Kip had laughed and written, I don’t have a picture of you, you know… No response had come for a minute, and then he’d received a photo from Scott. It was an image of a Gatorade ad Scott had done. Kip: Fuck you.
He kept his eyes up so he could see Scott looming over him, one hand gripping the headboard. Scott was gazing down at him and murmuring praise in a low, gentle voice.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine. Has he looked yet?” “No. But if he does come over here—Okay, he sees you.” “How can you tell?” “Because he just lit up like the goddamn sun. Jesus. You guys are doomed.”
It had been a week since he’d walked out of Scott’s apartment. A week since he’d had any contact with Scott. He’d seen that the Admirals had lost the first two games of the series against Detroit and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible, even if that was ridiculous.
“Because I don’t want to live a lie anymore. And… I’m with someone. It isn’t fair to him.” “Ah. You’re in love. That makes sense. Love makes men do all sorts of dumbass things.”