Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center by Tara Lain Page A

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