The Queen & the Homo Jock King (39 page)

And Corey had his class, so he was out, not that he was the type to come out during the week anyway. He was focused on his schoolwork, as he should be. He would have time to do stupid things like the rest of us when he became a mature, responsible adult after graduation.

I hadn’t seen Darren yet, but I’d gotten a text (
On my way
) almost an hour ago, so I assumed he was downstairs somewhere doing homo jock things like standing against a wall, posing with his arms across his chest and a glower on his face. Or talking about whatever game had been on TV before they’d come to the bar and chuckling heartily about their players kicking touchdowns or other such nonsense.

I was putting the finishing touches on my costume (Stevie Nicks meets Rihanna—probably not one of my better mashups) when Vince came stomping up the stairs, brow furrowed, a frown on his pretty mug.

I was Helena-gone, so every word I spoke was husky and at a purr. “Why the long face, baby doll?” I asked as Paul finished tightening the corset. I grunted and glared at Paul over my shoulder, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Darren’s here,” he said.

I arched an eyebrow at him in the vanity mirror, waiting for the rest.

“Downstairs, with some friends of his.”

“And?” I asked.

“There’s some guy with them too.”

“What guy?” Paul muttered, apparently thinking it was okay for the corset to be so tight that my falsies threatened to pop out.

“I don’t know.” Vince seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, “I’ve never seen him before. He was all over Darren, though.”

And that brought things to a screeching halt.

“Say again?” My jaw twitched.

“This guy,” Vince said. “His name is Caleb, I think? I don’t know. It just reminded me of how things used to be before you and Darren got together. You know. With how Darren was.”

“How so?” I asked, voice sticky-sweet.

Paul stiffened, because he knew that voice.

That was not a nice Helena Handbasket voice.

That voice usually meant someone was getting their balls ripped off.

Apparently Vince knew it well enough by now too, because he paled slightly and said, “No, no. Not like that.
Darren’s
not like that.”

I turned slowly. Paul took a step back, but I only had eyes for Vince. “And what is Darren like,
exactly
?” I asked, cocking my head at him.

“Um,” Vince said.

“Vince,” Paul hissed. “Tell her before she murders your face!”

“He’s just… standing there?” Vince said.

“Standing there,” I repeated.

“Oh boy,” Charlie said from behind me.

He too knew that voice. He was wise not to step in front of me when I was stalking my prey.

“He’s not doing anything,” Vince rushed out. “Nothing bad. In fact, he’s not really doing anything at all.”

“Nothing at all,” I said slowly. “So, he’s not reciprocating?”

“No!”

“But he’s not pushing him away, either.”

“Well. Um. The thing is—”

“Vince.”

“No.”

“Is that right,” I said. “How lovely for him. Vince, tell me. Is this boy a twink?”

“Yes,” Vince said with a manly whimper. “Please don’t take my penis.”

I smiled at him. It must not have been a very nice smile, because he winced and took a step back. The problem was that he hadn’t come very far into the room, so his back was already against the door. He was cornered and he knew it, the poor little lamb.

“Say good-bye to your boyfriend,” Charlie said to Paul.

“Bye, boyfriend,” Paul said morosely.

Vince looked scandalized, which, for someone as beefy as him, looked appropriately hilarious. Well, it would have if I wasn’t ready to unleash my inner beast all over him. He grimaced as I approached, hips rolling, slinking along like I had all the time in the world.

I stood in front of him, the heels on my boots causing me to tower over him. His eyes were wide and he swallowed thickly. I reached up and dragged a nail along his cheek, lightly dimpling the skin. He shuddered, but didn’t look away. “And what did he say when you pointed this out?” I asked.

“Say?” he asked.

“Yes, baby doll. What did he
say
?”

“Uh. Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Um. Nothing. Because. I didn’t. Say anything? To him.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes,” he said. “I came up here instead.”

“And told me like a good boy.”

He nodded furiously. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I did.”

I gripped his chin in my hand. “And I love you for it.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, echoing Charlie and Paul behind me. “He wouldn’t do anything, Helena,” Vince said seriously. “Not like that. Not to you.”

And I could almost believe that. Except Darren and I weren’t together, not for real, anyway. But Paul and Vince didn’t know that and I was sure Charlie was probably berating me silently, wondering how it was I could lie to my best friends so easily. I didn’t know if they could understand that sometimes you had to do impossible things for love.

My love of this bar.

Not my love of Darren.

Because I didn’t love him.

“Helena?” Vince asked, and I realized I was still standing far too close to my best friend’s boyfriend, his face in my hand.

“Sorry.” I smiled at him and stepped away. “I was just plotting things.”

“Uh-oh,” Paul said. “That’s never good.”

He looked remarkably contrite when I fixed my glare on him.

“I trust Darren,” I said. “He’s going to have groupies wherever he goes, I’m sure. It’s what happens when you have a chest like his.”

“Amen,” Charlie said.

“That’s it?” Paul asked dubiously.

“Of course,” I said. “What else could there be?”

“Um, bloodshed, for one. Sandy, you once threatened to light a guy on fire when he spilled his drink on your shoes.”

“They were Manolo Blahnik pumps,” I retorted. “That sniveling cretin should have
burned
.”

“Exactly,” Paul said. “So forgive me if I don’t quite believe you that you’re ending it with
I trust Darren because of his moobs
.”

“I don’t sound like that!”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point.”

“And what
is
your point exactly?”

Charlie stepped in, probably because he saw that we were getting bitchy with each other. And that was never a good thing. “I think what he’s trying to say is that bail is set really high for murder.”

I grinned at them. “Only if you get caught.” And then I was out the door and down the stairs much faster than a man dressed in a unitard and wearing thigh-high boots over fishnets had any right to. Paul and Vince were scrambling behind me, probably sure I was going to serve smashed twink to the rest of the club, but
honestly
. I had much more class than that.

Pureed twink sounded better. It would most likely go down smoother, anyway.

The club was loud when I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. To my right was the entrance, two bouncers—Greg and Mojo—glaring menacingly as they checked the IDs of everyone that came through the door. Mojo winked at me when he heard the door open before returning to his usual scowl that was supposed to intimidate anyone and everyone who tried to enter Jack It. I would have been impressed if I didn’t know that he was a power bottom who liked to knit scarves that Greg always wore, even though they were hideous. They’d been together for just over a decade, having met here out on the dance floor. It was really rather sweet, despite the scarves.

People clamored for my attention and I smiled at them, not really stopping to chat, eyes darting as I looked for the homo jocks. It was early still, and I wasn’t scheduled to start the show for another half hour. Plenty of time to decide if Darren needed to be taken down a notch or two. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to try something while I was full-on Helena. No one would be that stupid.

Izaac saw me coming and poured two shots, sliding them across the bar.

“The homo jocks?” I asked him in between downing the tequila.

He nodded toward the back patio.

“Darren?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, baby doll,” I said, leaning forward on the bar. “Do you know this twink that’s with them?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Seen him in here a few times.”

“Caleb was his name?”

“Think so.”

“So you don’t know him well, then. At least not well enough to know his greatest fears so I can extort them.”

Izaac huffed a laugh. “No, ma’am. If I did, you’d be the first to know.”

“Did they arrive together?”

“Not that I saw.”

“This is why you’re my favorite,” I said. “Your nipples look lovely today.”

He preened. God, did I love straight boys at gay bars. Such wonderful creatures.

Paul and Vince caught up to me by the time I stepped away from the bar.

“Maybe keep the bloodshed down to a minimum,” Paul said, panting lightly. Stairs and Paul Auster didn’t really mix.

“Bloodshed?” I said, sounding as innocent as possible. “Darling, I have a show coming up. I can’t afford to get blood on my costume. Why, that would ruin my entire Stevie Rihannanicks performance, and where would we all be then? The thought alone is chilling.”

“I don’t know what a Stevie Rihannanicks is,” Vince said.

“No one does,” I replied, pushing my way through the throngs of men. “It’s part of the mystique.”

“It’s a drag queen thing,” I heard Paul tell Vince behind me. “They can pretty much make anything up and say it’s part of their mystique. Everyone else just has to go with it.”

“Can you have mystique without being a drag queen?” Vince asked.

“No,” Paul said.

“I never get to have anything.” Vince pouted.

“That’s a flat-out lie,” I said over my shoulder. “You get to have that ass.”

“It is a pretty good ass,” Paul agreed. “Also, stop staring at my fiancé’s ass.”

“Fiancé,” Vince sighed dreamily.

“Gross,” I muttered as we made it to the patio relatively unmolested.

There had to be close to a hundred people in front of us, but it was easy to spot the homo jocks standing at the top of the raised patio near the back, like royalty above their subjects. Darren stood there with Biff and Chet and Xerxes (I still hadn’t learned their names, what an awful fake boyfriend I was) flanking him. Brian was there too, standing slightly off to the side, drinking a beer, eyeing the crowd below them. I knew the exact moment he spotted me, his eyes brightening and a wide grin forming on his handsome face. He nudged Darren and pointed over at me.

And yes, there was Darren. Standing there like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And next to him, was a twink.

He wasn’t the most twinkish of twinks I’d ever seen, though I am sure he would have been right at home talking into a camera about how he hadn’t really tried anything with a guy before, but he was willing to give it the ol’ college try, and then somehow deep-throating the cock the minute he takes it out of his scene partner’s cargo shorts.

He wore tight black jeans and an even tighter white button-up, the buttons of which were undone, revealing a tanned and toned chest. Even from across the patio, I could see the flash of perfect teeth, the perfect cheekbones, the perfect head of dark hair that was messy on purpose. He had the beginnings of a beard and thick glasses that were probably just for show, not prescription. He was lean, but there was strength in his arms. He had a bit of a wicked smile and it was directed right at Darren.

It was even worse than I’d thought.

Because it wasn’t just a
normal
twink.

No.

It was the dreaded hipster twink.

He probably recycled his own poop to make compost.

That asshole.

Darren, for his part, wasn’t even looking at his admirer, who didn’t really seem to understand the concept of personal space, given that the twink might as well have been climbing him like a fucking tree. No, Darren wasn’t looking at said twink, though he wasn’t doing anything to push him away, either.

Darren was looking directly at me. Normally his look would have been nothing but a blank mask, vague and cool disinterest, but I’d spent too much time with him over the past weeks to be fooled by that anymore. I could see right through his cocky bullshit to know that he was doing this to get a rise out of me. He was
challenging
me, for fuck’s sake. Trying to see what I’d do. Whether it was planned or not didn’t really matter. Whether or not he’d fucked the twink didn’t really matter (or, at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself and my jack-rabbiting heart).

The only thing that mattered was that Darren Mayne had made a fucking egregious mistake thinking he could come in here, to
my
club, and challenge me.

That poor, naïve little boy.

(And, if I’m being honest, my reaction was motivated, in part, by the roaring jealousy that crawled through me, infecting every nook and cranny it could find. There was a moment when everything was razor sharp on that little boy who thought he could
touch
what belonged to Helena, his fingers that for some reason trailed along Darren’s bicep like he had
permission
to do so, like they were
familiar
enough to do that. It hadn’t been like that with that stupid little waiter who flirted blatantly with Darren in front of me. I hadn’t cared then. But you can sure as shit bet I fucking cared now.)

There was a problem, though.

I felt slighted.

It was one thing if I’d been knocked down while I was Sandy.

I would have closed off, forced a smile on my face, and licked my wounds when no one was looking. Because that’s just what I did.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The
problem
was that I
wasn’t
Sandy.

I was Helena.

Darren had decided to fuck with a queen.

And Helena was going give back just as good as she got.

Darren must have seen something cross my face because his eyes narrowed.

I wiggled my fingers at him in a little wave.