Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (9 page)

Jamal jumped. “Ouch. That sounded painful.”

“It kind of is.” Trevor chose a favorite blue sweater he’d hung on his clothes rack and slipped it over his head. “Okay. I’m partway done. Do you want to look now?”

“No, I love surprises.”

Trevor took two deep breaths. What if Jamal didn’t like this surprise? That would be bad, since Trevor had so many other fucking surprises he couldn’t see. But at least he’d know.

Carefully, he pulled off his false lashes and put them in their case. A scoop of cleansing cream got rid of mascara, blush, contouring, and eyeliner. Then he rinsed the washcloth and wiped off the impressionist painting the cream had created. Finally, he grabbed his brush and swiped it through the blond mane. It only took a twist of his wrist to create a tight cue at his neck, which he bound with a silver clip. Complete. There he was. Trevor the boy. Would the bunny like the boy? Why the hell did he care so much? “Okay, you can turn around.”

Trevor stared in the mirror and watched Jamal turn slowly. The big man’s eyes widened.

Trevor tried to smile. “Ta da.”

Silence.

He smoothed a hand over the tightly bound hair and turned to face Jamal. “No?”

Jamal kind of shook himself. “What?”

“The boy thing not your cuppa?”

Jamal dragged in a noisy breath and pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “It’s weird. Except for that nice bulge in your jeans, you could still be a girl. But everything in me knows you’re not. You look like one of those statues of Greek boys I used to stare at when I was a kid. I loved their cute balls.”

“You think you’d like mine?”

Jamal put a hand on his chest. “Jesus, don’t tease me.”

Trevor stuck out a hand. “My name’s Trevor. Pleased to meet you.”

Jamal reached out to take the offered handshake and—whoops! In one gentle pull on Trevor’s arm that clearly required no effort on Jamal’s part, Trevor was up against that huge chest. “I’m Jamal. I don’t mean to be presumptuous. Just tell me to stop. But if I don’t kiss you again soon, I’m a dead man.”

Trevor smiled up into those dark brown eyes. “I would never want to be accused of murder.”

Such full, full lips. They moved slowly down, down to Trevor’s. The first touch sent a flash like lightning through every nerve, and he shivered.

Jamal pulled back. “Cold?”

“Quite the contrary.” He wrapped his arms tightly around the bunny’s neck.

Invitation delivered
. Jamal’s mouth closed over Trevor’s. Those lips were just as soft as they looked, but not as silky as the tongue that slipped into his mouth. Oh my, a girl could get drunk on this sweetness. Trevor opened and received, allowing exploration—and sharing it. His poor abused cock, which had spent a couple of hours locked between his asscheeks, wanted to stretch in a whole new direction. Sweet God, he hadn’t throbbed like this in ages. One leg crawled up Jamal’s ass all by itself—and it was a long way up. Too far to get his bulge anywhere near its rightful companion. His eyes popped open. “Well, damn. Not much chance of sexing you up unless we’re lying down.”

Jamal chuckled. “Oh no, sweet thing, there are advantages to all these muscles.” He picked Trevor up under the butt.
Yes! Contact
.

Trevor looked into those melted chocolate eyes. “I am estimating your equipment fully matches in size the other proportions of your body?” He wrapped his legs around Jamal’s surprisingly narrow waist.

Instead of getting all peacocky like he had the right to, Jamal kind of blushed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Surely you jest.”

He grinned, but he was breathing hard. “So you don’t mind big all over?”

“Not one little bit.”

Jamal rode Trev up and down against his cock. Oh God, that felt so good. Trevor never had decent sex because he had this reputation to uphold, and Trixie never had sex at all. Jesus, that added up to one crappy sex life. But the bunny was like a world in the middle. With Jamal, for the first time, he got to be both Trevor and Trixie and that was whole and perfect and hot! “You might want to stop unless you would enjoy watching me wash these jeans.”

“Better yet, how about I take you out and we get to know each other before I quit football and take up fucking you full time?”

Who could laugh at a time like this? But he still did. He hugged that big, muscular frame tight and rubbed his cock against Jamal’s huge bulge until they were both gasping. “No. No, I think you better write the resignation letter.”

“Deal. But I could take us out for root beer floats first.”

Trevor stopped. “I
love
root beer.”

Jamal held him still, their cocks still squashed in bliss. “You’re kidding. No one likes root beer but me.”

“I do. It’s my favorite.”

“There’s this diner—”

“Okay, fuck sex. I need a root beer float and a hamburger.” Was the bunny really going to do this? Trevor cocked his head. “Are you about to bail on a guaranteed orgasm to take me out for root beer, sir?”

Chapter 6

T
REVOR
GRINNED
as Jamal looked at him through his black lashes. “You think I’m crazy?”

“Certifiable.”

“It’s just, I want to get to know you. I mean, like you said, Trixie isn’t that kind of girl, and I don’t want you to think I came here to get in your pants. Or to
only
get in your pants.” God, that smile was edible. “But I also don’t want you to think that making this insane suggestion is easy. Trust me, I can be talked out of it in a fucking flash.”

Trevor rested his forehead against Jamal’s and breathed. What did he want? Jamal’s more than ample cock in some available orifice, for one. But did he want more? Because “getting to know you time” implied a deeper interest. Okay, yes. He was curious about the guy. Fucking and forgetting might not be the best approach. Based on Jamal’s determination, it might not even be a possible approach. This man had gone to some considerable trouble against what seemed his own best interest to come here.
Oh, what the hell. Don’t overthink it, Landry. You love root beer.
“Okay. Let’s go.”

Jamal beamed and slowly relaxed his hold on Trevor. Hmm, that was the bad part—giving up that cock. Jamal tilted that big head. “Can I drive you, or do you want to follow me?”

“I don’t have a car.”

His eyes widened.

“I know. It’s a rarity in southern California. But I don’t have the money for a car, and I’m not emotionally suited to driving.”

“Too nervous?”

“Too analytical. I have trouble relaxing and letting instinct take over. I think about driving, which in turn drives me crazy.”

Jamal laughed. “Do you have similar problems during sex?”

Slightly sore subject
. Trevor unbound his legs from Jamal’s waist and let them slide down. “Occasionally.”

He flashed the grin. “I should warn you. I love a challenge.”

Oh my
. “Anytime.”

“So if you can’t drive, how do you get here?”

“Bike, sometimes bus.”

He swept a bow toward the door. “My chariot awaits, sir.”

Trevor grabbed his windbreaker, then paused and stared at the leather jacket carefully hung beside his evening gowns. He slipped the smooth garment from the hanger and draped it around his shoulders, then grinned and walked out into the hall. Jamal laughed and followed him. He could hear the music from the second show as he led the way down the narrow corridor to the back entrance and pointed at his bike leaning against the wall. “Is there room in your trunk?”

Jamal nodded. “You kidding? I can smuggle small countries in that trunk.”

The alarm wasn’t set, so Trevor pushed open the door. Jamal lifted the bike like it was a pick-up stick and set it down in the back alley, then started walking toward the lot where they’d shared that more than memorable kiss. Trevor walked fast to keep up with Jamal’s longer strides, even rolling the bike beside him. It always felt funny to be in sneakers again after an evening in heels. “So what were you planning to do if I’d just left and you were still sitting at the table?”

“I don’t know. Sleep there, maybe.” The white teeth flashed.

“I’m sure your football team wouldn’t approve of the police dragging you out of the club—all puns intended.”

He made a funny face. “Probably not.”

“But I appreciate you being so intent on making me understand what happened.”

“I thought there might be a misunderstanding. I hoped so.”

Trevor glanced toward Jamal. “You figured you’re so irresistible I wouldn’t turn you down, so there had to be some mistake?”

They came up to the black Cadillac. Jamal opened the trunk and, one-handed, lifted the bike in; then he walked to the passenger door and held it for Trevor. As Trevor slid onto the smooth leather seat, Jamal looked down, the slight glow of the moon making his eyes shine. “I knew if there was any chance you still wanted to see me again, I had to pursue it. I would have been pissed at myself forever if I didn’t try.” He closed the door, and his shoes crunched on the dirt lot as he walked around the car. The driver’s door opened, and Jamal got in, making the roomy interior feel smaller. He turned slightly and gazed at Trevor.

“What?”

“I can’t get over what you look like as a man.” He reached out and touched Trev’s hair. “So beautiful. And you’re eyes aren’t really blue. They’re like green too. Blue green.” He pulled the hand back. “I was wondering why you’re not a model or appearing in a big show in Las Vegas. I mean, the Cellar is fine and all, but you’re a lot better than the rest of them. You have to know that.”

How much to say? So much to hide
. “Thank you. But I’m not a performer. I just do it for fun. I mean, they pay me, but it’s a small amount and, as you know, I come and go as I please.”

“So if you’re not a performer, what do you do?”

Oh hell, this was the problem with dating a guy who knew him as Trixie. “I’m a student at SCU.”

“No kidding. I went to school there.”

“So I’m told.”

“Oh? Who told you?”

“I asked a guy I know who likes sports who Jamal Jones was. He looked at me like I was nuts.”

Jamal cranked the ignition. “You were asking about me, huh?”

“Yes, don’t let it go to your head.”

Jamal turned on some music real low as he drove. “Do you only like those old standards you sing, or is this okay?” Usher’s silky voice sang something about feet off the ground and love is the cloud.

“This is fine. Don’t you like my songs?”

“I love ’em. Except the Daddy one.” He laughed, then pointed toward a small diner with a flashing sign that said
Leroy’s
. “As promised. You hungry?”

“Starved, actually.”

“Good.” Jamal pulled into the lot, parked, got out, and started around to open Trevor’s door.

No, stop
. Trev popped open his side and hopped out, then held up his hand. Jamal stopped and frowned. Trevor took off the jacket and laid it on the car seat, then grabbed his windbreaker and slipped it on. He walked up beside Jamal and elaborately put his hands in his back pockets. “Do you usually open doors for other guys?”

“No. Sorry.”

They went in and got a table in the back. Jamal grabbed the menu, held it up, and looked toward Trevor behind it. “You’re confusing—in a good way.”

Trevor had to control his grin. The waitress, a middle-aged woman wearing a perky, short dress with a crinoline under it that might have been good on a thirteen-year-old, came, and they both ordered root beer floats and hamburgers with everything except onions. When she left, Jamal smiled. “Just because I exercised my chivalric rights doesn’t mean I can’t plan for future kissing.”

“Plan ahead.”

He turned a sugar packet in his gigantic hands. “What do you study?”

“Mathematics.”

“Wow. Same as my sister.”

“You have a smart sister?”

“And two brothers, both older.” He leaned forward. “Two out of three are gay.”

“That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah. I always figured it was the universe evening out the odds against us a little. We have this great family that loves and accepts all of us just like we are.”

That might be enough to make him sick with envy. “Did you get your degree in football? PhD in passing?” He smiled.

“Centers don’t pass. Actually I have a degree in education.”

“So you want to teach?”

“Yeah. Or coach, maybe. Or both.”

“So why are you playing football?”

“I’ve played since I was six.”

“Why?”

“You do ask the damnedest questions. Doesn’t every man want to be a pro football player?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Seriously, you’d love it. The best football players have an intuitive mathematical understanding, especially of geometry. I got As in math in high school just by learning football statistics and analyzing plays.”

Trevor nodded. “Of course, vector analysis coupled with Newton’s laws of trajectories explains the basics of where a football will land, while you would be learning differential equations in order to characterize the aerodynamics of the ball in flight.”

Jamal grinned. “Yeah. What you said.”