Vince looked smug. “I’m a lot of people’s favorites. It’s sort of my thing.”
“That’s pretty much true,” Paul sighed.
Darren didn’t look too pleased at that.)
Not that the Queen knew who her true love was or anything. She really had no particular person in mind. In fact, if she were being honest with herself, the list of people she didn’t want it to be was far longer than the list of people it could be. By quite a significant margin.
But one day, the Queen was watching from her tower down upon her minions that moved below her. The music wasn’t that loud yet as it was still early, so she could hear the voices of her people. They waved up at her, rejoicing that they were able to see her, because she looke
d wonderful. And there she saw a man she knew and could see was aesthetically pleasing but really didn’t have a whole lot more going for him than that.
(“You’re talking about me, aren’t you,” Darren said.
“You’ll just have to wait to find out,” I said. “Who knows, it could be a twist that you don’t see coming.”)
It was Darren.
(“Ooh,” Darren said. “Twist. M. Night Handbasket does it again.”
“You’re just jealous because it was awesome.”
“I’m not really sure jealous is the word I want to use to describe my feelings toward you.”)
Now, the Queen didn’t necessarily care about the man below her one way or another. She could see what others saw in him, but since the Queen was long past puberty, she figured that he would never be interested in someone like her. Not that she cared about that. In any way, shape, or form. Just to be clear so there are no misunderstandings. No, the Queen had better things to do than worry about Homo Jock Kings. Many, many better things, such as learning how to make the perfect pot roast or working on a new Lady Gaga routine. There were probably at least four hundred and fifty-seven things in her life more important than Darren Mayne.
(“This… doesn’t feel like a love story,” Corey said.
“It is,” I said. “I just have to set up the scene so we know our heroine wasn’t pining, that it was only Darren.”
“I don’t think this is exactly right,” Darren said.
“Shut up.”)
But something this day had caught the Queen’s eye. The Homo Jock King was staring up at her with a look of pure longing and loneliness and anguish and sadness and was really just overall pathetic. Sort of like how you might think a wet dog would look as it sat outside in the rain, wanting to come inside where it’s nice and cozy, but it can’t figure out a way to get in, so it just sits at the window, staring. Pathetically, in case that point was not stressed enough. A wet, pathetic dog that was totally sad and wanting to bone the Queen. That was what the Homo Jock King looked like.
When their eyes met, the Homo Jock King looked away, blushing, because he was nervous that a creature as magnificent as the Queen would even think to be looking his way.
But it wasn’t long before he looked back up. Their eyes locked again and Darren put his hand over his mouth, kissing his palm. And then he blew the kiss up to the Queen.
(“Aw,” Corey said. “How adorable.”
“Isn’t he?” I said, my voice sticky sweet. I gazed in what I hoped was a loving manner toward Darren. He smiled in return, but the skin under his left eye was twitching and I wondered how much I could push before he snapped.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure none of this happened,” Darren said.
“Aw, bae,” I said. “This is totally what happened. You just aren’t remembering right. Probably one too many hits on the head from when you were playing Ultimate Frisbee or whatever it is homo jocks do when they congregate. Rugby? Is that a thing Americans do? I can’t even be sure. All I can remember is seeing all those men in the scrums and thinking how they were all wearing jockstraps.”
“You know what, boo,” Darren said, squeezing my hand again. “Why don’t I take over telling the story from here?”
“If you must,” I said. “Just make sure you tell it right. I would just hate to think what would happen if you got it wrong. Why, the repercussions alone would be devastating.”
“Are they threatening each other?” Corey whispered to Paul.
“Yes,” Paul whispered back. “But that’s just how they flirt. It’s endearing. And also scary.”)
I went—
(“You have to tell it in third person!” I hissed at him.