Killer Queen

by Serene Franklin

  “Jesus, Mac,” Bryan finally said.

  “Dude, I know.”

  “And this is the first time you’ve ever…” He left the question hanging, but I knew what he was asking.

  I slid my empty glass back over to him. “I’ve never remotely been interested in a guy before. You know I love you to pieces, but I’m sorry, it will never work between us.” I couldn’t quite stop my lips from curling into a smirk. “You’re just not my type.”

  “Asshole,” he muttered with a grin that matched mine. “This is crazy—I hope you know that.” He filled my glass halfway and pushed it back over before doing the same to his own.

  I nodded. “Things got a little hot and heavy last night. After being a fucking idiot for a week, I told him what was going on in my head, and we ended up making out and… stuff.”

  Bryan slammed the glass down hard enough that I thought it’d cracked. “Did you fuck Eve’s little brother?”

  “No. He stopped it before it got that far. He said it was a mistake and that he didn’t want to fuck up our living arrangement. Me being straight also seemed to be a problem for him.”

  “Is this why you didn’t tell me sooner? The straight thing?”

  Another nod. “You’ve got a shitty track record with straight douchebags. I was worried you might see me as being one of them. Then I reasoned you wouldn’t, but I was too much of a bitch to tell you at that point.” I picked up my glass and sipped the fragrant amber alcohol.

  “I know you’re not like them, Mac. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a bad person. So it’s just a physical thing for you, huh? Can I guess that you told Dubhlainn as much?”

  I snorted a laugh. “I straight-up told him I wanted to fuck him. He didn’t believe me then asked me to prove it. So I kissed him. It was… a lot better than I was expecting. Whatever’s going on with me isn’t confusing me; I was hard as a rock and more than okay with everything we did. I know you don’t believe in being, like, gay for one person, but that’s how it feels.”

  “Forget what I believe.” Bryan stood up straight and crossed his arms. “What matters is how you feel, and you don’t sound confused or conflicted to me. Shit, Eli isn’t going to believe you.”

  “You can tell him. I really don’t mind. I already told Grams. I’ll probably leave out the part where I had my hand down Dove’s pants when I fill her in again, though.”

  “Aw, you gave him a cute nickname. You sure you only want sex?”

  I shrugged. It was a damn cute nickname. “Have you known me to want more? Scratch that—have you seen his hair down? I need to get my hands in that again. He’s a total smoke-show.”

  Bryan smirked at me and raised his eyebrows. “He’s pretty cute. I’m still not used to hearing you talk about a guy this way.”

  “Is it weird?”

  “No. It’s different, yet it’s still the same.” He refreshed our drinks and let out a long sigh. “And here I was thinking I knew everything about you—Macalister Thomas Buchanan, you’ve proven me wrong.”

  I ended up spending all afternoon drinking and hanging out with Bryan. I took the train home and got off a stop early because I felt like walking in the cool evening air. The city was a gorgeous place this time of the year. It wasn’t miserably cold and it wasn’t so hot your face melted off and you wanted to die.

  Maybe it was the whiskey giving me an even bigger confidence boost, but I needed to get home and tell Dove something. If he wasn’t home I’d wait for him in the entryway. In that moment, nothing was more paramount. I adjusted the strap of my gear bag around my chest before I took off into a brisk sprint for the last two blocks of my trip home.

  Reminiscent of last night, I was hot and panting when I burst into the apartment. Dove was watching Friends on the couch again—sans Jameson. He jumped to his feet when he saw me and asked if I was okay as I dropped my bag and rushed over to him. I cut him off with a deep kiss that I wasn’t sure he’d return or punch me for. When he chose the former I pulled back and stroked my fingers through the hair that hung in his face.

  “I’m not confused, and I’m not going to stop trying until I get what I want.” I eyed his blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks and grinned wolfishly. “What I know we both want.” I kissed his forehead, released him, and stepped back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very drunk, and need to go pass out.” I turned and went straight to my room without a backward glance; I didn’t need to look to know he was watching me.

  Six

  Dubhlainn

  The balls on that fuckin’ guy.

  It’d been six days since Mac came home smelling like a distillery and kissed me. Again. I hated that I was still thinking about it days later. Under any other circumstances I’d have given in to his forwardness without any fight. As insufferable as Mac was when I first met him, he grew on me. He was the kind of guy it was difficult to hate, even if you wanted to. With his face permanently fixed in a smile and his floppy blond hair, he was like a persistent golden retriever that just wanted to play. He also happened to be too sexy for his own good—and dangerous because he knew it.

  He’d blatantly gawked at my arse this morning when I was bent over, getting a bowl out of the dishwasher. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and when I turned to him and called him out, he’d just winked at me then went back to his work. So shameless. I couldn’t even be mad.

  I thought more about his offer as I sat in class and pretended to watch my classmates’ presentations. I’d given mine the day before and was essentially done with the class. I only showed up because of the attendance requirement.

  I wanted to say yes to Mac—I really did. A hot, casual thing would be good for me after my bout of abstinence while I stayed with my sister. Mac was clearer with his intentions than any guy I’d ever hooked up with—or considered hooking up with—which had its advantages. I wouldn’t have to worry about mixed messages or him falling for me. What worried me was what would happen when it finally hit him that he was indeed still straight—he came home with another hickey a couple of nights ago and told me all about how he got it—and things got awkward around the flat. I couldn’t live in an environment like that. Avoiding it was as easy as not fucking him.

  Except he wasn’t making it easy.

  I leaned back in my chair at the kitchen table at my sister’s place. Her husband, Samir, cooked mansaf, which was brilliant. It was far different from any lamb I had as a boy, but it was damn good. Samir was in the home office while Aoibheann stood at the sink washing our dishes. I’d observed that to be their routine while I lived there. Considering my sister was an awful cook, it was the best arrangement for both of them.

  “Get off yer arse and come dry these.”

  I obeyed her command and stood, picking up the cloth and the first plate on the drying rack. We weren’t big on small talk to fill space and washed and dried in a comfortable silence until I couldn’t help myself from asking.

  “How well do you know Mac?”

  “Is he givin’ you a hard go of things?”

  “No, nothing like that. He recently found out I was gay.” It was a lie, but I couldn’t outright tell her what I was considering.

  “I thought Bryan woulda told him first. Don’t matter none; Macalister isn’t a bigot. He’s a town bike if ever I seen one, but he’s a good man. Always good for a laugh too. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Now, if you were a woman, I’d have never let ya move in with him,” she said as she handed me the next plate.

  Macalister, huh? I like that. “Why d’you say that?”

  A wide smile spread across her lips, and her eyes beamed. “He’d try to flah ya for sure—crazy for gingers. He hit on me the first time we met. Made a holy show of himself when he found out I was Eli’s friend. And married.”

  I snorted. That sounded like Mac. “Lucky for me he’s straight, then.”

  “As they come,” she added.

  I sighed—if only that were so.

  It was finally Friday and the las
t day of my computer science class. I’d be able to pick up more shifts in July and maybe even enjoy myself in August before the regular semester started back up. Traveling was out of the question, though I’d love to go back home and visit my granny. I missed seeing her every week and didn’t get back enough over the years. I toyed with the idea of moving back to Ireland once I graduated, though I knew she’d never let me do that for her. I pushed that thought aside—as I always did—when class ended.

  Mac was still perched at the table, typing away, when I got back. I said hi to him on my way by to my room and closed the door behind me. I had a drag show in a few hours and wanted to leave early to hang out with some of the other queens before going onstage. I was the newbie on the scene, so I was going on relatively early at nine, but that was fine by me. People seemed to like me, and I had fun regardless of when I performed, so I didn’t give a shite.

  I unpacked my school supplies then loaded up my bag with the clothes, shoes, makeup, wig, and accessories I’d need for my performance. A knock to my door halted my hand while I was zipping up my bag. I called out for Mac to come inside, and the door immediately opened. Instead of coming in, he leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed over his bare chest and eyed the half-zipped bag in my hands.

  “I’m about to order some food; do you want anything?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got plans tonight and am actually heading out in a couple minutes.” I finished closing my bag and tossed it onto my bed.

  “Cool beans—just checking. I’ll see you later, then.” He pushed off the doorframe and disappeared from my line of sight. I heard his bedroom door close a few seconds later, headed for my bathroom to have a quick shower, then left for the club.

  I was always a mixture of anxious and excited before a performance, and tonight was no exception. I was set to go on in a couple of minutes and had a routine planned to No Doubt’s “Hella Good.” It wasn’t a routine I’d publicly performed before, but it didn’t have any elaborate choreography so I figured I’d be good.

  I rocked from foot to foot in my black pointed-toe stilettos. The shoes were relatively new and not broken-in yet, causing my small toe to chafe. It fuckin’ hurt, but whoever said beauty was pain was one hundred percent correct. My outfit was a near replica of Gwen’s from the video—black pants with side laces, black-and-white bikini top, and a camo-print military jacket that fit like a second skin. I hadn’t shaved my armpits or legs and was glad for the extra coverage.

  When the music died down and the emcee announced Renée Steady to the stage, I took a deep breath, slipped into my persona, and made my way out to the small stage. The lights shining on me were bright while the patrons were showered in dim colored lights. I couldn’t make out many faces, though it didn’t matter once the song started playing.

  Lip-syncing had to be my least favorite part of drag. It was worse for me with vocally dramatic songs and all that shite. My style involved a ton of energy and movement—just like Gwen Stefani. I moved around and got the audience involved while having fun, and that was really what drag was all about for me. If I wasn’t having fun, I’d stop doing it.

  My eyes adjusted to the lighting during the musical bridge, giving me a chance to get a look at my audience. There were plenty of familiar faces—people from prior shows, some students I recognized from classes, and other queens out of drag—but my eyes caught on someone I hadn’t been expecting.

  I’d know that fuckin’ fluffy blond hair and cocky smirk anywhere. Mac sat at the bar and gawked at me while he nursed some kind of frozen drink that came with a fuckin’ small umbrella. What I didn’t understand was why he was there and how he’d found me. The song carried on and I shifted my focus to other patrons. I had about a minute left to figure out how to handle this situation before I left the stage.

  Part of me wanted to leg it and pretend I didn’t see him. Another quick glance his way told me that wasn’t going to be an option. That bastard knew damn well I’d seen him. He was wearing a bright red tank and not even trying to be subtle. All speculation on the matter ended when he winked at me and his smirk grew wider.

  The song ended, and I posed with my tongue out for the applause. Wanting to get changed and over to the bar as quickly as possible, I collected up my tips, blew some kisses, then headed backstage. I made it back to the small dressing room where I’d left my bag and found one of my mates waiting for me.

  A wide smile split his dimpled cheeks when I got closer, and he pulled me in for a hug. Hugging wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, though I made concessions for Taylor. He was far too unbridled in his affection to take no for an answer, and I didn’t mind it one bit from him.

  I rubbed my hand over his close-shaved head as we parted—I always loved the way his coarse hair felt, almost like thick stubble. His cheekbones were always pronounced, but they were contoured and looking sharp as hell now in preparation for his performance.

  “I was running late and missed you. I heard you slayed out there, hun.”

  “I did all right,” I replied as I moved around him and sat down, beginning to unpin my wig.

  “Whatever you say. You’re too humble, sweetie. I’ma let you get away with it, though. For now.”

  I snorted a laugh and dipped my head down to reach the pins in the back. “Would you rather me be a cocky arsehole?”

  “Of course not. I just want you to know how good you are and own that. And don’t tell me you do, because I know yo pale ass would be lyin’.”

  I didn’t have to look at him to know his brown eyes were narrowed on me and his full lips were pursed. A small giggle rippled through me before I sat back up and pulled my wig off. I removed the awful hair cap and put it and the wig inside my silk wig bag.

  “Laugh all you want, Irish. That adorable accent will only let you skate by for so long.”

  “Yes, Taye,” I mumbled.

  “Are you sticking around tonight?”

  “I’m not. Something came up I have to tend to.”

  “Yeah, because that’s not hella vague or anything.”

  “Sorry. It’s my flatmate. He’s… here.” I started undressing while Taylor gasped.

  “The hunky blond who wants your ass is here? Cancel my set. I need to see this.” Taylor turned toward the exit, and I grabbed his arm before he could dash away.

  “Nope. I’m going to go find out what he wants and then we’re leaving. He must have followed me tonight, which is rather stalkerish.”

  Taylor faced the mirror and sat down with a whimsical sigh. “I don’t know why you’re playing so hard to get. We both know you want to ride him like a mechanical bull—but that’s none of my business.”

  “Thank you so much for staying out of it.”

  He laughed then nudged me with his shoulder. “Hurry up and get changed before one of the other girls shows that man too good of a time.”

  Just as Taylor suggested, Sasha was giving it her best go with Mac when I returned to the bar. I sat down next to him, sent her away, and ordered a shot of tequila. Mac had an amused grin plastered on his face for the entire exchange with Sasha, though he kept his mouth shut. His silence and annoyingly handsome face were too much to handle, and I downed the shot when it was placed in front of me then immediately ordered another.

  “Did you follow me tonight?”

  He hummed and sipped his drink. “Sure did.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  His smile finally gave way to an expression far too serious for how unapologetic he was a few moments ago. “I saw you packing your bag earlier and couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you all”—he waved his hand in front of his face—“done up. You didn’t say you were all badass and channeling Gwen Stefani.”

  My eyes narrowed on him. “You like Gwen?”

  “She was my first major crush until I found Jean.” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled, although it seemed to be more to himself than me.

  “Who is Jean?”

  “Jean Grey. The most beautifu
l creature imaginable.”

  I tilted my head to the side while I tried to place the way too familiar name. “You mean, like X-men? Famke Janssen?”

  “No. Famke is a knockout, but I’m talking about classic Jean from the comics.”

  I raised a brow and took the shot the bartender slid my way. “You read comics?”

  “I used to. Is that so hard to believe?”

  A heavy sigh fell from my lips and my shoulders drooped. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Mac differed from nearly every assumption I’d initially made about him. “I guess not. So, now what? You’ve seen me in drag—what do you get out of it?”

  He shrugged and sipped his drink again. “I dunno. Jerk-off material for a solid month?”

  I was about to call him a slew of colorful names when I saw the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “You’re an arsehole.”

  “I’m a fucking golden retriever.”

  It was true enough. The bartender came back, and Mac ordered two more shots as I was about to ask for my tab. He winked at me and insisted on another round as a new queen took to the stage. I leaned in close to his ear and almost burst into laughter when his whole body froze. I licked my lips and whispered, “You’re paying.”

  I unlocked the door for us since Mac was fuckin’ bolloxed and kept trying the wrong key in the door while laughing like a lunatic. I wasn’t exactly sober myself, but I at least had proper function of my motor skills, unlike the happy drunk I had slung over my shoulder—the very heavy, happy drunk.

  I managed to get us both inside and the door locked before the keys slipped out of my hand and crashed against the hardwood floor—something else Mac found hilarious. I sighed and led us down the hall, not bothering with our shoes. We reached Mac’s door first, and I propped him up against his closed door.