“So, two NFL QBs having dinner. We ran into each other. You know what? Who cares? I mean it. What business is it of anyone’s? Jesus Christ, I’m tired of the whole damn thing—the models as beards, the ready excuses, the looking over the shoulder. Aren’t you tired of it, Quinnie?”
“Yes, but what choice do we have? Think about it. If word got out, the press and our families’ reactions would be just the beginning. You and I would be marked men on the field, and our teammates would be forced to defend us, regardless of how they felt about it. And don’t even get me started on Smalley, that bigot, who has no love for me anyway. Is that what you want for our teammates, our families, and us?”
Tam, who had been eating with relish, suddenly looked dejected. “No, I guess not.”