Cameron D. James

After managing to reach the taxi, I opened the back door and got in. It took a moment to stop shivering and then I dusted the snow off my jacket.

The driver looked back at me. He had to be no more than a few years older than me, but with a full beard across his jaw. “Dispatch says I’m not supposed to take any fares.”

“Seriously?” I asked, disbelieving. “I need to get home to my boyfriend.”

After realizing I’d uttered the word “boyfriend”, something I tried not to do when I didn’t know if the person I was talking to was homophobic or an ally, my gaze darted toward him and then away. Crap. I should just get out.

As I reached for the door handle, the driver said, “Hang on. Where’s home?”

My heart hammered in my chest. I looked at him and I didn’t see the look of disgust I feared I’d see. “But what about dispatch?”

He shook his head. “Man, if I didn’t make a solid effort to get home to my man on Christmas Eve, he’d probably leave me.” He chuckled and I suddenly felt very comfortable in his presence. He was more than an ally, he was gay like me. “Now, where’s home?”

“NYU.”

His gaze drifted up to the ceiling between us and his lips moved as he muttered some words. I recognized them as street names—he was running through the route. Then his gaze snapped toward me again. “If we take all the major streets between here and there, we should be fine. The plows are out in full force.”

“Okay,” I said, suddenly smiling. This was going to work after all! Soon I’d be hugging Jordan.

The driver shifted in his seat, facing forward. “Now,” he said as he shifted into drive and pulled out of the taxi stand, “tell me about this boyfriend we’re braving the blizzard for.”