Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (32 page)

Winston shook his head. “You nuts, man.” But he smiled.

Boogie stepped up beside Jamal. His voice came bigger and meaner than any Green River linebacker. “You, boy.” He pointed at the linebacker. “You callin’ my man a faggot?”

The ref walked over. “What’s going on?”

Boogaloo glared. “Nothin’. We’re done here.”

It took another quarter, but Jamal picked himself off the ground after a play in time to see Boogie land on the linebacker. The guy was well and truly down, but Winston piled on top of Boogaloo, and Matoa added on. Squashed defensive lineman. Over the referee’s whistle, he heard Boogie sneer, “Stay down yourself, faggot. You diss our center, you answer to the offensive line of the Los Angeles Diablos.”

Wow.
If he hadn’t been expected on the line of scrimmage, he could have cried.

The linebacker looked shell-shocked, but he got up. No more slurs from that department. But by the fourth quarter, the game was tied. Man, he so did not want to lose to these fuckers.

West’s voice rang out. “Six twenty-eight, six twenty-eight. Red Ace Two. Hut. Hut.”

Jamal snapped the ball in shotgun, reared back, and moved to cover the quarterback for the passing play, three tackles coming at him. The ball sailed over his head. A giant linebacker managed to get his body far enough off the ground to tip the ball, and it spiraled down toward the field.

Jamal watched it coming like a movie starring Keanu Reeves. He reached out and snagged it.
Holy shit
. For a second he stared.
Move!
He dodged left to escape the attackers, zigzagged again and—son of a bitch, he started to run. The defense tried to recover from the surprise—centers ran the ball occasionally, but seldom as a first choice—and took off down the field. He was pretty fast for a guy his size, and that also confused the fuck out of the other tackles. One safety dove for him, and he swerved. Straight ahead he saw that damned linebacker again. With a huge thrust, he ran right over the guy and plowed his body into the end zone.
Well, sweet mother of crap
. Touchdown.

The fans went nuts, the giant screen in the stadium showed nothing but him, and the music played. His team jogged toward him, and guys slapped him on the back. Jet laughed. “Hey, man, when did they make you my wide receiver?”

He looked up at the sky. Trevor, the team, and a touchdown. If this was in a movie, nobody’d believe it.

L
UCRETIA
’
S
VOICE
blasted over the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, Trixie LaRuuuuue.”

Jamal’s mom grabbed his hand. “Here we go. I’m so excited.”

“Me too.” He looked around. His whole family had turned out for Trixie’s return to the stage, along with Will, Noah, a few people Jamal had just met from Trevor’s work, some of the members of Trevor’s LGBT Alliance, and—so fucking amazing he still couldn’t believe it—Boogaloo Johnson with Sasaundra on his arm. When Boogie heard that Trixie was performing, he said he had to see her because she was gorgeous and smart—for a guy in a dress.

Apparently they’d added a couple of musicians for the full-house event tonight, and they played their way through a short overture. Then a spotlight slowly brightened in the middle of the stage, and to huge applause, Trixie stepped into it wearing white that glimmered like stars—but not as bright as her hair or her eyes that glistened at Jamal.

She smiled and looked straight down at him where he sat at his favorite table right below the stage. He could drown in the blue of those eyes.

Her sweet voice trembled a little. “This is for the man I love.”

His mom gripped his hand again. “Oh, Jamal.”

He barely felt her touch. Trevor’s words ran through him like his own blood.

“Black, black, black is the color of my true love’s hair.”

Noah wiped tears from his cheeks.

“His lips are something wondrous fair. He has the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.”

Jamal slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

“I love the ground whereon he stands.” The pure countertenor soared and hung in the air. “I love my love and well he knows. I love the ground whereon he goes. And times I wish the day will come—” Jamal felt the velvet of the tiny jewelry box. Would Trevor say yes? Would he want to do it? Or was it too soon? So much had changed for both of them in such a short time.

“—when he and I will be as one.”

Tears slid quietly down Trevor’s face as he smiled, and they matched the ones on Jamal’s cheeks. His hand smoothed the box. Too soon? Too soon to say they would be together forever? No. Not for him. After all, he was really good at change.

About the Author

T
ARA
L
AIN
writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her bestselling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Erotic Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, and Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. Readers often call her books “sweet,” even with all that hawt sex, because Tara believes in love and her books deliver on happy-ever-after. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. Her love of creating book titles comes from years of manifesting ad headlines for everything from analytical instruments to semiconductors. She does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul mate husband and her soul mate dog (who’s a little jealous of all those cat pictures Tara posts on FB) in Laguna Niguel, California, near the seaside towns where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says that on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

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