The Queen & the Homo Jock King (At First Sight 2)

“Because you love him,” Kori said. “Like, a lot. Maybe more than anyone else.”

I glared up at her. “Probably more than you right now,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Awww,” the crowd said again.

I hated them. And their faces.

But specifically Caleb. Because he was smirking and awwing with the rest of them.

I wondered if it could be considered self-defense if I attacked first.

“We love you, Helena!” someone shouted.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound chipper.

“And we also love you with the Homo Jock King!”

“Thanks,” I said, sounding far less chipper. “But enough about me.” Which was the first time I’d ever said that as a drag queen. “Let’s see your remaining two drag bachelors up for auction, shall we? Ladies and gentlemen, please give your eyes a feast! Our resident geisha from the East! It’s… Brian!”

I tried not to die from laughter as the DJ played egregiously stereotypical Asian music as Brian shuffled out the curtains onto the stage, wooden sandals over white socks scraping along the floor. He was wearing a bright green kimono, a relic of Paul and Vince’s trip. He had an ornate folding fan that he fluttered in front of his face. A black wig sat tight in a bun on his head, the bamboo chopsticks poking out of the top. He really did look stunning, even if he had to be the most awkward wannabe queen that I’d ever seen. He was sweating profusely, the white makeup caked on his face dripping slightly down onto his neck.

But still he played it up as the audience screamed for him, shuffling back and forth on the stage, fluttering the fan, eyeing everyone flirtatiously.

And because it needed to be said, I raised the mic. “And please, if you find this offensive in any way, shape, or form, please remember that we aren’t trying to knock on anyone’s cultural background. If you still find it offensive even after my heartfelt apology, the exits are clearly marked and I suggest you make use of them.”

Two people left, but they hadn’t bid on anything all night, so I wasn’t too concerned.

“Our geisha here is truly one of a kind,” I said. “He likes long walks on the beach, eating all of my bacon in an awkward brunch-type setting, and has his heart set on one day finding true love.” Brian glared at me briefly, so I took that as a sign to continue. “Anyone that bids on the geisha could have the realistic expectation to receive a massage with his feet. He will stand on top of you and walk on your back.”

“That sounds… stimulating,” Charlie said.

“It is! Of course, Brian is a lady and demands to be treated as such.”

Brian broke character and grabbed my microphone. “I’m not actually a lady and I’m sorry about the white face,” he said in a rush. “Also, I probably won’t walk on you, because I think feet are gross and I’m muscular and muscle weighs a lot. Again, sorry about the white face.”

“Just lovely,” I said, after I’d yanked the mic back. “Now, given his pedigree and the fact that I know we’ve got some peop

le out there who don’t quite seem to understand the meaning of the word charity, the opening bid will start at one thousand dollars. Do I have one thousand dollars for this lovely beauty?”

I did.

In fact, I had several thousand dollars rather quickly.

Brian looked as surprised as I did as the number kept going higher and higher. Eventually, the highest bid went to what looked like a group of men with killer handlebar mustaches and wearing biker’s leathers. The patch on their jackets was a stitched cow with rainbow spots holding onto a large serrated knife and a dark glare on its face. I knew who they were, and apparently Brian did too, if the look on his face meant anything.

“Oh my god,” Brian whispered to me. “I just got bought by the Dairy Queens.”

“And they just paid ten thousand dollars for you,” I whispered back, just as fervently.

“What if they take me to their clubhouse and gang bang me?” he demanded.

I gaped at him because what.

“I mean, like, what if all of them just want to take turns with me?” He looked slightly feverish.

I arched an eyebrow and took a not-so-wild guess. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Whoa,” he breathed. “I’m going to a biker gang bang with the Dairy Queens. That’s another one I could check off my list along with mustache rides and bovine-based groups.”