Tara Lain’s Canning the Center Available for Preorder!
Six foot seven inch, 300 pound Jamal Jones loves football, so when he finds out the ultra-conservative owner of his new pro football team fired their current center because he’s gay, bisexual Jamal decides to stay in the closet and hang with the females. Then, at a small drag show, he comes face-to-face with his sexual fantasy in the form of Trixie LaRue, a drag queen so exquisitely convincing she scrambles Jamal’s hormones — and his resolve to nurse his straight side.
Trevor Landry, aka Trixie LaRue, hides more than his genitals. A mathematician so brilliant he can’t be measured, Trevor disguises his astronomical IQ and his quirk for women’s clothes behind his act as a gay activist undergrad at Southern California University.
To Trevor, Jamal is the answer to a dream — a man who can love and accept both his personas. When he discovers Jamal’s future is threatened if he’s seen with a guy, Trevor becomes Trixie to let Jamal pass as straight. But Trevor risks his position every time he puts on a dress. Is there a closet big enough to hold a football pro and a drag queen?
The genius of this book is not just the complex, well-written story, but the even more complicated, yet fascinating characters. Creating unique, interesting characters with flaws is one thing I look forward to in any of Tara’s books. Tara has a way of having them reach in; grab my heart; and pull me into the story. Instead of merely being a reader, I feel I’m there, participating in the action.
Excerpt from Canning the Center
He’d nestled the Cadillac all the way at the rear of the lot, against the chain that separated it from someone’s backyard. Some eucalyptus trees lined the division. Not everyone’s favorite part of the lot, since it was kind of dark and looked like a good spot for a mugging. Who’d mug him? Only someone with three friends and a horse. There were advantages to being a giant.
He beeped the car lock, opened the driver’s door, and reached up to pull off his leather jacket. A breeze ruffled the tree branches.
He heard a scraping sound and turned, tense, ready to defend himself. What?
The moonlight shone off shining yellow sequins, but their glint didn’t equal the halo shimmering off the pale blonde hair. Walking straight toward him across the rough dirt lot was—Trixie LaRue.
He opened his mouth—and closed it. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.
She got to the rear of the car and stopped. “Hello.”
“I noticed you’ve been to see me twice this week.” Her speaking voice was almost as musical as her singing and just as androgynous, neither low nor high.
“I’m sure lots of people come to see you every time you perform. I’m surprised you noticed me.”
She smiled. Sunrise. “Few people are as—memorable as you are.”
He grinned. “What? You don’t have a lot of giants in your audience? No orcs or ogres?”
Her lips tightened a little like she was trying not to laugh. “You’re our chocolate bunny.”
“That’s what Lucretia calls you.”
She glanced down at her golden high-heeled shoes. “You look rather like dessert to me too.”
Oh crap, his heart couldn’t beat that fast and survive, could it? “You must really have a sweet tooth.” His voice sounded breathy.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I do.”
He stared at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do here. I’m a very big guy and this is a dark parking lot. I don’t want to appear creepy or be presumptuous.”
She glanced up. “You don’t want to presume that my flirting means anything else?”
“Exactly.” He smiled and let all his teeth show. “Since this feels like some dream I conjured out of pure desire, I wouldn’t want to scare you away.”
She took two steps closer and stopped. His estimate of her height seemed right on. About five ten, plus the very high heels she wore, which still made him four inches taller. She gazed up at him. “You do understand that under these clothes there’s a man?”
He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”