by TJ Klune
“Oh please,” Sandy scoffed. “I do what I want to when I want to. Darren doesn’t get to say anything about it.”
I snorted as I lifted my head up. I slunk down in my chair, going against every company-wide e-mail I’d ever received on the value of being ergonomically correct. If someone saw me, I was probably going to get sent to yet another training class where I’d be shown how to sit in a chair correctly.
Honestly?
I couldn’t find any fucks left to give right then.
“Oh really,” I said. “Does Darren know that?”
Sandy wouldn’t meet my gaze, too focused on his fingernails. “Why are we even talking about him right now?”
“Because you’re in lurve with him,” I teased. “And it’s hysterical that you still get twitchy when we talk about it.”
I didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed. “I’m not in lurve,” he said.
“Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that, princess.”
“Ew. Don’t call me that. Mike calls me that. And you know how I despise him with every single fiber of my being.”
“Eh,” I said. “I think you’re all bluster when it comes to him.” Mike was the owner of Jack It, the club where Sandy performed as Helena Handbasket. He was also the one that had Freddie Prinze Juniored the crap out of Sandy and Darren, getting them together in a scheme so convoluted and preposterous that I still wasn’t clear on all the facts, but I couldn’t deny the end result. Mike might have been a creepy bastard, but he’d somehow pulled off the one thing that the rest of us couldn’t: he’d gotten Sandy Stewart and Darren Mayne to stop trying to kill each other and instead got them to choke on each other’s dicks. It was an impressive feat, and even though he was a total skeezeball, I had to hand it to him. There was something unscrupulous in the way he’d gone about it that I couldn’t help but admire. But since he was disgusting, I would never say that to his face.
“I hate him, and nothing will ever change my mind,” Sandy hissed at me. “He’s lucky he still has the lungs in his chest from which to draw breath.”
“Funny. You used to say the same thing about Darren.”
“Paul, I will stab you in your pancreas. Don’t think that I won’t.”
“Empty threat.”
He grinned at me, razor sharp, more Helena than Sandy. “You want to try and see what happens?”
“Meep,” I said. Then, “Sorry. So sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”
“That’s better. Now, I will ask one more time. What. Is. Up. With. You?”
“Geez, you think after getting some on the reg, that you’d be—”
“Paul!”
I winced. “It’s… nothing. And can you wait till I finish before you look at me that way? Jesus Christ. It’s nothing big. Just… wedding stuff.”
He blinked. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“What? No! Of course not. Sandy. It’s Vince. I am not going to do any better than that. He’s literally a ten where I’m a soft five—on a good day. Oh, and there’s also feelings and love and all that other crap, but a ten, Sandy. He’s a ten.”
He got that frown on his face, the one I recognized, and I knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.
“I really wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself that way,” he said. “You’re a beautiful, sweet, bitchy man. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
I fought back the retort that wanted to come out. Regardless of how long Vince and I’d been together, regardless of how good he made me feel, there were always the lingering insecurities I carried with me. They weren’t as prevalent as they used to be, but they still nagged at me every now and then. You couldn’t be fat and not have them.
“I know,” I said instead. “And I believe you… mostly. And for once, it’s not even really about any issues I have. Well, not completely.”
“Riiiight,” Sandy said.
“Hey, it’s not. Okay, I totally just realized that that’s a lie. My bad.”
“Now, Auster.”
“Okay, but… like. Just, hear me out, okay?”
His work phone rang. He connected the call. “This is Sandy. How may I help you? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. A big accident, you say? With injuries? That’s terrible. Unfortunately, all our computer systems are down at the moment. Right? Such bad timing. Can you call back later? Uh-huh. Good, thank you. Have a green lizard kind of day!” He turned back to look at me. “Continue.”
Since I was mature and responsible, I had to at least say the right thing. “The computers aren’t down.”
“Right? But this is so much more important. Continue.”
I was done being mature and responsible. “I’m having doubts.”
“I thought you just said—”
“Not about Vince,” I said quickly. “I could never doubt him. He’s… Vince, you know? But I’m having his doubts for him about me.”
“Um,” Sandy said. “What.”
“Right? That’s exactly what I said. What is he doing?”
“No,” Sandy said. “But, like, for real. What?”
“Seriously! What does he think he’s doing? What’s his endgame?”
“To… marry you?”
“He could do so much better! I mean, have you seen him?”
The skin under his left eye twitched. “Several times.”
“So he’s got to have some diabolical plot, right? Or at least that’s what I thought. And then I began to think that of course he’s not like that. First and foremost, that would require forethought, and I really don’t know if he even knows what that means.”
“He’s far too precious for this world,” Sandy agreed.
“So now, the only thing that makes sense is that he somehow blurted out that he wanted to marry me, and just happened to do it at the most awkward brunch ever—”
“I can’t believe how much bacon my one-night stand ate. How he keeps that ass, I’ll never know.”
“—and now he’s trapped in something he didn’t really want to begin with and has to follow through with it because he knows Nana would hunt him down and string him up by the balls.”
“Was she really a bounty hunter in the seventies?” Sandy asked.
“She says she was,” I said. “I asked Mom about it, and she said the seventies were a weird time for everyone so she couldn’t say for sure.”
“God, I can’t wait to be like that woman when I grow up,” Sandy said. “And also, shut up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Paul. Vince loves you. He loves you more than anything else in the world. He might even love you almost as much as I do. All anyone has to do is see the look on his face when they talk about you and they’ll know. It’s disgusting and gives me cavities, but that man worships the ground you walk on. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”
“I want to hug you right now.”
“I’m doing my nails.”
“Hence why I’m not hugging you. I do want to keep my testicles where they are.”
“Good boy.”
“You know that it’s pretty much the same for you, right? For you and Darren.”
Sandy made a face at that. “Dare and I are nowhere near your level of romantic idiocy. And we never will be. It works for us, and I think I’d rather choke myself with cat hair than ever be compared to you and Vince. You and Vince are so sweet to each other, it’s like watching elephants give birth to baby elephants.”
“That’s not even remotely close to what it’s like. I don’t even know why you would say that.”
He ignored me. “Dare and I have built our relationship by being mean to each other. I can bitch at him, he can bitch at me, and then I fuck him or ride him like a prize bull and we’re good.”
That was an image I could do without. “Except I was there when you blurted out you loved him, and then he tackled you and you guys were eating each other’s faces in front my parents and his mom.”
Sandy sniffed. “I can’t help wh
en I have to announce my feelings. It’s all part of being a drag queen.”
“I don’t think that’s really true—”
“Anyway, we’re not talking about me and Darren. He and I aren’t getting married—”
“Yet,” I coughed.
“I will fuck you up, you little bitch, don’t think I won’t. We’re talking about you and Vince, and how that man loves you. And you obviously love him enough to get married at a goddamn horse farm of all places, which, again, I believe I must protest.”
I rolled my eyes. “Too late. Deposit already in place. And it’s not a horse farm. It’s a twenty-acre horse ranch with intrinsic beauty, rich history, and multiple facilities that make the ranch a perfect place to hold unforgettable events. Their all-inclusive packages make wedding planning—”
“Do you have the entire website memorized?”
“It’s not my fault! Do you know how long I had to stare at that thing to let it sink in when Vince showed it to me? Sandy, he wants to ride horses. Like we’re some kind of horse people. It’s 2016. If I need a mode of transportation, I get in my car.”
“Wait. So you want to drive your car down the aisle?”
“Oh sweat balls. No. That’s not what I meant.”
“Because that would be really dumb.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think they’d even allow it.”
“Why are we even talking about this?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “You’re the one getting married at a horse farm. Oh, excuse me. A horse ranch.”
“They had packages,” I said morosely. “We went with the one called Wild Horse Premiere Sonoran Sunset.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It’s an open bar.”
“That sounds amazing,” he corrected. “The wedding of the century. This is going to be the best event I’ve ever—I can’t do it. I just can’t. Paul, I need to be honest with you.”
“You always are. Even when I don’t want you to be.”
“Good. You’ve already dashed my dreams with the venue and the whole not allowing me to plan the wedding thing and also not allowing me to officiate.”
“Sandy, if you planned the wedding, there would be more sequins and glitter than at a drag queen orgy.”
“Rightly so. But there is one saving grace, one light at the end of this whole dark tunnel. Would you like to know what that is?”
“I don’t know if I do,” I said honestly.
The smile he gave me made me really uncomfortable. “I, as your best man, get to plan your bachelor party.”
Lord have mercy. “Oh no,” I whispered.
“Oh yes,” he said, pointing the nail file at me. “And Paul, you best believe me when I say that it is going to be a night that you will never forget.”
Oh dear God. I needed to salvage this before he got drunk with power. “Okay, but there needs to be a few rules. No strippers. No drugs. No—who are you calling?”
“Vince?” he said into his headset. “Hi, baby doll. Can you do me a favor? I’m sitting with a sad sack that you might know. Paul? Yes, Vince. Paul Auster. I—yes, Vince. I’m aware you know him. That’s why I—I’m so happy you love him. That’s… good. Yes. No, I don’t need to hear about that. That sounds like something you need to keep between you and your priest. Yes, Vince, I know you don’t go to church. I just—never mind. The reason I called? Dammit, now I forgot. You distracted me with all your—oh. Paul. That’s right. Can you do me a favor and take him to the supply closet and blow him? He seems to be having some doubts about the whole wedding thing. Oh no, dear, not about you. He’s worried about you having doubts about him. Right? He’s such a silly goose. Now I’ll send him over, and if you could just fellate all those worries away, it’d be greatly appreciated. Thanks, baby doll.” He disconnected the call and swiveled his chair in my direction again.
Where I sat gaping at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You can’t just do that!”
He rolled his eyes. “Uh yeah, I can. And I just did. Now get out of here, get your penis licked, and when you come back, I expect you to be ready to tell me how pretty I am because I have a show tonight and I don’t have time for your shit, Paul Auster, I really don’t.”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked faintly.
“I’m taking charge,” Sandy said. “Now scoot. You’ve got a muscle jock probably waiting on his knees for you. How many people can say that?” Then he grinned. “Well, I can say that, so.”
For some reason, I found myself on my feet, walking toward the supply closet. I wasn’t planning on letting Vince blow me at work, but I couldn’t be too cautious. I had to act cool, calm, and collected so no one would know I was thinking sexy thoughts while at work. “Evans,” I said, passing a coworker. “Didja see that sportsball game on the television last night? Yeah, me too. I have touchdown fever. We should sit in a room together and make up a fantasy sportsball league because that sounds amazing. Go sportsball! Mildred! It’s your birthday today, and the only reason I know that is because people passed around a birthday card for us to sign, hiding it in a folder and trying to be secretive about it, even though it’s painfully obvious to anyone with eyes. When you get the card, still act surprised. There’s cake. Well, sort of. It’s cherry cheesecake bought from the store, so. You know. That’s disgusting. Chris! You have mustard on your face. It’s nine in the morning. What could you have possibly been eating at nine in the morning that needed mustard? Don’t answer that. It sounds terrible enough already.”
By the time I’d made it to the supply closet, I was sweating, sure everyone in the office knew that I was half-hard at the idea of my fiancé sucking my dick in a place where we could get caught and most likely fired. Granted, I was usually sweaty, so I hoped that would throw some people off the blowjay trail. I didn’t know if it was possible for a man of my stature and personality to be subtle, but I sure as shit was going to give it the old college try.
“Oh!” I said quite loudly. “I have to go into the supply closet to do… supply… closet… things. Like, take stock of the… Post-its. No one had better bother me, because God help you if you make me lose count.”
No one even looked in my direction.
I was a master of subtlety.
I went into the supply closet, slamming the door behind me.
And there, in all his glory, stood Vincent Taylor.
The problem with him standing there in all his glory was that I was trying to think nonsexy thoughts. And all his glory consisted of looking like a motherfucking hot piece of ass. It was extraordinarily unfair what suspenders could do to a man, namely him. And also me. If I tried to wear suspenders, I looked like I was auditioning to play a mall Santa at Christmas with my bowl full of jelly.
When Vince wore suspenders, it caused boners—of both the male and female variety—for everyone within a one-block radius. And yes, he knew that, the smug bastard. After all, he saw the look on my face every morning when he got dressed and decided that day felt like a suspenders kind of day. It probably also didn’t help his ego that I would stand in our bedroom, jaw slacked and drooling, watching him clasp the suspenders to the top of his slacks (like he was moving in slow motion, the bastard).
(And there may have been that one time (seventeen times) that he’d worn the suspenders with no shirt and only his underwear, grunting when I snapped the elastic material against his nipple ring, flushing and telling me to do it harder, he needed it harder—)
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
“Witch,” I hissed at him.
He arched an eyebrow at me, that smug fucking grin on his face growing a little wider.
I coughed. “Um. So. Hi. How is your day going?”
“It was going fine,” he said. “Until I got a phone call from Sandy saying that you were getting weird again.”
“I don’t get weird.”
“A little weird.”
“You’re a little weird.”
He shrugged. “Probably. But that’s okay. Being a little weird got me you, so I don’t really care about that sort of thing.”
“Oh sweat balls,” I said weakly. “You can’t just say stuff like that. You know what validation does to me.”
“Really?” he said, taking a step toward me. I took a step away but didn’t get far as my back pressed against the door. “What does it do to you, Paul?”
Like the asshole didn’t know. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came in here to count the Post-its.”
“Uh-huh.” He stopped right in front of me. The top button of his dress shirt was undone, and a little bit of chest hair was poking out. Which was distracting. In the best way possible. He leaned forward, and I thought he was going to kiss me or put his hands on my hips, but instead, he twisted the lock on the door. There was an audible click. His breath was on my ear as his cheek scraped against mine. “Post-its are right there. Go ahead.”
“Um. You’re. Sort of. In my way?”
“How about that?” he said, not moving at all. “Real sorry about that. So, about that phone call.”
“Sandy lies about everything. It’s a real problem.”
Vince snorted, which was disgusting because it was right in my ear. “So you’re not worried?”
“Pfft. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He leaned back so he could look me in the eye. “Paul.”
I swallowed thickly. “Yes?”
The heat in his gaze softened. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. Because I did. For some reason, Vince Taylor loved Paul Auster. It was one of those things I couldn’t really explain but wanted to hold on to forever, even when my self-doubt tried to get the best of me.
“And you know it’s real, right? You and me? Because I can tell you again if you need me to.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“It’s real, Paul. And if I have my way, it always will be.”
Have you ever had someone wearing suspenders be earnest toward you before? If so, then you can probably understand why I got half a chub from that image alone. I was a weak, weak man. I said something like “G’largh.”
