Page 29 of Tumbling the Cornerback

"Jimmy wanted me to lie," I hissed. "He wanted me to be okay with him dating a woman—him marrying a woman—and keeping me on the side!"

"Until it was convenient for his career to be out and proud," Tori reminded me. "And then what happened?"

I pursed my lips into a thin line, the words burning my throat.

"He decided you weren't the right kind of queer guy he wanted to be seen with. And you found out when he stepped out with that asshole Tyson Janes," Marisol continued. Tori and Liz shifted uncomfortably—they'd been there when the shit with Jimmy went down. On Thursday, he and I had talked about our big debut, now that he was retiring from the NFL after a devastating knee injury. On Friday he'd been papped out and on the town in New York City with Tyson Janes, the supermodel son of a billionaire hotel magnate. The only response I received when I tried to talk to Jimmy had been a cease and desist from his lawyers and a threat of a lawsuit if I ever spoke about our relationship, with a stern reminder about my own contractual obligations to not date players.

"I'm not trying to be a bitch," Marisol sighed.

"You're failing," Liz huffed. "Listen, we just don't want to see you get fucked over again, okay? And we don't want you to lose your career. Just... if—if—you are seeing Cooper Howard... be careful, okay? Like however careful you think you need to be, double that."

I nodded faintly, stomach still roiling. "I have to go. Got class soon. See you at practice tonight," I muttered, turning away and striding into the locker room.

When I emerged later, the gym was almost empty, and I could make a beeline for my car, pretending I wasn't about to burst into tears.

Thankfully, Tia Lynda wasn't behind the counter when I got to the studio. One of the older students who sometimes picked up a few hours to help pay for classes gave me a sunny smile and wave, pretending she wasn't hiding her phone in her lap.

I sailed past on my way to the Beginners' Hip Hop class. As usual, the kids were full of energy like trying to herd hyperactive cats, but it was a relief from my circling worries and kept me from sending something to Cooper I probably shouldn't. In fact, I didn't get a chance to even look at my phone untilafter I got home. I had a few hours before I needed to be at the field for our practice, so I took a quick shower and made some food before checking messages. Cooper had texted me a few times—some risqué emoji combinations, a hint about the book he'd picked for me (It's not about sports, he promised), and asking if I wanted to grab some dinner before he met with his agent.

Me: Too late. Already eating. Had training this a.m. then teaching, about to go to the field for practice.

Cooper: The field? I didn't know y'all practiced there. I sort of thought y'all just showed up on game day.

I snorted to myself before replying.

Me: We use the field sometimes, to block out bigger routines and get a feel for any changes to the space between the end of the season and the start of preseason. Usually, we practice at a big studio downtown.

He asked me a few more questions—how long practices were, was it as tiring as it sounded—and I felt a tiny warm glow, pleased he was asking about my day, my life. Jimmy never gave a fuck, I reminded myself. It was always about his schedule, his day, his life.

I rinsed my dishes and set them in the dishwasher, pausing to send one more text to Cooper, letting him know I'd be out of touch for a while. Then my phone rang. Giddily, I grabbed it to answer without checking the caller ID. "Hey," I laughed. "Texting not enough for you? I can't do dinner tonight but maybe?—"

"Easy there, stud," Cassie interrupted, amused. "It's just me. Though I'm flattered your foray into dating a woman would be with me, I have to tell you my wife would not be thrilled with the idea."

"Oh. Oh, hey..." I deflated. "Um, I'm heading out to practice in a few so..."

"I know. I wanted to talk to you before you left. Try and get ahead of things, so to speak. Have you checked your email this evening?"

"No?" I headed over to where I'd left my laptop on the coffee table the night before and opened it up, clicking on the email icon. "What's going on? You're freaking me out here, Cassie."

"Liesel sent out an email before checking in with me, which is her right since the squad doesn't have any control over Queering Sports' PR or business, but I thought maybe you'd like to know before finding out when you checked social media tomorrow."

Liesel's email was in the first ten in my inbox, a little red flag marking it as VIP. Great News! was the subject line.

Apparently, leftover spaghetti and a side salad can turn into a rock in your stomach given the right conditions. "I'm about to open it," I warned Cassie. "What am I walking into here?"

"News of Cooper Howard's involvement has really lit a fire in the league, apparently, and several players have reached out to take part in upcoming events."

Oh shit.

"He's like Bloody Fucking Mary," I wheezed, a panicked laugh burbling up in my chest. "I said his name too many times, and I summoned him."

"Lucas..."

"No, no. Let me read."

Hey gang! This is awesome news! Ash has been working so hard on the football camps for the kids, but we all know how hard it's been to get and keep funding for projects like this. Well, we've had a small miracle occur, and a wonderful donor has not only contributed enough for us to run the camp for FIVE YEARS—they've also volunteered their time and name.

I want y'all to welcome Jameson Creel to our volunteer team! In addition to Ash and Cooper, Jimmy's going to be part of our social media blasts going forward and developing the organization's football camps, workshops, and expo games!

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