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“I had to meet you first.” Ruby’s tone gets softer but serious. “It’s part of what I do. I do the munches.”
“Munches?” I ask.
“I do the first meet-up,” she replies. “In public. Informal. Usually, over brunch. But,” she gestures to the posh room, “not always, but you get the idea. I vet the people. I ask and answer questions. Then, we review the basics if we agree to proceed.”
“Proceed to what?” Beau sounds worried.
“Proceed to whatever makes you comfortable,” she answers. “For all we invite, we talk first. Mostly, we’re about support; we’re about protection. But for others, it goes further if they want.”
“Further how?” I’m worried like Beau.
And curious.
“Further, if you want to meet more professionals like yourselves,” Ruby reveals, and like lightning, my brain does the logic.
I flick my stare to Beau, and he does the same.
It can’t be? Is the world that small? Could Ruby be part of the same group Dr. Gary mentioned?
Beau hasn’t reached out to the contact Doc gave us yet. We’ve been too busy with training camp.
But if Ruby is my beard, if she’ll really get my back and be my friend, it starts now. So, I probe, “What do you mean ‘professionals like us.’?”
She drops her voice, glancing around, making sure no one is eavesdropping.
“I mean, you have to know, by sheer numbers alone, you aren’t the only ones, right? There are lots of… pros in your situation.”
Pros? She means gay and bi pro ball players. NFL players who don’t feel safe coming out. So far, there have only been a few out of thousands, but none have been marquee or Top 100.
“Like who?” Beau’s cautious.
“No names, not yet,” Ruby answers. “Only in person. Only over a handshake and a vow to protect each other. No matter what. You’d want the same assurance. Right?”
Beau nods.
So do I.
“But,” Blair inquires, “you’re a woman. You’re not a… professional. How did you get involved, and why do they trust you?”
“Mutual friends,” Ruby answers. “Family, too, you could say. We met and got close. I’ve never judged and always understood. I love them and want to protect them, too.”
Beau gently kisses Blair’s cheek, pulling her gaze his way. “Sounds like you, baby,” he says. “Like us and the night I came to your door.”
“What night?” Ruby sounds sweet with her question.
“The night I sorta told Blair about me and him.” Beau nods to me. “We go way back. Colt and I have always been best… friends. And Blair was the only woman I ever felt safe with. I couldn’t help it. She wore cute glasses, and I fell in love with her, too.”
Beau makes a show of squeezing her hand, held in his on the table. Blair squeezes it back, and I get that fuzzy feeling again.
Not once has their love made me jealous. It’s the opposite. It makes me happy.
The other morning, while Blair and I drank coffee, she asked about the difference between a cornerback and a safety. So, after I bored her to death with my explanation, I asked her about my feelings—the one I got when Beau served her a blueberry muffin with a kiss, and then he kissed me, too, all while she sat on my lap.
“Y’all,” I asked, “why don’t we get jealous? Isn’t it weird? Because all I feel is happy when you kiss.”
“It’s called ‘compersion’.” Blair brushed muffin crumbs off my beard. “It’s when you feel happy seeing the pleasure your partner gets from another partner. Like in a relationship. It’s not technically a word, but people like us use it.”
People like us?
