Deke

<p><strong style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>Ollie</strong></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>Word of advice: don't come out to random guys in public restrooms. Even if they're charming and adorably nerdy and offer to help.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>My family believe I can't be happy if I'm not out to the world. I have a bitter ex-boyfriend and an unstable NHL career to show for it. A fake boyfriend seems like an easy and quick solution to get my family off my back and this guy is volunteering. I take him up on it without asking his name.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>I really should've asked for his name.</span></p><p><br></p><p><strong style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>Lennon</strong></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>Word of advice: learn how to introduce yourself properly.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>In my defense I don't recognize Ollie Str��mberg right away. I cover football not hockey.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>I'm not supposed to see him again and he's never supposed to find out I'm a reporter.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>That all changes when my editor reassigns me.</span></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(51 51 51 1)>It's a lesson I should've learned by now. Nothing's changed since high school. Jocks still hate nerds. But even worse athletes hate journalists. Especially ones who know their secret.</span></p>