Monday, January 16, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Train




It`s time for Tuesday Tales.



 Welcome back! This week we have another snippet from my M/M hockey tale called Rookie Moves. This novella will continue the romance of Riley Zeally and Keiffer “Rocket” Holden, the stars of On Broadway, which was part of the 2016-2017 Changing on the Fly charity anthology. This novella will be part of the 2017-2018 COTF collection and I’m just thrilled to be able to be part of this amazing project to benefit a charity that promotes inclusivity in sports once again.

 Our word this week is “Train”. In this snippet, we get to see Keiffer return to his old neighborhood and meet up with one of his oldest friends. 

This story will have same sex moments, strong social issues addressed and crude language, these are hockey players after all. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!



The busy streets were familiar. People didn’t look down their noses at me as I pushed off the wall and headed toward the Curio. I’d gone about half a block when I heard Tommy’s distinctive raspy voice calling people over to play three card monte. I wiggled through the crowds of tourists who had wandered from Central Park. Tommy was dressed in jeans and a tank top, his smile bright, his brown eyes sparkling, and his hustle strong. The man was rangy and lean, sexy in a rough street way, and slick as a ferret. Also, he was loyal as hell and one of my dearest friends.

            “Watch it, watch it! Red, black, black.” Tommy’s hands were lightning fast. That had been his biggest draw when he was hustling dick back in the day. Mine had been my face. Tommy worked on a small table that could be picked up and tucked under his arm if the cops showed up. The NYPD frowned on hustling cards or ass. I tossed a ten on his table. His gaze flew from the three cards to me. “Watch, watch. Quick money. Hey, Eye Candy.”

            Everyone standing around that flimsy table lost. Tommy gathered up the cash and pocketed it.

            “Move on. Games closed,” he told the ten or so men milling around his table. “I got royalty come to visit me.”

            I threw my arms around the man. He smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne just as I remembered. Tommy kissed me hard on the lips then ran his hands over my funky haircut.

            “No shit, Rocket, you get hotter every time I see you.”

            “And you get faster hands. You got time for some lunch?”

            “You buying?” he asked, folding up his table with practiced ease.  I nodded. “Then hell yes let’s do lunch. Eddie’s?”

            “Sounds good.” We headed back the way I had come. Tommy chatted away about how he felt he should be sweeping the sidewalk in front of me now that I was rich and famous.

            “Riley’s rich and famous, not me,” I reminded him as we walked into Eddie’s through the open front door. The zesty smell of pizza sauce and old smoke grabbed hold of me and transported me back in time. “Fuck this place never changes,” I said and ran a hand over the back of an old wooden chair. Six tables sat empty and waiting for the lunch rush.

            “You look like you seen a ghost,” Tommy said then sat down at the table I had stalled beside. “Sit down Rocket. I need to hear all about your rise to the top. I always told you that face of yours would get you places but Riley fucking Zeally? Fuck you and that tight little ass of yours!”

            “He does,” I mumbled which made Tommy howl. Man, it was nice to be back where I could be me. A skinny girl with multiple piercings shuffled over. She looked strung out. Her eyes were dead and her skin mottled. I ordered a large pizza and a pitcher of Miller beer. “Shit, she looks like Angel Mack used to. You ever hear from him?”

            “He died last month. Arms all tracked up and mouth filled with stupid. I always told you kids not to get into that fucking horse or hustle in train stations.” Tommy sat back and regarded me openly as I processed the news about Angel Mack. 

              Angel had slept next to me in the back room of the Curio. A ghostly pale kid with white-blond hair who’d wanted to be a musician and had written some of the most haunting lyrics I’d ever read. Angel had been thrown out of his house at twelve when he started to say he wanted be a girl. And now he was dead. What a fucking waste. And all because he didn’t feel right in his body and said so. Trans kids are like at the tip-top of the homeless LGTBQ+ pyramid I bet. What is wrong with people? Why do they hate so damn much?



Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey

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3 comments:

Susanne Matthews said...

Emotional post today. He poses a difficult question to answer, one I'm afraid is going to become a lot more prevalent in coming days.

Karen Cino said...

This was a strong emotional post. One that transpires everyday in our lives. Lovely post.

Trisha Faye said...

Great way to tie in the emotions and real-life problems into your fictional tale. 'Slick as a ferret!' I LOVE some of the phrases you come up with!