentful or angry. “Morty called, too. I’m gonna come out at work.”

“
Because of me?”

He looks at me so long I have to point him back to the road. “Not entirely,” I say. “But it’s past time.”

His ears dip. “Sorry. I didn’t think it’d affect you, too.”

“
It’s okay, tiger,” I say. “I pushed you enough, you can push back.”

He grins, and his ears come up. “I like when we push back and forth.”

The rest of the ride is innuendo-laced, to the point that I have to smooth out my dress again when we arrive at the restaurant. It’s upscale Sonoran cuisine, expensive without being touristy, meaning you’re actually paying for the food and not the décor. Dev says Fisher likes it because it’s off the beaten path for the team, and the staff isn’t likely to recognize Dev. Of course, there’s a big gap between “isn’t likely to” and “doesn’t,” as we learn when the weasel who guides us to a table in the back corner leans over and says, “You’re Devlin Miski, right?”

Dev hesitates, looks at me, and then says, “Yeah,” roughly.

The weasel smiles and gives him a thumbs-up. “How about a couple cocktails, on the house?”

“
Oh.” We look at each other with surprise. “Sure,” Dev says. “I’ll have, um, the house specialty.”

“
We do a lovely Top Shelf margarita.” Dev nods in assent, and the weasel turns to me. “And for your friend?”

“
The white sangria,” I say, having had a chance to look at the cocktail menu. It’s an appropriately fruity drink.

He smiles and bows, leaving us alone. “Not too bad,” Dev says, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“
If you could just play all your games in restaurants, you’d be set.” I switch back to my husky feminine voice, because we’re in public. Also because I like the effect it has on him.

His grin widens, his eyelids lower slightly. “Mm,” he says. “But you wouldn’t be. Unless you really like dressing up. Which I think you just might.”

I straighten my dress over the bra. “At least I’ve learned not to exaggerate my rack any more. I can get away with less padding and still look good.”

“
Won’t hear me complaining,” he says. “Oh, speaking of tits, there’s Gena. Fisher must be parking.”

I stare at him, one eyebrow raised, ears back. He flicks his ears back. “Sorry,” he says. “I am rooming with Charm.”

“
Not ’til you go out on the road again,” I murmur. “What else did you pick up from him?”

“
Only terrible music.” He waves to Gena as she approaches.

“
That I believe.” I give Gena a bright smile. She’s in good shape for a mother, a little round around the middle, but her loose blouse hides it well except when she sits. She’s wearing jeans, but a nice, classy pair. Her age shows more in the charcoal of her stripes, subtle unless she’s standing next to Dev’s stark black pattern.

“
Hi, Dev. And...Lee. I remember you.” The smile she shares with her fellow tiger turns to an awkward pause. Her ears stay up, but the striped tail pauses and kinks behind her.

“
Short for Wiley,” I say, keeping my feminine voice.

“
Fisher’s parking the car.” She brings out a little purse hanger and clips it to the side of the table, then hangs her purse from it.

I tilt my head to study the purse hanger. “That’s smart. I should get one. I hate bumping into mine on the back of the chair.”

Dev chuckles, but Gena doesn’t. “I didn’t expect...” She looks at me, then away.

“
If I weren’t dressed up,” I say, “if Dev went out to dinner with a guy, now...”

“
I saw the press conference,” she says, and now she looks at me. “I guess...that makes sense. If you don’t want anyone to know who he’s dating.”

I start to tell her I’m not out at work, but after Dev’s big announcement, that sounds slightly ridiculous no matter how I phrase it, so I just stop. The waiter brings our cocktails just as Fisher gets to the table. He sits across from me, between Gena and Dev, and gives me a long look before his eyes drop to my chest. “Looks like you had a boob reduction,” he says.

“
Honey.” Gena frowns at him.

“
It’s a joke.” Fisher extends a paw. “Nice to see you again.”

I clasp it. “A pleasure,” I say. “Thanks for supporting Dev.”

He and my tiger exchange a look. “Well, sure,” he says. “Ain’t much else to do, once you come down to it.”

We make small talk while looking at the menus. Dev and I let Fisher order a bunch of small plates for us, because it all sounds delicious: prosciutto-wrapped dates, marinated octopus, spicy raw chicken, flaky mushroom pastries. And when the waiter’s gone, Fisher leans back and surveys Dev. “So it’s out. You’re out.”

“
Yeah.” Dev looks abashed. “Coach says he’s still going to start me. ‘Practice tomorrow, business as usual.’ But he’s gonna limit the media as much as he can.”

“
It’s gonna be a circus,” Fisher says.

I lean forward. “Are you going to be able to protect him? On the field, I mean.”

Fisher huffs. “He’s gotta protect himself.”

“
You can help.”

“
No, he’s right,” Dev says. “I know they’re gonna be coming for me.”

“
Well,” Fisher says, “she’s—I mean, he’s right too. You gotta take care of yourself, but if we stand up for ya, it’ll stop a lot quicker’n if we don’t.”

“
You make it sound like he’s a criminal.” Gena tries to say it lightly, but her voice breaks on the last word.

Fisher and Dev look at each other. I say, “Different is criminal enough. Guys are gonna think if they get beat by a faggot, it makes them a faggot too. At least, that’s what their teammates’ll say.”

Gena flinches at the word ‘faggot,’ while Fisher nods, slowly. Dev’s looking at him, and I’m sure they’re both thinking of Tony Calhoun, the gay bear Fisher played with a decade or more ago. But I’m not supposed to know about that, so I keep my muzzle shut. Fisher turns from Dev to look at me. “About right,” he says.

“
I wrote a paper in college,” I say with enough hubris that I’m clearly mocking myself.

Dev snorts, and then Fisher laughs, too. Gena joins in a moment later, and the ice is broken. I feel confident enough, a few moments later, to ask Fisher about Corcoran. “I heard he’s a Republican, gives to a lot of Family Focus organizations.”

He anticipates the question, answering even as Dev’s frown deepens. “I only met him a couple times, but he always does right by his players. Macer, you didn’t know him—before your time,” he nods to Dev. “Backup safety. Had a drug problem. Corcoran paid for his rehab, flew his mom out, because the kid was serious about getting straight.”

Would Corcoran do the same thing for Dev? “Macer’s not here any more,” I say. “Did he get traded?”

“
No.” Fisher spreads his paws. “Couldn’t keep up, and got cut.”

Dev drums fingers on the tabletop, but Fisher’s reply makes me feel better. Dev can totally keep up. Fisher adds, “He got straight, though. Assistant defensive coach in some college somewhere now.”

“
In a few years, maybe he’ll be coaching Bradley,” Gena says. She and Fisher exchange a smile.

We ask more about their kids. As they open up, they venture questions about our relationship in the way that straight people ask their first gay friends. Lots of pauses, implied euphemisms. “How long have you two been...together? How often do you...see each other?”

I’ve been through that more often than Dev, so I take it in stride and he follows my lead. We know where our boundaries are, which of course means I like to push them, saying things like “So, does Fisher get all worked up after a game?” to Gena, at which she looks away, and Dev scolds me, and Fisher just grins. But even Gena loosens up after a few glasses of wine, and soon we’re laughing comfortably about the latest terrible movie, and Fisher and Dev are reporting some locker-room chatter that Gena and I find hilarious.

The food isn’t spectacular, but it’s solid, and actually the octopus is really good. After a third glass of sangria, I excuse myself, and head for the restrooms. I have the door to the ‘damas’ room half-open when I hear a throat being cleared behind me.

I turn and see Gena. She’s staring at me and at the door. I raise my eyebrows. We stand for a moment looking at each other, and then she folds her arms, her long tail twitching. “Go on.”

“
There’s plenty of stalls,” I say.

“
Go on.” And it’s clear she’s not going to move. So I go in, do my business as quickly as I can, and come out. She walks in stiffly, without a word.

“
I need to go too,” Dev says as I return. But of course he and Fisher won’t go together. So Dev gets up, I sit down, and Fisher watches Dev walk away.

“
Good recommendation,” I say. “I like the food and the sangria.”

Fisher leans across the table. “After Dev left, Coach had a talk with the team,” he says quickly. “Told us he wasn’t gonna stand for any horseshit around Dev.”

“
Good.” But his attitude is making me apprehensive. My ears flick.

“
But he also said he didn’t want nobody thinkin’ they couldn’t come talk to him about problems. If there’s legit problems, he said, he’ll take care of ’em.”

“
Legit problems?”

“
Yeah,” Fisher says. “Like...hi, honey.”

Gena sits back down, sweeping her tail around behind her. She doesn’t look at me, not at first. So I decide to take the high ground. “Sorry,” I say. “I hadn’t realized you’d be uncomfortable...”

“
It’s okay.” She’s a little more sober. “I hadn’t really thought it all the way through. I was thinking of you as...well.”

I incline my muzzle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

That provokes a nervous giggle from her. Fisher says, “Yeah, no question about who wears the pants.”

“
Honey.” Gena slaps his arm, lightly. “Don’t get personal.”

“
It was a joke,” he says, frowning slightly.

But I’m stuck on what Fisher’d said, about legit problems. Samuelson had to say what he said, because his first priority is making sure his team is in shape to contend for a championship, not making sure that the first openly gay football player gets a chance to play. Have some of the team been coming to him with non-legit problems? Dev’s told me about Colin, the fox cornerback who doesn’t approve of his lifestyle, but are there others he doesn’t know about? Are there whispers that could grow to shouts?

It comes down to what it’s always come down to. If Dev can keep playing at the level he has been, he’ll have a place on the team. If he can ignore the distractions of the media, of his teammates, of the other players on the field, he’ll be fine. The moment he slips, even just a bit, then he’ll be in trouble.

Lee’s kind of quiet as we leave Fisher and Gena, after a chat outside the restaurant during which Gena promises to stay in touch with Lee, and they exchange phone numbers even though I’m not sure either of them wanted to. I think maybe Lee’s just thinking about Fisher’s joke, which was nothing compared to what the guys were giving me in the locker room after the press conference. The funniest thing about that was how much tension had been broken. When I was trying to hide it, even when I’d told the team, I always worried that one of them would slip and tell someone else about me. Or say something intentionally. Now, it’s no big deal. I know there’s still some guys on the team who don’t really like me—well, don’t like gay people—but they weren’t around.

It’s weird saying ‘gay people’ about myself, because to me, ‘gay people’ were always those guys in leather straps in the parades, or the flamey queers who always sneered at you. They were all horny, all the time, and it didn’t really matter to them if you liked them or not. And that’s not me. But that’s not Lee, either. And it’s not his friend Salim. So maybe it’s not the term ‘gay people’ that’s wrong, it’s the way I think about it.