Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (6 page)

J
AMAL
TOOK
a deep breath, opened the door, and walked into the small vestibule. This time one of the queens was standing there, and she beamed at him. “Welcome to the Cellar, sweetie. I’ll find you a good table down front.”

“Uh—”

Before he could tell her he’d rather be in the back, she barged through the curtains and led the way to a small table with two chairs right near the stage. She pulled out one of the chairs expectantly.
Okay, hell
. He sat and handed her a five-dollar bill he had stuck in his pocket.

She shoved it into her ample cleavage. “What can I get you, cutie?”

He glanced at the table. “Coke’s fine.”

“Well, aren’t you just adorable? I’ll be right back.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the e-mails. Better to not stare at the other patrons because that would invite them to stare back. He was crazy. All day he’d been sweating to learn everything Jet West needed in a center, struggling to make his place in the offensive line, and tonight he was flashing his conspicuousness in not just a gay club, but a gay drag club. He’d lost it. But he didn’t notice his big feet walking him out of the place.

“T
RIX
?”

Trevor looked up from the chair where he sat beside the stage. “Hmm?”

Lucretia waggled a finger and widened her hugely made-up eyes. “That big hunk’a sumpthin’ sumpthin’ you drooled over last night?”

Jesus, he couldn’t swallow. “The giant chocolate bunny? And I wasn’t drooling.” He peeked through the curtain. There he sat in his smooth skin, punctuated by raging dimples on a body big enough to be two men and gorgeous enough to be three.

“Yeah. Well, Miz Thang, he came back, didn’t he?”

“Must have liked the show.” He glanced down at his manicured nails, but funny how his heart beat hard.

“Ummm-hmmm. And we know exactly whose show he liked. You oughta throw this one a bone, honey, cuz this dog can hunt. Lord, I’d be happy to wrap my legs around that ironclad ass any day.”

Trevor peeked through the side of the curtain again.
Man, what a—man
. Strong and beautiful, the big man still managed to look like he’d laugh easily and maybe even cry occasionally.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
You are so full of shit, Landry. And Trixie does not do men.
He turned and walked back into the small, crowded stage-left wings.
Just do your show, drop your act, and get to work.

Lucretia started the performance, introduced the Cellar Whores, who did a quick turn, then began her shtick. “Guess what, all you lucky boys and girls? We have that special treat of treats for you tonight.”

God, he loved it
. He could feel the tension and expectation rise from the audience. Whispers. The word “Trixie” circulated from one end of the audience to the other. They wanted their fantasy, and he so loved giving it to them.

Lucretia built to her big moment. “Gentlemen and not so gentle men, I give you—Trixxxxie LaRuuuue.”

The lights went out, and Lucretia exited the opposite way. Jamesy started on his piano, and Trevor vanished. Ceased to exist. Trixie LaRue, wearing sunshine yellow from shoulders to floor, walked out into the single spot. “I just can’t make my eyes behave….”

She—no longer he, or maybe some combination of them both—gazed out at the rapt fans. Hush settled over the crowd. Magic. Her magic. The spill from the brilliant light crept over the edge of the stage and shone on the shimmery brown skin of the one person in the audience she most wanted to admire her. He sat only feet away, staring up at her.

“To bad brown eyes, I am a slave.” Her treacherous eyes followed the light until they crept up his long, long legs in tight jeans, to his impossibly wide shoulders, and finally to his almost pretty face—a shock in that big body. “My lips may say run away from me.” She spun on her heel and walked several steps away from where he sat. “But my eyes say come and play with me.” She turned slowly. Her eyes danced around his face. Strong cheekbones, arched dark brows, a pert nose, and full, full lips.

She walked back, step by step, toward him. “And you won’t blame poor little me.” She stopped. Her gaze drifted across his body and slowly rose. “For I just—”
Resist
. She couldn’t. Her eyes won. They looked straight into his. She saw him gasp. His lips parted, and a pink tongue slowly, unconsciously tickled across his bottom lip while his eyes never left hers. “—can’t make my eyes behave.” She drew out the last note so she didn’t have to let go. So she could stand there and drown. As the sound faded, the light did too. Gone. Dark.

She just stood there.

“Psst.”

She looked up and saw Lucretia waving her off.
Oh right.
Real life.

Trixie LaRue left the stage, her feet battling her brain.
Go talk to him. See him. Touch him.
The rule said Trixie did not mess with patrons. Was she thinking of breaking that rule?

T
HE
LAST
notes of the song still vibrated in the air. Just like the vibration humming through Jamal’s balls. Holy mother of crap, he was so done.

The light slowly faded on what had to be the most gorgeous human he’d ever seen, male or female. Or both. What was she? He? God, Trixie LaRue embodied confusion. Or ambiguity. Or perfection. It was like she stood up there in that yellow dress and sang that song just to him. She’d kept looking at him. Or at least he’d imagined she did. He wanted to jump on the stage and—what? Hold her? Kiss her?

It felt so damned personal, not just some admire-from-afar hero or heroine worship. He wanted to touch her shockingly white skin. His insides shook at the idea of wrapping his arms around her. Him.
Hell
.

But now the stage was empty.

If he went around back, was there a chance they’d let him in?
Oh right. Mr. Stalker. Pleased to meet you.
Of course, showing up here for two consecutive nights didn’t exactly eliminate the stalker label. Had she seen him?
Yeah, right
.

Go home, idiot
.

He got up and walked to the front of the club and out the door. The cool, dry air of a southern California fall hit him and made him shiver. The big bear leaned against the side of the building, taking a smoke. He nodded at Jamal, who returned the favor. The guy probably thought Jamal was wacked. Probably knew exactly over who too.

It was only a couple of yards to the parking lot where he’d left the Cadillac. A few cars were pulling out. Probably people who’d left when Trixie finished, just like him. Was there a chance he could force himself not to come back?

He’d nestled the Cadillac all the way at the rear of the lot, against the chain that separated it from someone’s backyard. Some eucalyptus trees lined the division. Not everyone’s favorite part of the lot, since it was kind of dark and looked like a good spot for a mugging. Who’d mug him? Only someone with three friends and a horse. There were advantages to being a giant.

He beeped the car lock, opened the driver’s door, and reached up to pull off his leather jacket. A breeze ruffled the tree branches.

He heard a scraping sound and turned, tense, ready to defend himself.
What?

The moonlight shone off shining yellow sequins, but their glint didn’t equal the halo shimmering off the pale blonde hair. Walking straight toward him across the rough dirt lot was—Trixie LaRue.

He opened his mouth—and closed it. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

She got to the rear of the car and stopped. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“I noticed you’ve been to see me twice this week.” Her speaking voice was almost as musical as her singing and just as androgynous, neither low nor high.

“I’m sure lots of people come to see you every time you perform. I’m surprised you noticed me.”

She smiled.
Sunrise
. “Few people are as—memorable as you are.”

He grinned. “What? You don’t have a lot of giants in your audience? No orcs or ogres?”

Her lips tightened a little like she was trying not to laugh. “You’re our chocolate bunny.”

“What?”

“That’s what Lucretia calls you.”

“And you?”

She glanced down at her golden high-heeled shoes. “You look rather like dessert to me too.”

Oh crap, his heart couldn’t beat that fast and survive, could it? “You must really have a sweet tooth.” His voice sounded breathy.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I do.”

He stared at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do here. I’m a very big guy and this is a dark parking lot. I don’t want to appear creepy or be presumptuous.”

She glanced up. “You don’t want to presume that my flirting means anything else?”

“Exactly.” He smiled and let all his teeth show. “Since this feels like some dream I conjured out of pure desire, I wouldn’t want to scare you away.”

She took two steps closer and stopped. His estimate of her height seemed right on. About five ten, plus the very high heels she wore, which still made him four inches taller. She gazed up at him. “You do understand that under these clothes there’s a man?”

He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

“Ah. Good.”

“I thought you might be transsexual.”

“Thank you, that means I’m convincing, I think. But no, I identify as a man. A gay man. I just like to wear women’s clothes sometimes.” She frowned. “It’s embarrassing actually, but there it is.”

“Why embarrassing? You’re really talented.”

“Thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which popped the cleavage of her breasts more distinctly. It also probably meant she was cold.

“Here.” He pulled the jacket off and stepped toward her. Her eyes widened just a fraction, and he stopped and handed her the jacket.

“Thank you.” She wrapped it around her shoulders, looked down, and burst out laughing. Yeah, a leather jacket almost to her knees looked pretty funny.

“Looks like you’ve got a new costume for tomorrow’s show.”

She shook her head. “I won’t be here tomorrow, actually.”

“Me either.”

“Ah. You do something other than attend drag shows.” Her dimples twinkled.

Well, shit, he hadn’t thought this through.
Okay, start as you’d like to continue
. “Uh, I’m going to tell you something that could get me in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh dear.”

“Chances are you may find out anyway.”

“More and more mysterious.” She smiled.

“I’m a football player.”

“Not surprising. I know nothing of football, however.”

“You’ve heard of the Los Angeles Diablos?”

“Of course.”

“I play for them.”

“Ah.”

“But they don’t know I’m gay, bi, whatever the fuck I am.”

“Oh dear.” Her eyes widened.

“It’s a big, long, complicated story. I planned to tell them. Now I can’t. End of story, I guess.”

She frowned. “It’s very important for gay professional athletes to come out.”

He grinned. “Of all the words in the world, those were the last ones I expected you to say.”

She looked up, startled. “What? Oh. Yes, well, that’s what I’ve read.”

“And it’s got a lot of truth, I guess. But playing pro football is hard enough without all the crap the press and other players give gay athletes. I know. A friend of mine went through it.”

“So aren’t you taking a chance by being at the Cellar?”

“Yes. But the season hasn’t started and I’m brand new to the team.”

“Ah, so in a few days or weeks you are—pffft.” She double snapped her fingers.

Holy shit
. His chest hurt. “I-I guess so.”

“My chocolate bunny will have melted away.”

“I know this sounds weird, but I really don’t want that to happen. Is there anything I can do? Any way I could maybe see you again?”

“Surely a big, handsome guy like you must have a girlfriend—or boyfriend—or one of each?” She smiled.

“No, neither. Really.”

She gazed at him appraisingly. “So you want to see me, but not at the Cellar?”

He nodded.
Please say yes, please, please
.

She gave a tiny smile, and his heart leaped.
Hope!
“The fact is that I walked all the way out here in four-inch heels to see you, which I have never, ever done before with any guest of the Cellar, no matter how devoted.”

That made him beam.

“Bunny, I think I like you.”

“Can I take you to dinner?”

She cocked her head. “Give me your phone.”

He handed it to her and watched as she keyed in digits. This was so good.

“I have no idea what the schedule of a football player is, but I’m very busy. Call me and we’ll make a date if we can find one.” She handed the phone back. In his contacts it said
Trixie.

“Can I call you soon?”

She laughed. The music tickled his balls—and his brain. “Anytime you want. I may not answer, but it’s not because I’m not interested.”

“Okay.” He stared at her and didn’t move.

She stared back at him. “Are you working up the nerve to ask for a good-night kiss, Bunny?”

“Dayum, I’d have to work up the nerve to work up the nerve.” Every cell screamed
YES!

She put a hand on her bedazzled hip. “Well, I haven’t got all night.” She double snapped, took three steps forward, and stood directly in front of him with her head leaning back to look him in the eyes.

He brought his hands up on either side of that perfect oval face and leaned in until his lips barely brushed hers.
Soft
. She sighed, and it played across his mouth like a ripple of sweetness. He let his lips close over hers.
Taste. Remember. The first moment
. She parted for him, and her tongue rose to meet his. Not shy or hesitant at all.
Oh right
,
this is a man. A perfect man.

Jamal tightened his arms and pulled Trixie in against his body as his mouth widened and sucked her/his tongue in deep. A groan trembled out of her throat, and it was a distinct tenor. Jamal slid his hand down her back to her butt. There was a lot of unusual stuff under that dress, but the ass was pure male. Hard as iron. He let his fingers grip and release as he deepened the kiss. Trixie’s arms circled his neck like her ship was sinking and she’d found the life buoy. Maybe they both had.