Page 57

Amos

“Oh my fucking God, you’re trying to kill me,”

I said to the tiny sprite of a woman who told me to do the dance routine one more time. We’d been doing it once more for at least an hour.

She laughed. “Come on, big guy, you got this: five, six, seven, eight.”

I barely had time to think before she counted down the routine… again.

Somehow, some way, we must’ve done something she approved of, although for the life of me, I couldn’t tell what I’d done differently, but mercifully, she was about to let us go. “Struggling a bit?”

she asked as she came over to me.

I pinned her with my look. “Listen, I’ve played on the NFL for years. I’ve run up and down a football field until I literally puked from exhaustion. I’m not afraid of you.”

She leaned back and laughed. “Got it. Okay, group, this mister says he’s got more in him, so let’s take it from the top.”

My mouth fell open, and I know I must’ve groaned. One of the background dancers sidled up next to me and pushed my mouth shut. “Next time, beg for your life.”

“There won’t be a next time. I’ll be dead,”

I exclaimed to hers and a lot of other people’s laughter.

Then the evil fairy, forget sprite, began the torture session again.

By the time I got back to Ford’s flat, I was exhausted. Luckily for me, he’d moved in with Dorian, and I was able to sublease his flat, which was close to the theater. Close was absolutely essential, since I tended to fall asleep even the few blocks from the theater to here.

“Wow, you look exhausted,”

Tommy said as I came in and collapsed on the sofa.

“Dude, you will never understand. I swear they want me dead!”

Tommy just chuckled, like he did any night he came over and handed me a sandwich he must’ve bought from some fantastic place, ’cause it smelled way too good to be homemade. Besides, Tommy wasn’t that much of a better cook than me.

“God, thank you, I think my stomach is trying to eat itself.”

Tommy leaned over my head and kissed it, then gave me a little neck massage as I ate.

“Get that down you, then go get a shower ’cause I love you but… you stink.

Then I’m going to give you the mother of all massages before I take advantage of your very delicious body.”

I stopped eating and looked into Tommy’s eyes.

I just about said there was no way my exhausted body would get it up, but then my cock reacted to his handsome face, and I knew I could and would do whatever he wanted.

True to his word, Tommy worked me over in more ways than one.

Then he snuggled into me, which was the best part of loving this man.

Feeling him nestled next to me, or on me, or well, any way he touched me, made me happy.

The next day, I got up and went down to the theater to do it all over again.

My body was more exhausted than it’d ever been.

I mean, I’d trained hard all my life, but these bitches.

Lord have mercy ’cause they had no mercy at all.

So, why was I so happy? Tommy.

Absolutely, Tommy played a huge role in that happiness, but also, I loved everything to do with Alec, my character in the show.

When my castmates would complain about practice, or when some cried, I almost always joined them, but glancing around the room as we each massaged our feet or shin splints, I could see our common denominator was that we wouldn’t trade our lives for anything in the world.

I didn’t have much time to think about or ponder the differences between Broadway and my time in football.

But when I did, I remembered teammates who had the same look as my castmates.

Most did, in fact.

But I didn’t.

I never had.

Realizing that now hit me hard.

Not that I’d ever say that out loud.

My attorneys had already filed suit against my former team.

I intended to see it through, not just because they owed me a shit ton of money, but because I wanted to make it clear that if you fuck with guys simply because of their sexuality, you best be ready to pay and pay fucking big.

My lead attorney continued to tell me I had one of the best cases against an NFL team in more than a decade.

I hoped he was right.

Regardless, my life was too freaking busy right now to worry about football too much.

That’s why I had attorneys.

When we stopped for our lunch break, I checked my phone and smiled when I saw my brother’s message.

“Call me.

Got something important to share about Tommy’s laptop.”

I didn’t hesitate, although my stomach was doing somersaults while hoping for food to find it. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Yeah, wait,”

he said, and I heard him say something to what I assumed was a group, like maybe he’d been in a meeting. He came back on a few minutes later. “Hey, brother, I only have a moment, but I wanted to let you know we found that jackass Elliott Godfrey.”

“Cool, why are you telling me and not Tommy?”

I asked, wiping the sweat from my head.

“’Cause Elliott’s in Grand Cayman. The FBI isn’t going after him there, and if you want him apprehended, you’ll have to hire a private team. Does Tommy have the cash to do that?” he asked.

“No, of course not. I do, but… I don’t want to do that without him. I’ll talk to him tonight and call you tomorrow.”

“That’s fine, but Amos, the guy’s running scared. He’ll only be there a moment. I have a buddy who is retired from the Navy Seals. He’s got a team and said he can extract him, and legally, with the Cayman police’s help. I just need to have an okay from you, and I’ll send them in.”

I pondered it a moment. “Sounds very CIA, spy shit and stuff.”

Josiah laughed. “Yeah, it kind of is. Regardless, he stole your man’s writing, and from what I’ve learned from our private investigators, he’s been working hard to sell it to the highest bidder. He’s got some interest too. Amos, Tommy didn’t make a copy. The laptop is all he has left of that story. Don’t you think he should get it back?”

I sighed. “Okay, get the team ready and make sure they do all this legally. I don’t want to see in the press that I hired a bunch of wingnuts to go storming into a journalist’s place or anything.”

“Yep, always above board, it’s how we operate.”

“How we operate? Huh?”

“Sorry, Amos, I have to go,”

he quickly said, a classic duck-and-run response for Josiah. I didn’t have time to pursue this but, damn, I would in the future.

“I’ll get in touch with Tommy now and let you know. I’ll text though, I’ve got to eat something before I go back to face these sadists.”

Josiah only laughed and hung up. I’d already complained enough to him about the daily rigors of training for the show. Yes, training was how I saw it; rehearsal didn’t sound mean enough for what they did to us.

I called Tommy, and when he answered, I launched into what Josiah wanted to do. He listened and finally asked, “Is this all legal? I mean, I don’t want the jackoff kidnapped.”

“I’ve been assured it is, and the team will be working with Cayman authorities.”

“I don’t know, Amos, I… I didn’t expect you to do all this. I can’t imagine this isn’t costing an arm and a leg.”

“I did that on my own, wanting to find the SOB so the cops could arrest him, and you could find justice. If you want this done, though, Josiah said we can’t wait.”

He hesitated, “Yeah, I mean, if we could get the laptop back, that’s… that would help.”

“No problem. I’ll text Josiah and let him know. Hey, Tommy?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

he replied, and I could hear the concern in his voice.

“I love you.”

I could imagine the smile that crossed his face every time I said that. “Yeah, I love you too. Now go away. I want to get this article finished.”

“Yes, boss!”

I said and hung up. When I walked down the stairs, I saw lunchmeat spread out for us, and I almost cried with relief. I’d wasted fifteen precious minutes on this. No, I corrected myself, not wasted. Anything I did for Tommy could never be a waste. However, my body needed sustenance if I was to survive the rest of the day.

I scarfed down three large sandwiches and a bag of chips, although normally I’d have avoided the fatty carbs. But, with the cardio I got daily, I knew not even the fat and carbs in chips would stay in my system for long before it was burned away.

By the time we returned to rehearsal, I was ready to go. “Okay, this time we’ll do the routine in heels!”

“Oh my God!”

I said out loud, getting chuckles from the room.

“Problem, princess?”

the older woman leading the choreography today asked.

“Yes, but show me the stilts. My legs look killer when I dance in those!”

Even the tough old bird, as we all called her, smiled. It couldn’t be denied, the big-ass boots in this show made big girls’ legs pop. I might die before today was over, but I’d look fabulous as they wheeled me to the morgue.