“Everything okay?” he rumbles, and I feel the words as well as hear them.
No. “Yeah,” I say. “Just going to talk to Darren.”
“What for?” he asks, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear there’s a hint of jealousy to his voice.
Ask him! it howls. Ask him right now! Say it! ARE YOU GAY? DO YOU WANT ME? DO YOU WANT TO FIND SOME BACKROOM AND FUCK OUR BRAINS OUT? ASK HIM, YOU GODDAMN PUSSY!
“I want to ask him a question about Helena,” I manage to say.
“Do you want me to go with you?” He touches my back again, and I think there’s another question there.
I shake my head. “I’ll be right back.”
He lets me go. Straightens up. Nods. Looks away.
I’m in the crowd, pushing my way through. Someone grabs my ass hard. Someone else laughs in my face, their breath heavy with drink. The music screams. The lights flash. I almost get to Darren when a hand grabs my wrist and I’m pulled through the crowd and into the light.
The Queen herself stands before me, eyes blazing. The music crescendos. She trails a finger along my jawline, across my lips. She leans forward. “And just where were you going, little boy?” she breathes, ignoring the music. “To break some hearts, perhaps?”
“Only yours,” I promise her.
She laughs. It’s a deliciously wicked sound. “Oh, baby doll. How I wish I could keep you forever and ever. I’d lock you up and never let anyone hurt you again.”
“I wish that too,” I say. “It’d be easier.”
“And where’s the fun in that?”
“Your face is a little red,” I tell her. “Like a fire hydrant. How’s Darren?”
The smile turns feral. “Did I say keep you? Truly I meant strap you on to a sawhorse and expose that perky little ass of yours and take my time with it. I can promise you that you’ll scream.”
“I dare you.”
She pats my cheek. Hard. “Cheeky little twinkie. I’m going to go see what happens when I rub up against your cop.”
And then she’s gone. My poor cop. He doesn’t know what he’s in for.
Not that he’s mine. Or anything.
Whatever. I’m on a mission to meddle. I shall not be deterred.
I find Darren where I last saw him, hiding in the shadows. I have a feeling that people are usually intimidated by the Homo Jock King, but for some reason, he’s just another supermodel I happen to know in the desert. And I’m not one to shy away from things. Well, most things.
“Why are you lurking back here?” I ask him above the music.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he says. “This is the prime lurking location.”
“It’s kind of creepy.”
“I’m kind of a creepy guy.” He folds his arms across his chest. The muscles bunch up against his expensive shirt. Light plays across his face, and I know he’s trying to intimidate the fuck out of me, but it’s really not working.
“I’m going to lurk too,” I say. I lean up against the wall, fold my stick arms across my too-small shirt probably bought at GapKids. “This is lame. Everything is so lame. I’m so cool hiding back here and pretending I don’t want to stick my wiener into a drag queen.”
“How’s that again?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing,” I say innocently. “I just wanted to be one of the cool kids.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?”