Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (12 page)

A voice on the TV said “Jamal Jones.” Trevor turned to look.

Three older guys, big men, sat behind a desk, flashing pictures of a football game on a screen behind them. That must be the game they’d been playing when he was outside marching today.

One guy said, “It looks like the Diablos got their money’s worth in Jones. That was quite a hit he delivered on Oakland’s Ricardo. He gave West the elbow room he needed to get that pass off.”

Trevor smiled. The second man said, “For a rookie, he’s got one hot snap. He keeps this up, we’ll be saying ‘Shields who’ in no time.”

Old dude number three shook his head. “Can’t downplay Shields’s amazing contribution to the team over all these years.”

“You’re right. But it’s good to see the Diablos are carrying on their tradition of great centers.” They cut to some video of a tall guy knocking some other giant into next week.
Shit
. Was that Jamal?

They started talking about things Trevor didn’t understand. Well, he didn’t understand what they’d said about Jamal either, but he could tell it was good. He grinned.
That’s great for the bunny.
He loves to play football. It’s good he excels at it.

Trevor sat on the edge of the narrow bed. Hopefully their marching outside the stadium hadn’t bothered anybody too much. It had created some buzz, and a couple of news vans showed up. At the last minute, he’d bailed and let Edward do the talking to the reporters. Edward loved the limelight. The LGBT Alliance was ecstatic with the coverage, which was bad because now they wanted to step it up. Trevor felt kind of like a traitor to Jamal, but he didn’t want to tell the Alliance about Bunny, which could lead to awkward questions that got too close to Trixie. And if he told Jamal about the Alliance? Shit, what a mess.

Think about happier things
—like Jamal’s giant cock in his ass. Trev wrapped a lock of hair around his finger. Time to get serious. He pulled some black slacks out of the closet. They were Trevor’s party pants, but they could pass for a girl’s wardrobe.
What on top? Hmm
. He had a sequined vest that went with a long lamé skirt he wore on stage. With a crisp white shirt under it, that vest could pass as classy party attire.
Done
.

He turned and approached his dressing table. This piece of furniture commanded more square footage than anything else in his one-room apartment. Pristine, shiny, and art deco, this table represented all the fabulousness of Trixie. The moment he’d seen it at the back of that grimy thrift shop, he’d fallen in love.

He sat in the pretty upholstered chair and peered into the rectangular mirror. Going out with Jamal tested Trevor’s skills. Looking like a woman from the stage was one thing, but looking like a real woman without overdoing it or exaggerating was another problem. He wrapped a band around his blond mane and examined his skin.
Start at the beginning
. He ran a hand over his chin and cheeks. Not a whisper of stubble, not that he had much beard anyway. He picked up his sponge and base makeup and went to work.

M
AN
,
THE
adrenaline from Jamal’s first NFL game—his first NFL win—was enough to power LA. Add on top of that he was meeting Trevor, and it was a wonder his car didn’t take off like some spaceship. Even thinking about where they were going didn’t put out his light. Damn, playing with those guys was dope. West’s hands were velvet, and Boogaloo might scare the shit out of him in real life, but nothing got past him. Rhinos looked wimpy next to the Diablos’ offensive line.

Okay, breathe.
He slowed the car and stared at the signs over the stores.
There. A coffee shop on the corner.
Trevor had said he’d meet Jamal there. Jamal wanted to pick him up at his house, but Trevor said no. Something about too hard to find. More like he didn’t really trust Jamal to know where he lived. That was okay. Trust was earned.

He looked for a place to park. The door to the coffee shop opened and—
holy mother of crap
. Jamal stopped the car at the curb before he wrecked it. Walking across the sidewalk toward him, Trevor redefined beautiful. Trixie was gorgeous, spectacular, and subtle for a drag queen, but this was something else. This “woman” could have been on the cover of a magazine or the girl next door or something in between. Classy, stylish, and, above all, real. Just the tiniest bit larger than life in high black heels, slim slacks, a white shirt, and a pink sequined vest. He’d tied some kind of scarf several times around his neck. It showed off the length while hiding his Adam’s apple. Jamal smiled and tried to swallow.

Trevor leaned over and peeked in the door.
Crap
. Jamal turned on his flashers, leaped out, and ran around to open the door for Trixie.

“Thank you, kind sir.” Trevor climbed in quickly, and Jamal ran back around before road rage overtook the passionate Los Angeles drivers. He slammed his door and pulled away from the curb, then glanced over and smiled as he stopped at the light.

Trevor grinned. “Didn’t mean to make you get out.”

“You kidding? You’d already stopped traffic.”

Trevor laughed. “You say the damnedest things. Thank you.”

“You really do look spectacular.”

“Convincing?”

“For sure.”

“I gather I need to be. Where are we going?”

Jamal negotiated the turn and headed toward the Hollywood Hills and Coach Hartford’s house. “It’s a party for the team. First game party and, I didn’t know it, but I guess it’s required attendance.”

Silence.

Jamal looked over to see Trevor staring out the windshield. He looked kind of frozen. “Trevor?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m Trixie. Don’t make that mistake.”

“Okay. Are you all right?”

“Bunny, I don’t think this is a good idea. Why don’t you drop me off and go on your own?”

God
. He should stick his head in a bucket and drown. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about how awful it would be for you to be with all these dumb jocks.”

Trevor put his hand on Jamal’s shoulder. “No. I mean you can’t put your precious future in my hands. What if they all know I’m a guy? You’ll be wrecked. You’ll lose your job and—” He waved a hand. “—everything.”

Sadly, he told the truth. “No one will know. My sister isn’t as feminine as you look tonight.”

“To you.”

“No, to anyone. Plus they won’t be looking for you to be anything but female, and people see what they expect.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’d much rather it was just you and me going out to dinner, but they know I have a date, and everyone expects me to bring you.”

“Wow.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Trevor took deep breaths. He gave a long, slow exhale. “Okay, since we’re doing this, prepare me. Who will I be meeting?”

“Manny Hartford is the coach. It’s his house. I doubt the team owner will be there, although he could. Name’s Arondel, and he’s a total conservative.”

“Clearly the best person to introduce to your drag queen boyfriend.”

Jamal laughed, but he really liked that word,
boyfriend
. “One other significant player is Boogaloo Johnson. He plays on the team with me, and it’s his sister you saw in that photograph. He’ll be looking to figure out why I want you instead of his sister.”

“Did you explain I have a dick?”

“I missed that part of the briefing.”

Trevor placed his well-manicured hand on Jamal’s arm. “I’ll do my best, Bunny.”

“I know.” But, man, was he praying that Trevor’s best was good enough.

Another fifteen minutes and they were cruising up a winding road in the Hollywood Hills. Unlike some of the other wealthy areas of LA, the houses on these streets generally boasted the best of modern architecture. A true California style instead of something some rich guy dragged back from Italy, like you saw in big sections of the southland. Jamal slowed and looked for an address.

“Pretty houses.”

“Yeah. There. That’s where we’re going.” A glass and wood house on a rise was all lit up. As they got closer, they saw a sign that read
Valet stop here.

Jamal pulled over, and a guy about his age opened the door. “Good evening, sir. You here for the Hartford party?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take the car. Just keep this ticket.”

Jamal slid out and started around for Trevor, but the valet beat him to it. He did get to see the guy’s eyes widen as one of those long legs in a black stiletto heel stepped out.

The kid’s voice sounded a little breathy. “Good evening, ma’am. I hope you enjoy the party.”

Trevor—or he should say Trixie—offered a hand like the queen of fucking Sheba, and the valet helped him out until he stood in his high shoes, towering over the guy. “Thank you.”

He, uh she—Jesus, he’d never had this much trouble with pronouns in his life. Names weren’t much better. But he needed to get used to calling her Trixie again quick.

Trixie walked around the car, and Jamal met him—shit, pronouns again—with an arm. Feeling that strong, lithe bicep slide against his reminded him again how not a girl this Trixie was. He leaned in close. “Man, you’re something special.”

Trixie looked at him with that direct gaze. “You’re pretty damned great yourself. You in that sweater could be packaged and sold in place of Viagra.”

Jamal laughed. “This old thing?” He’d only spent an hour running out to a store to buy the white silk sweater. He’d picked it because the sales guy said it clung in all the right places and, since the man seemed to be sporting an erection while saying it, Jamal figured it was getting the response he wanted.

“I’ll do my best to carry this off for you.”

“Thank you. I know.” All the way up the walkway, the butterflies in his stomach warred with the throb in his cock.

He raised his hand to knock, and the door opened before he could complete the bang. A tall, skinny guy with a brush cut stuck out his hand. “Welcome, Jamal. I’m Lou, coach’s assistant.” His gaze slid to Trixie and slowly rose to that perfect face. “Wow.” He swallowed, laughed, and stuck out his hand. “Sorry, you are most welcome. I’m Lou.”

“Thank you, Lou.” Trevor extended a graceful hand. “I’m Trixie.”

Lou stepped back and let them cross in front of him. “Please come in and make yourselves at home. The bar’s in the library. There’s a full buffet in the dining room and dessert and coffee by the pool.”

Jamal nodded, but Lou’s eyes stayed glued to Trixie. Jamal slipped an arm around her waist and started to follow the noise coming from down the hall. A tap on his shoulder made him look back. Quietly, Lou mouthed, “Good going.”

He smiled.
Good start
. Yeah, but as tests went, that was barely a pop quiz. Trixie definitely passed as a woman to the valet and Lou, but a lot more critical eyes waited ahead.

A few more steps down the hall, the space opened into a huge three-story cavern with walls of glass and strict, straight furniture that looked pretty uncomfortable. At least, none of the hordes of people in the room seemed to be sitting on it much except for Hartford and a pretty dark-haired woman who must be his wife. A few people stood by him talking. About six or eight more clustered around the unlit fireplace with glasses in their hands, most of them members of the team with great-looking women beside them. A man and a woman he recognized were reporters he’d seen at press conferences. Double doors stood open, and lots of noise came from outside.

Hartford was nodding at someone, and he glanced to the side. Jamal saw the second he registered Trixie. He stuck out a hand to the guy speaking and nodded toward Jamal, then got up with a smile and came toward him with a hand outstretched. “Jamal, glad you could make it.” As if it wasn’t a command performance.

Jamal shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. This is my friend, Trixie. Trixie, this is Coach Hartford.”

Hartford turned to her as though his whole awareness hadn’t been on her for several seconds. “Trixie? You don’t hear that name a lot.”

She laughed, and the sound managed to be both light and throaty at the same time. “You mean outside of strip clubs?” She cocked her head to the side. “My given name is Teresa, but my father called me Trixie, and since he’s gone, I haven’t had the heart to change it.”

She did not really say that
.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Not long at all.” She hugged Jamal’s arm a little tighter. “It was an immediate attraction.”

Hartford turned to Jamal. “By the way, the coach at your university asked if you can come and speak to the team. Inspiration and all that. I said I’d check, but I thought you’d want to go.”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

Another guest walked in, and Hartford looked over Trixie’s shoulder at him. “You two have fun. I hope we get to talk more before the evening’s over.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

Jamal slipped his hand over Trixie’s. “We’ll go find the bar.” He led her away. “That was one big hurdle.” He grinned. “Your father called you Trixie?”

“Actually, most things he called me were pretty unrepeatable.”

Shit
. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry about it. On to the next hurdle.”

The library turned out to be a big room with a lot of books that looked like nobody read them, except for a couple of shelves crammed with references on football interspersed with trophies and all kinds of sports shit Jamal’s dad would have loved to see. A huge-screen TV took up one wall, with a cabinet full of electronics. Three of the guys from the team played some video game while two girls cheered them on. A line for the bar snaked to the door. They got in it.

A hand clamped his shoulder. “Hey, my man.”

Winston. “Hey, Ado.”

“So who’s this?”

“Trixie, this is Adolphus Winston. We play together.”

She extended her hand. “Of course. I’m so glad to meet any friend of Jamal’s.”

He stared at her hand for a second like he didn’t know what to do with it, then took it and shook delicately. “Wow. This here the girl you told Boogie about, man?”