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Okay, he sees you.” “How can you tell?” “Because he just lit up like the goddamn sun. Jesus. You guys are doomed.”
“I did tell you and, if you want, later we can go to Olive Garden or wherever straight people go.”
A year ago—hell, a month ago—Scott would never have imagined this scenario. Out at a gay club with his best friends—his teammates—and his boyfriend and, uh, Ilya Rozanov.
