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Boyfriend maybe? His Google bio says nothing about that. Photos are even less conclusive. He isn’t photographed with anyone other than the man with him tonight—his manager. No way he can be sleeping with that guy. Other photos are of him on stage or red-carpet events, and he seems to do all of that alone.
Wait, there we go. A photo from a Pride event where Fernando ‘Nandy’ was the headliner. I scroll a bit more and see a photo from the same event, with Nandy kissing another man described as his business partner. This man is clearly gay. Dressed in flamboyant clothes, jewelry, and it looks like a lot of eye makeup from the angle of the photo. Hmmm.
And why do I care?
Have my few months of abstinence made me this hard up? That I’m attracted to a man?
But this doesn’t seem like just any man.
Chapter three
I’ve done all the requisite greetings and thank you’s and oh, it was an honor. I have no intention of staying for the game. I don’t do sports, especially hockey. I mean, not really especially hockey. I don’t do sports. I did the anthem because I’m in town for a concert in this very arena and it was an opportunity to reach a new audience.
New audience. The words my manager reminds me of daily…hell, hourly. Randall doesn’t seem to think worldwide tours to sold-out arenas and stadiums are enough. Everything is numbers to him. I guess that’s why the balance in my bank account contains more numbers than I can count, or ever spend. But I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically drained. Empty. Emotionally bankrupt.
I can’t see any of the audience in these stadiums and arenas, so blinded by all the lights and spectacle of the show I put on. I mostly forget they are there. I try to connect. Try to remember to mention the right city and state. I want to connect. But somewhere along the way this became about me and not the music. I don’t know how that happened. Worse, I have no idea how to backtrack from it. Taking a break, well, Randall won’t hear of it. I need to stay relevant. Classical music concerts being performed as rock shows are having a moment. I need to stay at the forefront.
Dare I say one reason classical music is having that moment is because of me?
So here I am in a box at a hockey game talking to owners, executives and an assortment of other people whose names I won’t remember as soon as I walk out of this room. About a sport I know absolutely nothing about.
Nor do I care to learn.
Fortunately, my manager wants out of here as badly as I do, maybe more so. He steers me to the door, and we exit onto the concourse.
My mind is already on getting rest, getting ready, going through my playlist for the concert tomorrow. I recently changed things up. I made some changes to force myself to be present and not just go through the concert on autopilot. In many ways, that made performing the anthems here tonight refreshing. It’s not something I do every day.
I’m still trying to remember all the set list and new music I’ve chosen. I have a new pianist, and I’m not convinced he has a good handle on our plan.
My manager is mumbling something to me when a flash of blond hair catches my eye. I halt my progress and Randall continues on. I’m in the box where the gorgeous pony-tailed blond I saw downstairs is standing, before Randall even realizes I’m no longer by his side.
I walk in and the tall blond turns to me.
He’s gorgeous. He doesn’t look like a typical executive.
Certainly not like anyone I met just moments ago. He looks like he should be down on the ice. He cocks a brow at me and offers me a small smirk. I let my eyes drift across his broad chest and down the long lines of his suit. He is not at all perturbed by my little eye fuck. I sweep my eyes across the room, because the lanky gorgeous blond is not really the one I came in here to see. He wasn’t alone when I first laid eyes on him downstairs.
Unable to find the one I want the glimpse of, I return my gaze to him.
“What is your job here?”
He says nothing for a moment. His eyes lock on mine. I do this to people. I do this to men. I render them speechless, and I won’t lie…it’s fun.
“Huh? Oh, my title is President of Player Development.”
I furrow my brow. Sounds like a bullshit made-up title if I ever heard one.
“Meaning?”
“It means I do a wide variety of things to make that man look good.” He gestures towards another tall drink of water with dark hair sprinkled with silver.
“Well, you are doing a fantastic job.”
The blond laughs. “He is very much spoken for.” As he says it, I see another man slide his hand across his waist, then trail it lightly across his ass as he whispers something into his ear and turns to leave. That was unexpected. He is gay.
“Are you? Spoken for?” I direct my attention back to my tall blond.
He seems to ponder the question for a moment, then smiles at me.
