Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (7 page)

His cock was in heaven, man. Everything he liked about men and women writhed right here in his arms. His tongue explored the soft surfaces of her mouth, pressed deeper into her throat, then slid back to dance with her tongue. She licked a path between his teeth and his lip, and every cell tingled.
Wow
. Was that a direct line to his cock? It was throbbing like a hammer.

His fingers slipped between her legs from the back and bumped all kinds of padding. He whispered, “I want to feel your cock.”

She chuckled. “Not much chance. I’m tucked. You’ll have to trust me that the thing is in a full upright position, which I have to tell you is not recommended.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”

She laughed, and it had a distinctly male edge. “Believe me, Bunny, if getting out of this costume wasn’t a job, you might have a chance of bending me over this car. That’s how turned on I am. But in truth, I’m not that kind of girl, so you’ll have to work a bit harder to get into my bikini panties.” She stepped back but let him keep his arms loosely locked around her waist.

“You’re about to make me come in mine.”

“You like the idea of a little lace, do you?”

“I guess I do. I’m sort of bi.”

“Sort of bi?”

“I tend to favor men, but I’ve been happy with women.”

“And I’m both?”

He smiled down at her. “The very best of both worlds as far as I can see.”

“So call me.”

“Believe me, I will. I’ll find a way.”

She tilted her head. “I have a pretty good idea that we’ve both lost our minds.”

He smiled and kissed her gently on the lips. “I know I have.”

She gave that soft little smile like she knew a million secrets. “Till we meet again, Bunny.” With a backward step, she left his arms. Instant cold. She started to take the jacket off her shoulders.

“Keep it.”

“Safekeeping.”

“Can I escort you back to the Cellar?”

She shook her head, turned, and walked slowly out of the parking lot without a backward glance. Her hand reached out to the side and double snapped. Jamal’s eyes never left her form until she rounded the corner out of sight.

Chapter 5

“Y
OUR
PROFESSORS
are very impressed with your progress in something called—” He glanced at his notebook. “—combinatorial optimization, Trevor.” Mr. Klinger sipped his iced tea. “Sadly, I must confess I have no idea what that is.”

Trevor chewed the last bite of his chicken sandwich. “It’s a subset of mathematical optimization that’s related to operations research, algorithm theory, and computational complexity theory.”

Klinger held up his hand. “Still in the dark. But we’re very proud of you. I’m sure the extension of your scholarship will come through with flying—” He made quotes with his fingers. “—combinatorial colors.” He picked up a french fry, dipped it in ranch dressing, and waved it toward Trevor. “How is the LGBT Student Action Group going?”

“Excellent, thank you. We’re starting the campus campaign for new members this week. Then we’ll set our agenda for projects we want to undertake.”

“Protests?”

“Yes, some. We generally target three or four causes for the year. One or two local and a couple national or even international campaigns.”
Jesus, Landry, you’re so full of shit
.

“Africa?”

He sipped his tea. “It’s such a huge problem. We’ll probably work closer to home in the Americas. A lot of tourist money goes to places like Barbados, Grenada, and Jamaica. Many Americans might choose to spend their vacation dollars differently if they knew it’s illegal to be gay in those countries.”

“It certainly makes me think twice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re an inspiration to a lot of people.”

Trevor winced and tried not to show it. “I’m honored you think so.”

Klinger smiled and bit another fry. “Have to learn to take those compliments, son. You’ll be getting a lot of them in your life, I’m sure.” He motioned for the check. “So, the paperwork on your scholarship is just a formality. Get the renewal documents back to me by next week and I’m sure there will be no interruption in funding.”

“Thank you. I will.”

He leaned forward. “How’s your mother?”

Trevor frowned, then smoothed his forehead. “She knows me less and less each time I see her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s to be expected. The progress of the disease.” The disease that took her mind and his heart.

“Your brother—”

“I don’t see him. At least he pays for my mother’s care. For that I’m eternally grateful.” He didn’t let his shudder show.

“No rapprochement?”

“No. He has his convictions—I have mine.”

“Well, I’m happy that the Foundation can be a proud parent, so to speak.”

Trevor smiled. Klinger was a horse’s asshole, but he meant well—usually.

“So, we’ll get together again next quarter for our little lunch?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll find another place with LA’s best french fries.”

“You do know my weaknesses.”

They both rose, and Klinger gave him an awkward hug. The Anvil Foundation paid lip service to being LGBT friendly, or Trevor never would have won the scholarship. He got to be their poster boy for political correctness, but that didn’t mean they wanted to get any on them.

“Thank you again, sir. I’ve got to run to a committee meeting.”

“On Sunday?”

Trevor nodded. “Prejudice never sleeps.” He flashed his dimples to soften the snark.

“Of course. I’ll finish up here.”

Trevor hurried out of the restaurant. He’d chosen it especially for its proximity to campus.
Late.
He sighed. Keeping up appearances could be damned exhausting. At a trot, he took off toward the room in the computer science building they’d been given for their LGBT Action Group. He ran down the sidewalk, up the stairs, and swung into the room. Four people looked up from their chats and texting.

In his pocket, his phone rang.
Who?
He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Not a number he recognized—which meant it could be the bunny. Could he walk out? Be later than he already was? His fingers actually shook, he wanted to answer so badly, but should he? Hell, the man had a lot to lose, and Trevor? He had more. The interested faces kept staring at him as the phone quit ringing. He was the taskmaster in this group. He laid down the rules, and he couldn’t break them.
Shit and damnation
.

He locked the phone, put it back in his pocket, and sat at the table with the board of the Action Group—vice-president, treasurer, secretary, membership chairman, and of course, the president. That would be him. Trevor. Unanimously voted by the membership who trusted him and admired him—because they didn’t know he was a fraud.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a scholarship thing. Let’s plunge into membership. Edward.” Edward Heath, the membership chair, leaned forward, his long red hair draping over his shoulder. Trevor and Edward had gone out a couple of times, but no fireworks. Real attraction was hard when every person you knew only saw half of you. Of course, the previous night’s twenty-one gun salute stood out for its heat.

Edward twisted a lock of hair around his finger. The hair was great and he knew it. “I want to go back to something Trev said at the end of last semester. We need to up our profile, and I think his idea about the athletes’ campaign is perfect.”

“Athletes?” What the hell had he said?

Ginny Hwang, the treasurer, nodded. “I remember because I loved it.
You Come Out for Us and We’ll Come Out for You.
Genius. I think we can get a lot of press attention for that campaign. Let’s start on campus, but we can spread out through all of SoCal.”

What had he started?

RJ, the vice-president, loved sports. He practically bounced in his chair. “Yeah, we can picket outside the Diablos’ games.”

This was spinning out of control. “Wait. Let’s walk before we can run. We need all kinds of permission to get anywhere near the sports arenas. Besides, isn’t football about to begin? By the time we get this up and running, we should probably shoot for basketball.” He smiled. “Pardon the pun.”

Edward shook his head emphatically. “No way. Football’s huge.” He grabbed a newspaper he’d brought in with him and spread it out to the sports page. “It’s all anyone is talking about. We need to ramp up quickly so we can get in on this action. Plus, football is the toughest. They’re the most homophobic. There’s no better way to be heard.”

Trevor couldn’t disagree. It was a great idea. It was his idea. Football had just climbed a little higher in his opinion, though.

Morris Hesch wasn’t secretary for nothing. Details made up the guy’s life, and he’d already started a big sheet on which he listed all the items to be accomplished to get their campaign underway. “You’ll be the spokesperson, right, Trev?”

“I don’t know much about sports.” He glanced at the paper. Football all over the page.
Wait
. He leaned forward—then a little more. In the lower right corner of the page was a photo of two gigantic guys sitting at a restaurant with two pretty girls, all smiling. One guy looked formidable but attractive. The woman next to him had an arrangement of braids that had to make the record books. The other guy? Well, damn. Trevor stared.

RJ leaned forward. “What is it, Trev?”

“Nothing. I was just looking at this woman’s amazing hair.”

He glanced at it. “Yeah. That’s one scary mother she’s with, I’ll tell you. Boogaloo Johnson is the toughest guard in the NFL.”

“Oh?” He swallowed quietly. “Who’re the other couple?”

RJ pulled the paper around. “Yeah, that’s the new Diablos’ center, Jamal Jones. He came out of SCU as a top draft pick. It says his girlfriend is Boogaloo’s sister.” He grinned. “They must be keeping it in the family. Pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes. I guess.” Oh my. The bunny’s words did have a way of ringing in your ears.
No girlfriend. No boyfriend.
And the date on the photo? That would be yesterday. Trevor sighed. He was an expert on lying, but the bunny had fooled him. Even if this beauty wasn’t his permanent girlfriend, a guy that gorgeous must have a girl or a guy for every night and two for Sunday. Yeah, and Trixie did not like crowds.

Morris cleared his throat.

Trevor looked at him. “Sorry to get us off track. Yes, Morris. I’ll be the spokesperson for the
Come Out for Us
campaign.” He sat back and crossed his arms.

C
RAP
. J
AMAL
sat on the edge of the hotel bed and stared at his phone. She’d warned him she was busy. She might not answer. Still, it felt like a kick in the teeth. It was pure stupid how bad he wanted to talk to her. Well, maybe “talk” wasn’t exactly the right description. Man, that kiss had set new records in dick launch. Maybe now she’d changed her mind and decided hooking up with a fan was stupid. Yeah, not much about the whole thing made sense. Didn’t seem to matter to his button-pushing finger.

Jamal dialed again. The soft voice murmured through the speaker. “Hi. I’m sorry to have missed you. Please leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

He hadn’t left a message before.

Beep.

“Hi, Trixie, this is—oh, this is Jamal. Uh, Bunny, you know. Sorry I never got to tell you my name. I tried earlier but, like you said, you’re busy. I’d love to take you out next Saturday if you’re free. I have a game. Nothing much. A preseason. I mean, it’s kind of a big deal because it’s the opener. Anyway, I could pick you up at eight. Take you to dinner.” Damn, his voice was shaking. “Sorry, I’m excited to see you again. You can call me. I’m in your phone now, but let me give you the digits.” He read them off.
Take a breath
. “I-I hope you haven’t changed your mind about wanting to see me. I’d love to see you again.” Pause. “Okay, bye.” Holy mother of crap. Talk about lame. Lame all around. He was even late for practice.

He took off out of the room like a man who wanted to play football more than he wanted to talk to a beautiful drag queen. It was kind of true.

“T
HREE
FIFTY
-
ONE
,
Jet two, on two. Hut. Hut.”

Jamal snapped the ball back to Jet in slingshot, fell back, and set for the rush. The ball sailed over his head in a long looping pass right into the hands of the tight end.
Good one
.

The whistle stopped the play, and he went to grab water. Jet walked up beside him and drank from his own canister. In the last week, they’d developed a rhythm. Not as intuitive as he’d been with Will yet, but getting there.

Jet nodded toward the small group of players farther down the field. “How do you think it’s going?”

Jamal shrugged. “About as well as can be expected.”

Jet barked a laugh. “Yeah. Those two aren’t friends.”

The coach had surprised them all by bringing in Ray Shields to train Boogaloo at center. He said he couldn’t spare Jamal, who needed to be working on his timing with Jet, and besides, Ray was the best center in football no matter how beat up he was.