The Queen & the Homo Jock King (41 page)

“I don’t need help,” I said, trying to keep from sounding snappish. I didn’t know how successful I was. “I’ve got everything under control. I
always
have everything under control.”

“I don’t think even
you
believe that,” Charlie said. “But what do I know? I’m just an old man with almost eight decades of life experience. I’ll see you on Saturday.” And then he was gone. I was almost proud of Charlie for making a bitchy-diva dramatic exit complete with the last word, but I was a little heart-stung that
Charlie
of all people was upset with me.

“What the hell was that about?” Paul demanded as soon as Charlie had closed the door behind him.

“Just the dispensing of advice,” I muttered.

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter, baby doll.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, catching my gaze in the mirror.

I sighed, but didn’t look away. “I wish I knew.”

“You care about him. I know you do. I see the way you look at him.”

“Yes.”

“And he cares about you.”

I said nothing.

Paul looked frustrated. “Helena—Sandy, he wouldn’t be
with
you if he didn’t. You guys wouldn’t be together if there wasn’t something there. I don’t know why you can’t see that. Or even believe it. He wants to be with you. He wants you to be happy. Sure, he’s a fucking dick, and I don’t know what you did, if anything, but he wants you. He’s yours. And you’re his.”

And god, if that didn’t make it worse, that
Paul
of all people didn’t know what was going on. He was my best friend and he didn’t fucking know. I didn’t think I could take it anymore. Not from him. I said, “There’s something I have to tell you. Darren’s not—”

“I’ll take it from here,” a voice said from the doorway.

Darren stood at the entrance to the Lair. I hadn’t even heard the door open. Vince was crowding in behind him, peering over his shoulder. Darren only had eyes for me.

I looked away.

“I need to help him get out of costume,” Paul said.

“I can do it,” Darren said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

That motherfucker. “I don’t know.” I took out a packet of wipes from my makeup case. “There are zippers and clasps. Might get a little complicated. Especially for someone like you. There are complexities that I’m sure you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Darren said, dry as dust.

Paul looked to me. I sighed and nodded at him in the mirror. “It’s fine, baby doll. You wanted an early night with Vince as it is. Take it. I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, sounding hesitant.

I nodded and he leaned over, kissing my cheek.

Vince pushed past his brother and came over to me too. He bent over, his lips near my ear. “I told him to stop being an asshole,” he whispered.

“Might be easier said than done,” I murmured back.

“Maybe. But I think he’d do it for you.”

I didn’t believe that, but he was sweet for saying so.

I patted his hand as he kissed my ear, a noisy smack before he stepped away.

Before they left, Paul stood in front of Darren and said, “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Or go ahead and be one, and I’ll stab you. Right in your fucking duodenum. Which, okay. I don’t know exactly where that is, but I’ll fucking do it, don’t think I won’t.”

“You tell him, baby,” Vince said, glaring at his brother.

Then they were gone too.

Darren closed the door behind them and leaned against it.

I ignored him as I pulled out one of the makeup remover wipes and began removing all signs of Helena from my face. It was grueling work, not just the makeup I used, but also coming down from the Helena high. For every smear of lipstick or mascara that I took off, the less powerful I felt, less confident. Helena was a shield of armor that I wore that allowed me to give as good as I got. Take that armor away and there was not a lot I felt I could stand for.

And it didn’t help that I was just tired. It’d been a very long day.

Darren still didn’t speak.

But I knew he was watching. If everyone else was to be believed, apparently he was always watching.

The makeup was done, and I scooped up the soiled wipes and threw them in the trash. Charlie had left a bottle of water on the vanity and I used it to wet a clean cloth, and washed it gently over my face, not wanting to irritate my skin. By the time I’d finished, Helena was there in costume only. Normally, Paul would have unzipped me by now, but I hadn’t been ready for Darren to put his hands on me.

I really didn’t have a choice now.

“I need your help,” I said softly, not quite able to meet his gaze in the mirror.

He nodded and moved toward me slowly, like one would toward a spooked animal. I wanted to scoff at him, to tell him to stop being so stupid, but I kept my mouth shut. He was lucky that he’d caught me when he did. If I was still Helena, I’d be thinking of ways to eviscerate him. As it was, I had ratcheted it down to a good maiming, if anything at all. It was odd, being caught between the mentalities of a fierce drag queen and a more demure gay man. Most people couldn’t understand the wear and tear it took on my mind and body to continually go between the two. It was harder and harder to get Helena to go to sleep. There were times when she burst out inappropriately, either at work or home. I was trying to get it under control, but sometimes, I just didn’t care.

Now was not one of those times. Helena had already proven her point earlier.

He was behind me then, and since I was sitting and since I was Sandy, he seemed so much bigger than me. I could feel his heat behind me, not quite pressing against me, but close enough it almost made no difference. The mirror on the vanity was almost as tall as he was, so I could see his every movement, eyes tracking as he raised his hands to my shoulders, fingers stretched around the side of my throat, clasping over my Adam’s apple. His thumbs brushed over the back of my neck until they reached the base of my skull. He applied pressure there, blunt and firm, tipping my head forward until I was staring at the top of the vanity. His fingers trailed along the skin of my throat until he reached the top of the clasp at my back. I was having trouble breathing because this was intimate, far more intimate than we ever allowed ourselves to be. Aside from that one ill-advised kiss at the restaurant to ward off the evil waiter, there’d been no real physical contact between Darren and me. Not like this. This felt real, different. I thought maybe my skin was electrified. I didn’t know what he was doing and I didn’t think I wanted it to stop.

“You know,” he said, voice filled with gravel, “if you think about it, I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

I scoffed, but didn’t say anything.

He unfastened the clasp, letting his fingers rest for a moment before moving toward the zipper. “Sure he was there, but I didn’t do anything to him. I wouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t do anything to stop him either,” I reminded him, hating how breathless I sounded.

He tugged once, twice on the zipper until the metal teeth separated, and he pulled it down slowly, my sweaty skin finally breathing as the cool air hit it. The zipper track ended halfway down my back, and even though it only took seconds, it still felt like days. “Should I have?” he asked.

Before I could answer, his hand was back around my neck, just the one this time. His fingers curled around one side of my jaw, the thumb against the other, his palm resting against my throat. He lifted my head until I was looking back into the mirror again. His eyes were hidden in shadow, illuminated by brief flashes from the laser and strobe lights out over the dance floor. The back of my head rested against his stomach and he didn’t let me go. “We had rules,” I managed to say. “You agreed.”

“I didn’t fuck him,” he said, the word low and dirty, “if that’s what you’re asking. And I wasn’t going to.”

I sneered at him in the mirror. “Did he know that?”

His hand tightened against my jaw, fingers dimpling the skin. It didn’t hurt. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Not physically at least. His other hand came to my shoulder, fingers scraping along the material until it hooked underneath, nail scraping against my skin. He peeled off the shoulder of the black unitard, stretching it out until it hooked over and fell down to my bicep, clinging against the skin. I was partially exposed to him, the long stretch of my neck, the curve of my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have to tell anyone that,” he said. “If I don’t want to do something, then I don’t have to do it.”

“You did it on purpose,” I said. “I know you did.”

“Did I?” His smile was all teeth. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

“Do you?” He averted his eyes, looking down at me. He trailed his fingers along my exposed shoulder. “Funny how that works.”

“You could have told him to step away,” I said. “To back off. You didn’t do that.”

“That right.” He let go of my face and moved to my other arm, pulling the other sleeve until my shoulder slid free. I reached up and took the rubber falsies out from the front of the costume, setting them on the vanity. He waited until I finished before he took my right arm in his big hand, pulling the sleeve, stretching it tightly against my skin. He tugged it over my hand. Then he moved onto the other arm. And I let him. For some reason, I let him. If I were capable of getting an erection, I probably would have. But I was still tucked, and it was only painful. A good pain, but pain nonetheless.

The unitard fell around my chest, my nipples pebbled and hard. I didn’t know what he was doing, and I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to stop and to keep going. I wanted to shout at him, but I kept silent.

“You should turn around,” he said.

“Why,” I said, just to be contrary. He needed to know that he couldn’t control me.

“Because I asked you to.”

“You told me to.”

He chuckled. “If I was telling you to do something, you’d know. You should turn around.”

I didn’t know if I should.

I did anyway.

He hadn’t backed away from me. I was eye level with his stomach. He wore a tight black V-neck, the material stretched over his arms and chest. His jeans were dark, though I didn’t let my eyes stray any farther down because that would have just been creepy. Here he was helping me get out of costume and I was—

He kneeled in front of me, resting back on the heels of his boots. I was looking down at him now, so close to my legs, which had spread slightly of their own accord. This was not how I saw my evening going, especially with the drama it had started with. And, if I was being honest with myself, this wasn’t the first time I’d pictured Darren on his knees before me.

“You seemed like you didn’t have a problem with the rules,” Darren said, and I was totally confused with what he was talking about, until I remembered that we were in the middle of an argument of sorts. Or something.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Really.” He reached up and grasped my leg, bringing the heel of my boot into his lap. If I were so inclined, I could have probably dug into his crotch, but I wasn’t
that
big of a bitch. At least not yet. “Does Brian know that? You
were
friendly.”

“I’m not going to fuck him,” I snapped. I tried to pull my foot away, but he held on tight. Then, just to be nasty, “Well, not again, at least.”

Darren tightened his grip further before he relaxed. He left my foot in his lap and ran his hands up the red leather of the boot along the length of my leg. They went to midthigh, ridiculously ostentatious things that I rarely wore, but adored almost more than anything I owned. Even though I couldn’t feel his fingers through the leather, the muscles in my thigh still jumped as he reached the inseam where the silver zipper lay. It only made it worse when I saw just how close his hands were to my dick. More good pain came from that.

“Have you fucked him before?” I asked, trying to get things back under control.

“No,” Darren said, pulling the zipper down
slowly
. He was careful not to let the zipper catch on the fishnets I wore underneath. Even though the music was loud and the
people
were loud, I thought it possible the sound of that zipper going down was the loudest thing of all. The bass from the electro-candy pop caused my skin to buzz and vibrate every time it hit and crawled up the walls. His fingers against the red leather, silver zipper, and black fishnets threatened to short out any rational thought I had. “I haven’t fucked him before.”

“Oh really,” I said, because when I was
nervous
, I was an
asshole
. “Suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

He snorted as he slid the boot off. “I don’t fuck everything that moves.”

“Almost,” I said. “And if you think about it, is there really that big of a difference?”

He slid the boot off and I bit back the groan when his fingers squeezed my ankle. “There’s a difference,” he said. Then, “He’s going to bid on me.”

“So I heard.” I watched as he carefully placed my foot on the floor before he reached up and took my other leg in hand, pulling the heel to his lap. “Lucky you.”

“And you can’t bid on Brian.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“You’re the MC,” he said, smiling wickedly. “You said it yourself. You’re there to host. Nothing else.”

“You don’t get to—” And then his hands found the other zipper, but there was
intent
this time, because the press of his fingers against my thigh wasn’t the faint scrape it’d been before. This was pressing harder into my thigh, like he was trying to get me to shut up. It shouldn’t have worked, because even though I was Sandy, there was always going to be a little Helena in me, and she
refused
to let anyone shut her up.

The problem was that it
did
work.

Because I was
entranced
by the weight of his hand. There was a persistent push to it now, my foot trapped between his thighs as he pressed them together, the grip he had on the back of my knee as he peeled the zipper down, fingers entwining in the fishnet,
pulling
at it, the smooth skin of my leg damp with sweat, and he
grunted
like he was punched in the stomach.