Chapter 16
After practice and training and a very quick power nap, Robbie and I follow a guy with an iPad down a long hallway filled with the smells of foods from around the world.
A pair of large wooden doors open onto a sea of people, soaring cathedral ceilings, and intimidation.
I had no idea what to wear to this thing, so I searched for photos from last year’s event—a hack that Charlotte taught me.
The guys’ clothes ranged from high fashion to street wear and didn’t give me much to work with.
I haven’t worn a suit since Dad’s funeral, and I’ll be perfectly fine if I never wear one again.
So I chose my finest T-shirt and jeans, and now I’m being ushered to a red carpet with twenty cameras about to capture this stunning fashion moment. “I look too casual for this,” I lean over and say to Robbie as we wait in line for photos.
“No, everyone’s wearing everything here,” he responds, and he’s not wrong.
In front of us, a player from Texas with a mullet is wearing a cowboy hat.
But Robbie’s nonchalant attitude about dress codes comes easily to him because he always manages to look good.
He’s wearing loafers, and a navy blazer over cuffed blue jeans, and he looks like a Ralph Lauren model.
My turn to be photographed arrives, and I take my place in front of the step-and-repeat banner.
“Austin, over here!” someone shouts from the line of cameras.
“Austin, here! Please, Austin!”
“Austin!”
Pretending this isn’t my first red carpet, I follow the voices and move my head toward each camera, the way Robbie told me to. “Okay, are we good?” I say through gritted teeth and blinding flashes. “Hello? Are we good?”
“That’s good,” Robbie says, off to the side of the carpet, and I drop my head and scurry over to him.
“Austin, can we play a quick game of Never Have I Ever?” shouts someone with a tiny microphone next to the photographers.
“No interviews tonight, thanks,” Robbie says, jumping in. He puts his hand on my back and leads me away from the chaos.
“You don’t want me to talk?”
“No, you scare me,” he says. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you play that game on camera.”
“How’d I do with the photos?”
“Great work. Going right on the fridge. Your smile is worth a million bucks.”
It’s actually worth zero bucks, because I never had braces. Charlotte had to get them twice, and there was no more perfect-teeth money after that.
Across the room, beyond the mass of people, a huge flame shoots into the air—a woman in a chef’s apron cooks a fish on a massive grill. “Ah, there he is,” she says, pointing, a microphone attached to her face. “Diego, join me onstage. Necesito tu ayuda con este pescado a la talla.”
And there he is. Diego, wearing a dark suit jacket with no shirt, his chest fully exposed—help me—hops onto the stage, to cheers.
“?Diego, buenas! ?Cómo estás, güey?” she says, and kisses his cheek. “I hear you’re a chef yourself.”
“Oh no, someone lied to you,” he says, also mic’d up. “I’ve been too busy playing tennis to learn how to cook. I’m terrible. My dad is very good though. I love his cooking, not mine.” He turns to the audience with a sheepish grin. “If I’m helping, I don’t know if you should eat this.”
“But we’re using your dad’s recipe tonight, with a little twist of my own. They will love it! Won’t you?” She gestures to the party for a little support, and he smiles as they applaud. Loves a crowd, this guy.
After watching the rest of Diego’s show, and inhaling four small plates of Peking duck, I break off from Robbie to go find Diego.
I squeeze through the party—some faces I recognize, most I don’t—and make it to a circle that’s formed around him.
He stops speaking midsentence when he sees me, and his face lights up.
“Austin! Dude!” he says, throwing his arm around my shoulder, happy I’m here, and my heart sings with relief.
“Does everyone know Austin?” Some polite mumbles and handshakes follow.
“Austin, weren’t you just telling me you love popcorn?
” he asks, bulging his eyes at me like his question is some kind of code.
“Uh, yeah?” I reply, playing along. “All kinds. Sea salt, kettle corn, butterscotch…” And now I’m out here just naming popcorn flavors.
“Okay, they have this chili-coated popcorn over there you have to try,” he says. And with that, he tosses out some goodbyes and we head toward a corner of the room. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so over this shit,” he says under his breath. “Here. Let’s go this way.”
Ducking under a velvet rope, Diego leads me to a set of stairs that circle up to the second level, and we lean over the railing, looking out across the party. “I feel a little underdressed down there,” I say.
“What do you mean? You look cool.”
“Okay, you’re wearing a suit jacket with no shirt, and I’m sure it costs like ten thousand dollars.”
Diego shrugs, because I’m not wrong. And then tilts his head with an idea.
He pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, and resting like a crown jewel on his wrist is a watch.
He wears it all the time. I’ve seen him on TV, carefully placing it on his wrist, preparing for the interviews after winning a match.
Light catches the watch’s bright silver as his hand moves toward the bracelet, and in one quick motion, he unfastens it. A shiver runs up my arm as he takes my hand and pushes the watch over my fingers, over my palm, and onto my wrist.
“There. Now you’re wearing forty thousand dollars,” he says. “Fifty, maybe?” He shrugs. “It’s discontinued, so I think it’s worth a little more.”
Holy shit. I knew it was expensive, but that price is absurd. “No, no. This makes me so nervous. I can’t wear this.”
“Try it out,” he says.
Reluctantly, I drop my arm to my side to test it. The weight of the metal tugs at me. It’s heavier than I expected. It wiggles a bit—his wrist is bigger than mine—but it fits. I run my finger over the three buttons on its side, with no idea what they do and too afraid to ask.
“Looks perfect on you,” he says, stepping back to take me in. “The dial matches your eyes.”
What does swooning feel like? Is this swooning? He’s talking about my eyes and giving me watches, and I can’t take much more of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing this?” I ask, because that’s all my brain will give me. “Contractually?”
“I am…contractually,” he says, mocking me with a smirk. “Oops.”
Why—why does his unbreakable confidence find its way straight to my dick?
“So, it’s a chronograph,” he says. “A racing watch, traditionally.”
“You do love racing.”
“Known for its precise timing.”
“Wow, a watch that tells time.”
“But this one—this one means a lot to me,” he says, ignoring my nervous banter.
“It was my first US Open. I made it to the semifinals, broke into the top ten, and signed with Rolex the next day. I could choose any watch I wanted, and I picked this one. The blue dial matches the blue of the US Open courts. I felt like my life changed that week,” he adds, “and I wanted to remember it.”
Suddenly, we’re interrupted by a voice calling up the stairs. “?Diego, ontas?”
Diego puts a finger to his lips.
“I’m not an idiot. I watched you go up there,” the voice says, switching to English. I think that part was meant for me to hear too.
“I have to go back down,” Diego says with an eye roll. “Will you stick with me?”
Will I stick with you? Glue me to your body.
I follow him down the stairs, his cologne guiding me like a leash. When we reemerge at the event, Robbie spots me from across the room and waves me over. “Shit, I think I have to go chat over there,” I say. “Robbie is fishing for sponsorships.”
Diego narrowly avoids his team, and we approach Robbie, who’s talking to a woman with a very important-looking haircut. Her face lights up at Diego, and she goes right for a hug.
“Diego, my love! Are you trying to kill us with that look?”
Diego laughs and kisses her on both cheeks. “So good to see you, Nicole.”
“Who is dressing you nowadays? Is it still Andre?”
“It will always be Andre,” Diego says, and I clock the loyalty.
I stand awkwardly beside Robbie, in my normal place—and, at the same time, Diego and Robbie both gesture to me to make an introduction.
“Nicole—” they both say.
“Oh, no, go ahead,” Diego says.
Robbie feigns a smile and continues. “Nicole, this is—”
“Austin!” She goes to kiss me on both cheeks and I attempt to do the same to her.
Thank god Diego did it before me, because I would have totally messed that up if I hadn’t had a demonstration.
On the second kiss I catch a bit of hair, and that will be something I spiral about when I’m going to bed later—but it was better than accidentally hitting lips and making this the second time in my life I’ve kissed a girl on the mouth.
“Austin, your Volt match was incredible,” she says. “Congratulations. Just spectacular.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“You murdered him.”
“Well, murder might be strong. He’s still alive—somewhere over there, I think.”
She throws her head back for a laugh—a little too hard—and grabs my arm to steady herself in her fitted dress. I have no idea who this woman is, but she’s laying it on thick.
“Listen, Austin. I was just talking to Rob—and this is very unofficial, as there’s a hundred more people who have to sign off on this—but we would really love for you to join our family.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, sneaking a glance at Robbie. “Which family is that?”
Robbie shuts his eyes in pain.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry. Nike. I work for Nike,” she says.
Okay, oops. But how was I supposed to know that? Nicole from Nike. Nicole from Nike. That should be easy to remember moving forward.
“We have Diego here, and Eriksson is still with us, of course, and just about anyone else who’s doing amazing things. And we’ve been so impressed with you so far.”
“That’s very kind, Nicole. We really appreciate that,” Robbie says, his dream coming true in real time—and very easily, it seems.
“And it’s so important to have representation in this sport,” she says to me, her tone shifting. “I can’t believe it’s taken this long to have an openly gay man in a Grand Slam. You’re a big inspiration. Truly.”
My smile dips. Only slightly—I have to remain polite. There it is, the real reason Nike wants me. Here I am checking that G in LGBTQ+.
“Which part interests you more?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” she replies.
Robbie’s eyes deaden. Even Diego looks perplexed.
“Are you impressed with me as an athlete or as a gay athlete?”
She stares at me blankly, but soon her composure returns. “Both, Austin. Both things are amazing.” The music thumps in the background as our eyes lock in a standoff. I can’t lie—I’m a little impressed that she doubled down.
“Also, I notice you haven’t been posting on social much lately,” she finally says.
“Yeah, I’ve been doing a little detox. Right, Rob?” I smack his arm, waking him from his nightmare.
“Right, totally get that. Gotta stay focused,” she says.
“Is that an issue? Should he be posting more?” Robbie asks, only now discovering that there may be a downside to his phone-free utopia.
“No, it’s totally fine. I mean, that could help my case when I pitch this up, but it’s fine, not a deal-breaker.”
“Right, right,” he replies, thinking.
This huge plot twist for Robbie is bringing me so much joy right now. Let’s see if I can make his head fully explode. “Well, I really appreciate the interest, Nicole. I have to say, we’re entertaining a few other offers—”
“And we’d love to set up a meeting to talk further,” Robbie interrupts, trying to save things.
“Austin, you have to see their offices,” Diego says. “They have a full-size basketball court.”
“We’ll get you over there, Austin. We’ll set it up,” Nicole says.
“And I know you’re very busy with everything now, and these things take a beat, but I’d love to get creative and work faster here.
What if…I put together a little gifting and send it over to your hotel?
Wear it, don’t wear it—it’s up to you. We can sort out the details later.
And until then, if there’s anything you need—seriously, anything at all—please text me. Robbie has my number.”
“And Robbie has my phone, so that works out.”
She smiles like she gets my joke, and looks me over one last time. “You are so funny.” We shake hands—thankfully no kissing—and she disappears back to the party.
Robbie turns to me. “Why,” he says through gritted teeth, “are you like this?”
“Like what, Rob?” I say, hand to my chin.
“And what’s on your wrist?”
“Nothing.” I drop my hand and shoot a quick glance at Diego, which Rob absolutely catches.
He exhales, trying to calm himself, before Diego chimes in to defuse the situation once again. “How about some pizza, guys? They’ve got a brick oven over there, and I’m starving.”
“Sounds great,” I say, turning.
But Robbie grabs my arm. “Look, I know we joke around a lot, but that conversation was not okay. We need a deal soon, and this is the perfect moment to be going after it.”
“We’re doing much better with the prize money coming in.”
“It’s not enough, Austin. You know this. We have to set you up for the future.”
“They want me as a trophy. I want them to be interested because of how I play, not the other stuff.”
“The other stuff is fucking important too. I don’t understand why you don’t get that.”
“Oh, you don’t understand. I wonder why.”
He scoffs. “This is a big opportunity, and you can have it with the snap of your fingers if you just chill out and be grateful.”
“Hey, you have to wait for the right one, right?” Diego says.
“Yeah, and I’m not sure this guy gets it either. He’s not hurting for cash,” Robbie says, gesturing toward my wrist.
Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Okay, I think we’re good here. We’re gonna take a lap.”
Robbie shakes his head, takes another look at Diego, and heads off toward the bar.
“I’m ready to get out of here,” I say, turning to Diego.
“Like, leave?” Diego frowns, considering. He does a quick glance around the room. “Yeah, I guess I’ve kissed enough butts here.”
Making our escape, we step into a light jog down the hallway, and soon we’re bursting through the front doors and jaywalking across the street toward Central Park. “Up for a sunset stroll?” I ask him.
“I’m certainly dressed for it,” Diego says, open chest on full view.
“I think we can fix that.”