to talk about it. After talking to you—really talking—I suspect we share some of the same misperceptions other people have about us. Let’s throw the fragments of our broken egos out there and run those motherfuckers over.”
“But . . . I have a happy buzz from the bubbly,” I whined. “I don’t wanna focus on negative stuff.”
“I have an idea.” Nolan upended his champagne and set the empty glass on its side on the counter. Then he set it to spinning like a top.
“Dude. I am not playing spin the bottle with you.”
He laughed. “You sure? We’re getting along so great now.”
I whapped him on the arm.
“We can put our own spin on talking about negative assumptions.”
“Such as?”
“Describing them with a positive result from them.”
“Sounds good. You go first.”
For the second time tonight I saw a raw vulnerability in Nolan’s eyes, and I had the urge to protect it—and him—from anyone who’d see it as a weakness and use it against him.
Spontaneously, I wrapped my hand over his and squeezed. “Let’s run this shit over and never look back.”
Nolan propped his elbow on the bartop and his head on his hand. “I’ve always put extra effort into my appearance, and I enjoy keeping up with fashion trends. It’s become somewhat of a hobby. I understand my good fortune at being born into a situation where money to maintain a certain style isn’t an issue. And my family gives me grief about my metrosexual fashionista ways, but it’s never mean-spirited.”
My exhale caught in my chest because I suspected what was coming.
“But they were the only ones who weren’t cruel. Everyone assumed I was gay. I had to be, right? Because I cared about how I looked. Trying to justify it just created worse problems for me. So I stopped defending or explaining myself.”
“What’s the positive result?”
“It has given me a different perspective on how difficult any marginalized groups can find things. Anytime I can step up and show the general populace that the LGBTQ community deserves the same rights and respect as everyone else, I do.” He sighed. “The negative . . . I became a manwhore at age eighteen if only to prove to myself I was hetero and realized I fucking loved women and vice versa, hence the ‘Trollin’ Nolan’ moniker.”
“Only negatives as positives, remember?”
“That was the positive.”
I felt him studying me but didn’t look at him, half-afraid of what I’d see, or worse—what I hoped to see.
“Now it’s your turn, Gabriella.”
“But I don’t wanna . . .” I mock-whined.
“Woman up and share with me, sista.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not being flip but . . . it’s been that same tune different dancer for me since high school. Girls who played sports competitively were butch. Therefore, as a hockey player, I had to be a lesbian. If we slapped each other’s asses after a great shot? Lesbians. If we hugged after a game win? Lesbians. No one ever assumes men on any other sports teams are gay if they do those exact same things.”
“True.”
“Conversely, if we didn’t wear makeup off the ice we enjoyed being seen as butch. But if we wore makeup to games, then we were vain, or trying too hard to look feminine to get men to notice us.” I snorted. “No one considered that we liked getting dressed up when we went out as a group after a game because it was a relief to get out of the sweaty uniforms we lived in. I’m not saying there aren’t lesbians in professional sports—I’m just saying it shouldn’t matter.”
“Amen.”
“I love my sport. I love showing skeptics that female hockey players are just as talented and fun to watch as any men’s team. Not just during the Olympics but all the time.”
“You are an amazing coach, Welk. The kids at Lakeside worship you.”
“Thanks.” I forced myself to list a negative aspect of the assumptions, since he’d done it. “As far as negatives . . .”
“Only negatives as positives, remember?”
“Fine. Years spent fighting to prove I’m tough and talented on the ice gives me a chip on my shoulder that’s easier to take with me off the ice than it is to leave it there.”
Why had I told him that?
Too much champagne.
Nolan’s knees bumped mine when he turned on the barstool to face me. “Thank you for showing me off-the-ice Gabriella.”
Relieved he’d given me an out, I said, “She’s usually not this tipsy.”
“So is tipsy Gabriella in a place where she’s willing to exchange digits with her