1. Lucas

CHAPTER 1

LUCAS

"Breathe, baby. It's all going to be amazing!"

I nodded jerkily, staring at the parking lot we'd turned into a fundraiser. "But it's eight a.m. and hot as balls," I whispered. "What if no one shows up?"

Tori, one of the flyers on the cheer squad and a perpetual ray of sunshine, slapped the top of one of the industrial fans, almost as big as us. "That's what these suckers are for. Sure, we may accidentally blow a few kids to New Mexico, but it'll be an adventure!"

Marisol snorted, which started me off, and soon all three of us were helplessly giggling, leaning against the huge round fan propped in the pavilion's opening. Several of the enormous plastic-and-canvas tents were set up through the old Bluebonnet Save Mart parking lot. It had once been a huge discount department store but shuttered during the whole Enron collapse in the Nineties, leaving an empty building that sometimes got thrown into consideration for a convention center or office spaces but mostly just sat there being what folks called an attractive nuisance .

We'd had to come out a few days before the Queering Sports fundraiser to help scrub some very specific and elaborate graffiti off the side of the building.

Grinning, Marisol nudged me with her pointy-ass elbow. "This is gonna be awesome, Lucas. Seriously. Cass is practically vibrating with joy over this whole thing. You did good, kid."

I gasped in mock-outrage. " Kid? Excuse me, miss first year college student! I'm twentymumble years old!"

Tori rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, such an old man. You're barely able to drink legally, Gramps."

"Hold on, Tori, I got something for you here." I shoved my hand in my shorts pocket and brought it back up with my middle finger extended.

The women burst into laughter, making me grin as we fell to teasing and bothering each other. Putting this event together had been the work of months, fighting hard to find an event space that would let us hold it once they found out what charity we were supporting, then finagling for accessibility and comfort since it was not only going to be in an old asphalt parking lot, sketchy at best when it came to safety, but also in the middle of June in Texas.

Don't believe what those travel sites show you with the sparkling rivers and lush green grass and shady old oak trees. I mean, yeah, the Hill Country has that, but for the most part it's just fucking hot . And bright .

It was barely nine a.m., and we were already glistening as my abuelita liked to say. Us pretty people don't sweat, carino. We glisten !

They were my ride or dies, the four of us having been fast friends from pretty much the moment we each joined the squad and, despite the fact we weren't even out of our early twenties, we were the longest-serving members, and that gave us an extra layer to our little bubble of closeness. But our time was running short—I'd been there nearly four years now, Tori and Liz for two, Marisol for three. Four was the average lifespan of a pro cheer career. Marisol had her paralegal job, Liz was finishing her education degree, and Tori was in school to be a physician's assistant. I was the only one without somewhere to jump.

When Cass, the squad's PR lead, ambled over, she found us clustered around one of the industrial fans, soaking up the breeze while we still could. "Y'all ready?" she sing-songed, ever cheerful even while being the most hard-ass PR person you could imagine. "The gates open in less than an hour!"

I peeled away from the fan reluctantly, nodding. "All of the tents are prepared, volunteers have been prepped, the water dispensers are full, and the ice machine we rented is working and full of ice. The swag bags," I pointed to the long table at the back of the tent, "are all packed and ready. The?—"

She laid her hand on my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before discreetly wiping her hand on her denim shorts. I was sweaty—did I mention that already? "A simple yes works just fine," she chuckled. "The players are already here and will be mingling with the crowd off and on throughout the day. Be nice," she added, glancing at me sharply.

I held up my hands, defensive. "I'm a constant freaking delight!"

Liz, ambling up from organizing the bags so the kids could find their own names easier, barked a laugh. "Don't lie, Lucas. You're setting a bad example for the newbies."

Tori nodded. "Yeah, you gotta make sure to set a good example, dumbass."

Cass rolled her eyes. "Classy. All of you. Just absolutely classy." She grinned at our giggling, then motioned for me to follow her towards the front of the tent. Tori and Liz gave me that raised eyebrow you good? look. I nodded, even though I felt like I was being hauled in front of the principal.

"Don't look so scared," Cass laughed. "I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the job you did here. I know, I know—the whole squad worked together with the PR team, and the Queering Sports group is fantastic, but you pushed for the squad to take on Queering Sports as y'all's charity focus. And you busted your ass to make this come together when everything got..." Her smile fell. "Well. There were some huge chuckholes in your path, that's for sure. But you worked hard, Lucas, and did an amazing job. All of the squad did. But," she leaned in and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, "you pulled this whole thing over the finish line."

My face warmed and I knew I was blushing. And, not gonna lie, I did a little happy wriggle at her praise. I had worked hard; I had been super aggressive and busted my ass. I'd been the loudest voice yapping for this to happen. "Thank you," I sighed. "It's obviously something near and dear to my heart and, well, I know the kids in QS need all the support they can get."

I'd been a kid like that once, without an awesome group like Queering Sports behind me. Participating in sports in a safe, fair environment that was supportive as well and allowed me to express myself had been an uphill battle.

"Well, that brings me to the next point—the players."

My smile fell.

"Look, I don't know the whole story about why you're such a prickly pear with the players, but you gotta at least pretend to like them today, alright?"

At her stern, no-nonsense tone, I nodded. "I know. I'll keep the fangs retracted. Who's it going to be today anyway? Yowie? Matty?" Those guys were alright. We weren't besties or really even acquaintances, but they didn't act like dicks when we ran into one another at events and had never said anything shitty about the squad.

She shook her head. "He's got a prior commitment. But Wyatt and Ryeland are coming as is the newest member—Cooper Howard."

The name took a second to click. And when it did, my heart did a funny little skip-flip-flop maneuver that made me wonder if I needed more salt in my diet. Because surely it had to be some electrolyte issue and not how I thought Cooper Howard was fucking adorable in that giant overgrown puppy sort of way.

Well. Maybe not a puppy. More like... giant sexy man with the prettiest eyes and a smile making this dimple in his cheek pop and hands that... Well. Yeah.

Definitely a salt issue. I sure was fucking thirsty.

I forced a smile. "Awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome..."

"Mmmhmm." She raised one finely penciled grandma brow at me. "I'm sure." The walkie talkie on her hip buzzed, and she sighed. "We've got the new intern with us today. Lydia? Linda? The comms major from UT. She's even less into football than you are, so this has been... a treat. A real treat."

I smiled again, a tiny and almost real one. "This is gonna be great. I'll behave, the kids are gonna have a blast, and we'll be out of here by dark-thirty so the property management doesn't flip out about us running over time."

Spoiler alert: I was wrong. Like... super fucking uber wrong.

And it wasn't my fault! I behaved!

The first problem struck around eleven a.m. The initial wave of kids and their adults spilled into the tents set up with sports-related games and activities, including a huge pavilion where the players ran kid-ified versions of drills with prizes at the end. The kids were beyond pumped, shouting encouragement at each other, showing off for the players and each other. Even the ones who lost were excited to have played.

The problem was... the parents.

Two of the dads circled each other for a hot minute, glaring when the other's kid succeeded in one of the drills, gloating when theirs won. A couple volunteers subtly interjected themselves between the dads while their kiddos were playing one of the relay courses. When nothing happened after several minutes, I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Tori, Liz, and Marisol to finish preparing our first demo of the day. The entire squad couldn't be there—we all had day jobs, after all, and not everyone could take a Saturday off.

We'd just finished our safety check when all hell broke loose.

"I said fuck off!"

"Sir." One of the volunteers bumbled like a bee around the two silverbacks—er, dads—squaring up in front of the Agility Skills tent. "Sir, there's children here! Why don't y'all go into the cooldown tent and?—"

"And nothin'," the other dad shouted. "You need to get the fuck outta my face!"

Tori made a sad, scared, squeaky noise beside me. Liz patting my arm, we all stared, frozen. "I'll call security," she whispered.

"Yeah, good idea."

More parents came over to see what the shouting was about, and quite a few of the older kids and not a few volunteers. Cass and one of the QS reps made a beeline from the PR tent, but I saw what was about to happen. Wyatt and Ryeland were moving in from the autograph tent, but I was closer. Sure, the guys were easily almost a foot taller than me (okay, maybe not that much but still!) and way bigger, but I had the power of scrappiness and a loud voice on my side.

I bolted for the shouting pair. "Hey!"Marisol wailed my name as I ran but I didn't look back. "Hey, you two! Cut it out!"

"Oh, fuck off," one of the dads growled—the one I mentally called Walrus due to his High School Coach Special on his upper lip. He didn't look away from Questionable Footwear—seriously, wearing flipflops on hot asphalt in midsummer in Texas? That is not a good plan.

Skidding to a halt next to them, I shoved myself in between their posturing. "Either shut up or get out! This is a fun event for kids, not for two adults , two parents , to try and have a—" I paused, glanced at the wide eyes staring back at us— "a you know what measuring contest!"

"No, what?"

That had to be one of the teens.

"This asshole needs to get out of my face! My kid's just fine and doesn't need his help!" Walrus shouted.

"I just suggested they try out for baseball," Questionable Football retorted. "It's not the end of the world!"

"Fuck you! My kid's a future wide receiver!"

"But I don't even like football!"

I whipped my head around to face a distraught kid with wide, wet eyes and a face gone an unhealthy shade of red. "Hey, my name's Lucas."

"Benny," they muttered, ducking their head.

"Benny, you want to go grab a cold drink with Tori?" I pointed to my squadmate, jogging up. "We've got the stash of the good stuff over in the cheer tent," I added with a cheesy wink. "Fruit punch with no nutritional value whatsoever." It had the hoped-for effect—Benny, Liz, and a few of the other kids trailed towards the cheer tent while I turned back towards the problem people. " Seriously ?" I hissed. "Seriously?"

"He had no right," began Walrus.

"Hey. Maybe you two need to take a walk."

The low rumble of a voice sent a shiver straight down my spine. I didn't have to turn to know who'd come up behind me.

The two dads turned as one and stared. In just a few breaths, their rancor fell away, replaced with childlike adoration. "Cooper Howard," Questionable Footwear breathed. "I'm a huge fan."

"Me too," Walrus interjected, glaring at Footwear before turning a wide, hopeful smile towards the gentle giant behind me. "Huge."

Cooper took a step closer. I could feel his body heat even though we weren't touching. It should've seemed gross on such a hot day, but I wanted to sigh and slump against him, a small swoon to make him catch me.

Oh my god, Lucas, stop watching those period dramas with Abu! "I've got this," I growled under my breath.

"Hey, man," Ryeland said, all jocularity and big smiles as he crowded in next to Cooper. "What's up?"

Wyatt joined his teammates, and I was surrounded by a wall of giant men. Which, on any other day, would've been a dream come true, but today of all days?

Not so much.

Cooper pressed forward, slipping past me. He shot me a friendly grin, meant to tell me he was helping out and to let him handle things.

I mean, maybe I was reading too much into it, but I knew that look. I'd seen it so many times over the years—someone sees the short guy, the femme guy, into cheer and wearing eyeliner, prime bully bait, and they think, well, obviously, he can't handle this on his own. Let me step up for that poor weak guy.

Fuck that.

"Cooper, I appreciate your assistance, but?—"

"It's no trouble, buddy," he said. Then he ruffled my hair.

Oh. My. God.

A few of the parents laughed.

I seethed.

Cooper dropped his hand and shoved it in his shorts pocket. He also had the good sense to avert his eyes on the off chance I suddenly manifested laser powers and burned them out of his skull.

The players and the dads had fallen into a discussion about the team, youth sports, and the dads' college bowl games.

Liesel was shooting me annoyed, do something looks.

The guys were drawing a crowd, parents and kids abandoning the tents to drift over and rubberneck. The small handful of media closing in like sharks in chummed water.

The day was spinning out of control. Posts about how the event sucked danced before my eyes. The social media posts about how the event turned into a brawl, about how the queer sports group couldn't even have one day without drama. My heart jackrabbited against my ribs.

Drawing myself up to my full height, I planted my hands on my hips. In my best cheer captain shout, I called out, "Okay! Let's break this up! Hey, kids, we're about to do a demo in the cheer tent! Who wants to come see and learn some cool tricks?"

I gathered a coterie of children and, like a cheerleading Pied Piper, led them over to the tent. Benny stood with Marisol and Liz, who were showing them how to do a perfect standing pike. Tori fluttered nearby, rushing to help me herd kids into the area we'd cleared for seating. The plan had been a demo, then a brief talk about being a professional cheerleader (highly edited for the kids because they didn't need to know about how it was poorly paid and poorly supported—this was supposed to be a fun day, damn it!) The QS volunteers assigned to our tent got into place, and we started the music. The routine was simple but showcased some moves that were way more advanced than any elementary or middle school cheer squad would do.

We demonstrated some of our most popular cheers and short versions of routines for about fifteen minutes, ending with a basket toss, always a crowd pleaser. I mentally thanked the gods—namely, the 1970s Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, hallowed be thy names—that our tent allowed Marisol to be tossed so high. Otherwise, that'd be one more disaster to add to the day's roster.

The kids went wild, whooping and hollering as we took our bows and did our post-cheer wave and bounce. Someone turned the music off, and volunteers passed around juice boxes while we settled on the floor to answer some questions. Other volunteers moved some thick mats into place behind us for the kid-participation portion of the proceedings. Some questions were expected, mostly about uniforms and did we get to be on TV, and a few more pointed ones asked about the league's attitude towards queer cheerleaders and boy cheerleaders.

"Well," I said, "there's not a lot of us guys in professional cheer for the NFL but there's way more than there used to be. And so far, just from my own experience, it's been overwhelmingly positive. I've never had to hide who I was, and with very few exceptions, other cheerleaders and the players have been very accepting."

"Were some people mean?" a little kid in the front row asked. "Did you have to tell your dad to beat up their dad?"

I snorted at that mental image. My dad was the sweetest, softest man on the planet, preferring to work on his doctoral thesis on the creation stories of the Olmecs than do anything aggressive. p. "No, I didn't have to get my dad involved, but some people have some really old ideas about what it means to be a man, or what men should and shouldn't do. I show them they're wrong by being awesome at being me."

Yeah, it was a pretty simple and fluffy answer, but I wasn't about to trauma dump on a bunch of little kids. Marisol bounced to her feet and clapped her hands. "Who's ready to try some moves?" she shouted. "Total newbies can do them, I promise!"

A handful of kids swarmed up to the mats, the rest milling around and watching as the first group was led through some basic moves. Benny lingered near Tori, eyes wide and fixed on the squad as we went through the routine with the kids. Soon, we were playing music, and they were showing off their new skills. Then the next group came up. In no time at all, we'd cycled through four groups of kids, and several parents approached the QS volunteer at the signup table about cheer camps for their kids.

Benny sidled up to me and gave me a small, shy smile. "My dad's really into the idea of me being a football player," they muttered. "I want to be a dancer."

"I'm a dancer." I grinned. "My day job, when I'm not a cheerleader."

Benny nodded thoughtfully. "You can do both, huh?"

"It actually helps to have a dance background. Do you take lessons?"

"Since I was three," they said proudly, puffing out their chest. "I don't want to brag too much, but I'm pretty much better at all of it than the other kids where I go now. Mom said I can take tougher lessons this fall if she can find a place that's cool with..." They trailed off, their pride melting away as their chin dipped and arms came up to cross over their stomach.

"Hey, listen, there's plenty of awesome places that are welcoming, okay? And if you want..." I motioned for them to come with me towards the volunteer table. "Here. This is where I teach. It's in Dripping Springs, which might be a little far, but tell your folks, and maybe y'all can check it out. We're really inclusive, and we only care if you want to be there and want to learn and try." I handed them the paper I'd written down the studio name and website on. "You gonna be okay with your dad there?"

Benny glanced at Walrus in the tent opening, hanging on every word Cooper Howard was saying. Benny snorted. "Yeah, I think he's gonna be riding this high for days."

Disaster two didn't come until four p.m.

It was exactly at four because Cass popped by the tent to tell us it was time to wrap up. About a hundred kids came through, half of whom had signed up for cheer camps and workshops. The other booths reported great numbers too. The event had been a success, and I was buzzing pleasantly while Liz and Tori cleaned up the mats and Marisol began trash patrol. I hadn't forgotten about the dads earlier, but I no longer wanted to just burst into flames whenever it crossed my mind.

"Hey." Cooper loomed over me, appearing out of freaking nowhere to block the orange-yellow glare of the sun off the windows of the Save Mart building. "I was hoping to get a chance to chat with you today."

His smile was toothpaste-commercial perfection. Hell, everything about him was commercial-ready. His scruff was the perfect length between beard and five o'clock shadow; his hair—despite being in hell's sauna all day—fell in salon-worthy waves around his face. He wasn't even pink from the sun and heat, I noticed with a spike of irritation.

"Don't redheads burn easily?" I blurted. Jesus Christ. Smooth, Lucas. Really fucking smooth.

He blinked, jerking back. "Uh, yeah? I guess? I mean, I use sunblock religiously, and I'm probably about eighty percent zinc oxide right now so..."

My lips twitched with the urge to smile, but I forced myself to nod briskly. A reasonable and appropriate response, right? "Okay. Good talk."

There. That made it all better.

Cooper laughed, a startled and loud sound making my face warm and my skin tingle. "You're funny. I kind of thought you might be. I saw how everyone was laughing with you earlier and, well, you just seem like you've got a good sense of humor."

If I didn't know better, I'd say he was babbling. But big-time football players pat my head and call me cute, and they treat me like a pet if I get close. They don't babble at me. "Okay..."

Cooper ducked his chin, glancing over at the rest of the squad, pretending not to eavesdrop. It would've worked much better if they weren't all staring at us. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to grab a drink later?"

Shit . "Uh?—"

"Cooper! Hey, Coop!"

Cass bustled over, shooting me an apologetic look, in the wake of Texas Gridiron Report With Steve Greene 's very own Wally Byrne. "Hey, Cooper," Wally chuffed, shoving his hand out and nearly punching Cooper in the ribs. Cooper smiled politely, giving him a quick handshake.

"Hey," he murmured. "Um, I'm not scheduled for any interviews. What's going on?"

"Oh, this isn't an official interview! Steve's talking to the catcher from the Cottonmouths right now, and I wanted to grab you before you got away," he chuckled. "I'd like a few soundbites about today in our wrap up on the ten o'clock news tonight. You're the man of the hour, after all. It's already all over social media."

My stomach cramped. My nightmare's come true! "I'm sure the disagreement between the parents earlier wasn't that interesting." I smiled. "Hardly enough to make the evening news."

Byrne shot me a confused glance. "Huh? Oh, no, I mean he's the face of Queering Sports!" He gave another of those good ol' boy chuckles, adding, "ESPN's already got a sound bite from Jameson Creel about the whole thing."

Cooper blinked, mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish.

"I'm sorry, what?" I squeaked. Fucking hell, Jimmy… Goddamnit! My stomach felt cold and on fire at the same time. The urge to burst into shrill giggles was nearly overwhelming because surely that had to be a joke, right? "Jameson Creel was johnny on the spot with some comments about Queering Sports?"

Byrne nodded, checking his recorder. "Cool, huh? He's in Houston doing some speaking gig and caught the news earlier." Red-faced and beaming, he looked up. "Can you believe he watches our segment? Whoooooo, I about pissed myself when I found out!"

Cass forced her way forward, smiling tensely. "Lucas Ortiz here organized the event today. He's been working closely with Queering Sports for two years now, bringing attention to their mission in the Texas youth sports community."

Cooper nodded. "I'm not the face of anything. Er. Except that one sports drink ad. And that underwear campaign. Which is kind of a weird thing to be the face of, right?" he chuckled weakly. "Underwear. Faces. They don't go together. I mean, not usually... Oh! And that hotel chain, but that's the whole team. Actually, I think it's the whole league, but we do the ads for the Texas locations. Oh! And I do have?—"

I winced. "Stop talking, Cooper."

He nodded, lips quirked in a moue of awkwardness. "Yeah, good idea."

Still grinning, Byrne shook his head. "It's not official, but you're the one everyone is talking about. One of the sport's only out players, throwing his weight behind this event and making it the amazing time it was."

It was my turn to blink and gawp.

Smile brittle, Cass shoved herself between Cooper and Byrne. "If you want to talk to the person who organized things, Lucas is definitely your man."

Byrne glanced at me, his smile fading. "He's a cheerleader."

Cooper nodded. "A damn good one."

"See?" Byrne's expression snapped back to pleased. "There you are, a top-tier athlete, supporting the queer sports community." He shook his head in that Southern dude bro way, the one that's supposed to look like they totally get it and can't believe the bullshit, but you just know really means they're trying to manipulate you into thinking they're not a massive ass canker.

"Cheerleaders are athletes," Cooper said sharply. "Lucas is a damn fine one. One of the best."

"Excuse me." I turned away, striding towards the rest of my squad. "I need some air."

"Wait," Cooper called, trying to hurry after me. "Lucas!"

I ducked out of the tent, Cooper hot on my heels, Byrne hot on his. I strode towards the command center tent, acutely aware I was being filmed. Cooper grabbed my arm, seemingly uncaring if Byrne and his camera minion were recording the whole exchange. Dani and Cass bore down on them like avenging Valkyrie, but they were far enough away. This was about to get messy fast.

"Let go of me," I ordered between clenched teeth. "Do not touch me!"

I jerked free, and Cooper held up his hands. "Okay, calm down," he soothed. Tried to, anyway. I may or may not have hissed like a scalded cat. "Or not…"

Whirling on my heel, I headed for the merch table and started boxing things up. Cooper was determined, though, and closed the distance between us again, reaching for one of the remaining sets of pompoms to throw into a waiting box. He was staring at me, though, and not watching what he was doing.

Which is how he ended up throwing the damn things against one of the industrial-sized fans blowing into the tent.

And I am not one hundred percent sure how it happened, other than displeasing some god somewhere, but in the midst of the sudden explosion of cheap plastic confetti and the grinding of the plastic handles lodged in the fan, sparks flew.

Literal goddamn sparks.

Did you know flame-retardant things still burn, just slower than stuff that's not flame retardant?

I didn't. But now I do.

The smell of singed plushies and melting plastic was instantly cloying. I spun away from the carnage, covering my face with my hands only to find myself falling—no, I realized belatedly, being lifted! By Cooper!

"Christ," he ground out. "Are you okay?"

"No!" I wiggled free of his grasp. Dani, Cass, Rye, and a few others had come running with a fire extinguisher, and someone had grabbed a stack of towels from the dunking booth. The fire was small—barely more than a few embers really—but the results were just abysmal.

"Cooper," Byrne broke into the stunned silence.

Cooper held up his hand, glaring at the man. "No." Turning to me, his expression softened. He dropped his hand only to offer it to me, as if I'd want to hold it. "Lucas…"

"No," I said, mimicking his snarled refusal. "No. I need to go. I need to just… go."

No one tried to stop me.