2. Salem #2
This could go one of two ways. One’s great and gives me a shot with the literal man of my dreams, and the other…
eek. Everyone will know I took a shot. It’d be mortifying.
I once read about a government black site somewhere in the Arctic Ocean.
Maybe I can hole up there for a decade until… Okay, I sound scared again.
Is the AC broken? I swipe the beads of sweat lacing my hairline.
Yeah, okay, I’m definitely scared.
Is it my scared or rational voice?
Does it matter?
It’s Blue.
Blue!
Okay, okay…
Argh…here it goes…
I clear my throat, ignore the tap dancing in my chest, and lean into the mic. “But on a more personal note, I’d like to know if Arnaz is single ’cause I’d really like the opportunity to shoot my shot.”
I flash Sloan a smile.
Like a blown fuse, the buzz in the room wipes out as my admission registers on the faces of the reporters. Then, a backup generator kicks in as a burst of frenetic energy careens reporters out of their seats, competing to ask the next question.
“I’ll take two more questions!” I yell above the excitement. “How about you?” I point to a guy with the Brooklyn Daily News .
“Thanks, Salem. Are you coming out as gay right now?” He has to shout his question to be heard over the fray.
I plaster on my best shocked face. “I have to be gay to like him? Shoot!” I frown. “Nobody told me I had to be gay to like a guy.”
Sloan’s jaw drops.
“Can I just be gay for Arnaz?” I ask, looking into the camera.
I let the question sit unanswered. The energy in the room teeters close to combustion from the suspense. It’s like I’m doing the equivalent of screaming “Fire!” in a crowded theater.
I stop fucking around and temper the tension.
“Yes, I’m gay. I have been since day one, and I’ve had it bad for Arnaz for a while now. Y’all got any advice for me?”
A reporter’s eyes widen in shock.
Okay, to be fair, I didn’t know I’d be coming out publicly today, but the way I see it, when it comes to your dream guy, you gotta put up or shut up.
“You could ask him out on a date!” someone shouts.
I follow the voice to its owner. “I could, Ciara, but I don’t really know what he likes.”
“How do we know you’re being serious?” someone else yells out.
“Y’all don’t believe me?”
Another hush falls over the room.
“Y’all journalists always need receipts.”
I shake my head and fish out my phone from my pocket. I dial my dad on speakerphone. His call goes to his generic voicemail. I hang up before his number is read out loud. I try my mom next, and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hi, dear. Is everything okay?”
“Hey, Mom, I’m good. Listen, I have you on speaker?—”
I signal for the reporters to quiet down as laughter spreads throughout the room.
“That’s good, baby. Your dad is driving me nuts. He’s been in the kitchen for hours. He’s on his third attempt at the double lemon cardamom cake you selected for this month’s challenge.”
I place the phone against my chest and whisper, “I can prove it—gimme one sec.”
“Ma, I’m in a press conference. I’ll call you later about that. Can you confirm for my friends here the name of the guy I’ve been crushing on hard since my second year in the league?”
“Of course, darling. It’s Arnaz. You’ve been smitten since the first time you played against him. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s with The Wonder Kid. If I were you, I’d go after him.”
The room erupts into more laughter.
“I’m trying, Mom.” I smile.
“Listen, please call your dad right back—wait, here he is.”
“Wait, Mom, I really have to g?—”
“Hey, son!” My dad’s sonorous voice emits from my speakerphone. “You picked a hell of a recipe this month. I don’t know where I’m going wrong, but it tastes awful.”
“Wait, Dad, I have to call?—”
“It’ll only take a minute. I added the lemon curd to two-thirds of the buttercream, then I?—”
“Dad, I’ll call you ba— Wait, did you say two-thirds? Isn’t it one-third of the buttercream to two to three tablespoons of lemon curd, then you use the remaining two-thirds to mix in the cardamom extract?”
“That can’t be right. Wait a minute. Let me put on my glasses.”
I shake my head at the amused reporters as Dad mutters instructions.
“Holy cow! You’re right. I don’t know how I made such a mess of it. Thanks. Oh, and I agree with your mother. You’re a handsome young man, and life is short. Stop pussyfooting around and go after Arnaz. I ain’t raise no punk.”
I burst out laughing, joining the reporters.
“Thanks, Dad. Call you later.”
“You’re a baker?” Ciara asks once I hang up.
“Amateur. My parents stayed with me after my surgery to help with things, and we binged The Great Bake Off . As you all now know, my dad and I started our own monthly challenge.”
“Bake something for Arnaz.”
My head tips to the side as I toss the idea around.
“Huh.” I think of the countless recipes I’ve bookmarked on my laptop at home.
It’ll give me the chance to flex my skills and make my interest in him clear at the same time.
I’d have to figure out logistics since I live on the other side of the country, but I could use my parents, who live in Los Angeles.
I could fly in during an off day—it’d be tight, but it’s possible.
Pretty quickly, the idea blooms into a thrilling plan of action.
“That’s actually brilliant, Ciara.”
I need more information, though. Best to go to the source. I peer into the camera.
“Hey, Blue, wassup? I have two questions for you. One, are you single? And two, what’s your favorite dessert?” I ask in my smoothest voice.
And with that, I jump up.
“Thanks, y’all. This was fun. Until next time.”
I turn my head to Ciara. “I owe you one.”
She mouths, Good luck.
I ignore pleas to answer one more question as I head toward the door.
Cillian is leaning against the wall, smiling. “Aight, lover boy. I peep you. Just one minor question. How the actual fuck am I supposed to follow that? They’re going bananas. You gave ’em shock, howling laughter, and romance in under five minutes, not to mention a surprise cameo by your parents.”
I chuckle as he stares at me in disbelief.
“My bad. I owe you one. You think I got a shot, though?”
“I mean, that was crazy romantic. I’d say so. Sid might kill you if they’re dating, but I’m rootin’ for you.”
“You’re a real one.”
“And you do owe me. I want your millionaire’s shortbread with extra ganache.”
I pat his chest. “Say less. I got you, bro.”
“Salem ‘The Silencer’, my ass,” he grumbles as he heads toward the microphone. Somehow, the reporters are louder than before.
I grin as I watch him settle in to take the first question from Kevin. Knowing him, he’s about to feast on their hunger for a soundbite.
“Cillian, what’s your reaction to learning Salem is gay?”
“Pfft, old news.” He dismisses the question with a wave, tilting back in his chair.
I burst out laughing.
“Oh, my bad, did you all only just find out?” he asks, wide-eyed.
“Awkward,” he whispers, staring at the table.
“I wouldn’t take it personally. I knew because we’re, like, besties, but not many people know.
” He seems to consider that. “Well, technically, our coach knows, his family and friends, our entire team, my girlfriend, our cat Edgar...”
He offers a wry smile, meeting the gaze of the reporters.
“But, hey, none of it means anything. Surely, it was important for him to tell all of you. Because, of course, you would respect his right to privacy and not insist on asking every person on his team and across the league for their opinion on his sexuality. I’m sure you only asked me as a one-off because you know he’s my brother from another mother.
Given he’s one of the greatest defenders in the league, and we’re all here to discuss basketball, whaddya say we focus on that? ”
It took less than two minutes for the challenger, Jo “Bull” Murphy, to knock out heavyweight Sal Corsetti.
Cillian may have him beat tonight. It’s like a giant ice bucket’s been released over the room, dousing the collective fever.
Silence permeates as the reporters exchange slightly dazed and embarrassed looks.
Cillian finds my beaming face and winks.
Extra ganache, caramel, and buttery shortbread, I decide as I head to the locker room.
Operation Bake-a-Cake-That’ll-Win-the-Guy-of-My-Dreams begins now.