Killer Queen

by Serene Franklin

  I reached out, hooking my finger through one of the loops on his distressed jeans. “I’ll let you choose the music for an entire week if you get in.”

  That did it. Dove whipped his shirt off, and I unbuttoned his pants, helping him shed them faster. I tried—and failed—not to stare at his naked body. All that smooth, pale skin contrasted with his copper coloring and had me longing to taste him. The semi he was sporting certainly didn’t help.

  Without me suggesting it, Dove stepped into the tub and slowly lowered himself down with his back to my chest. That inevitably pressed my hardening dick against his ass and lower back, but I couldn’t really help that. Dove set his arms on my legs, gripping my raised knees while he let his head fall back on my shoulder.

  I took the tie out of his hair, alternating between massaging his scalp and twirling small clumps of his hair around my index finger. As much as I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, I’d learned the hard way that that was a highly romanticized fiction from movies. The reality was that his hair was often tangled if it was up, and it “hurt like a motherfucker” when I snagged my fingers in it. Whoops. Dove had assured me that women with smooth, silky hair had finer hair than his gorgeous wavy locks, or they cheated and brushed it out prior to putting it up.

  I didn’t mind not being able to run my fingers through it. Touching it like this was more than enough. My efforts were rewarded with Dove’s throaty moans, bringing a smile to my face. I kissed his temple, then held out the Jameson, knowing he’d want some. Instead of letting go of me, he winked at me and opened his mouth. I took the hint and poured a generous amount in his mouth before taking a drink of my own. Our breathing fell into sync as we settled into a comfortable silence. My music still filled the apartment, but I couldn’t say what song was on.

  I didn’t ask where he went, nor did he offer the information. Frankly, I didn’t care anymore. He was back and in my arms. That was all I needed.

  On a sunny Sunday afternoon I walked arm in arm with Grams on a gravel path through the trees. It was too gorgeous of a day to stay inside and shoot the shit, so we drove to a nearby park to… walk around and shoot the shit. I’d invited Dove to come along, though he said he had plans—a common trend this week. The night I had my little freak-out had become a regular thing. Since drowning myself in whiskey every night wasn’t exactly healthy, I buried myself in work to stay busy until Dove showed up each night. Once he did, I was then at war with myself over wanting to maw him with affection and respect his privacy and personal space. The latter usually lost out after a few minutes of having Dove within reach. I’d cursed Bryan countless times for planting those insane ideas in my head.

  Leisurely walking around with Grams was doing wonders to keep my mind from straying to unwanted places. I told her all about the wager I made with Dove, and that I bought him a desk for his studies. I left out how much of a head case I was whenever he went out—Grams didn’t need to worry about me over nothing.

  “You should have seen how happy he was when I finished setting the desk up. He was practically vibrating with joy. It was the cutest thing ever.” I smiled to myself as I told the story—something I did often according to Bry. “I even told him as much, which I’m sure you can guess didn’t end so well for me. He’s small, but the dude packs a punch when he means it,” I said, rubbing my bicep where he’d hit me to gain sympathy.

  Instead of consoling her dear grandson, Grams playfully slapped my arm where I’d indicated Dove had punched me. “You’re lucky he didn’t go for your face. You tease that boy too much.”

  “Nah, I like to think I tease him just enough.”

  “You haven’t stopped talking about him today.” Her tone shifted, taking on a casual inflection. I knew this trick from years of exposure: she wanted to talk about something serious without making it sound like a lecture. I didn’t understand why she was using it now.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, dear.”

  I thought back on what I had shared, and yeah, everything had involved Dove. “He’s my roommate. It’s unavoidable, I suppose.”

  “You didn’t talk about Bryan nearly as much, and you certainly didn’t smile nonstop while doing so.” She tilted her head toward me, cocking an eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “Is everyone around me a psychoanalyst now? You’re reading too much into things.”

  Grams dropped my arm and stopped walking. “Watch your sass and quit deflecting.”

  I set my hands on my hips and groaned. Why was this happening to me? “I’m not deflecting—”

  “You are.”

  A couple walking by with a stroller caught my attention behind Grams. The woman quickly turned away when our eyes met. Great. Now the whole park knows about my drama. I turned back to Grams and let out a heavy sigh. “Can we have this discussion somewhere with at least a shred of privacy?”

  Grams agreed, and I led her over to a shaded bench just off the main path. Neither of us said anything at first. This was her idea, and I had every intention of waiting her out. So I waited.

  And waited.

  And wai— “Okay, I can’t take it anymore.”

  “I’ve been playing the waiting game since before your father was born. You honestly didn’t expect you’d win, did you?”

  I knew damn well that was a rhetorical question. I leaned back, lacing my fingers behind my head, and stared at the sky through the leaves and branches. “Tell me whatever’s on your mind.”

  “No, dear. You tell me.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Grams. I won’t sit here and say I don’t like Dove, because I clearly do. I enjoy his company quite a bit.”

  She turned toward me, resting an elbow on the back of the bench. “How do you feel when you’re with him?”

  “Happy. He’s a lot of fun to be around,” I answered easily.

  Grams nodded. “What about when he’s not around?”

  I swallowed hard, though my mouth was suddenly dry as fuck. She couldn’t have noticed that I was absolutely hating being away from him. “It sucks. I get bored. I, ah, I miss him sometimes.”

  “Is that all?”

  I brought my hands down, linking my fingers in my lap to keep from squirming. This was Grams—I could tell her anything. “I miss him a lot. It’s… all I can think about at times. Ever since Bryan planted that stupid idea in my head that there was something more going on I haven’t been able to relax when he’s not around. It almost makes me feel sick to my stomach, which I know is ridiculous.”

  Grams squeezed my clasped hands, flashing me a sympathetic smile. “It’s not ridiculous.”

  “I don’t like it. I can’t relax if I don’t know when he’s coming back. When he does”—I frowned, searching for the right words—“I feel this consuming rush of relief spread through me, and all the stress and anxiety is gone. It’s like…”

  “Like you’re yourself again.”

  “Fuck. That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

  “That’s how I felt whenever I was reunited with your grandfather, love.”

  I shook my head and laughed dryly. “I don’t like it. I don’t recognize myself when I get like that. I feel uncertain of everything except how much I want him near me. Everything else feels grossly unimportant and lackluster.”

  An amused hummed reached my ears. Grams’s eyes were full of unshed tears. “That’s love, Macalister.”

  My stomach churned as a wave of nausea settled over me. I gripped the edge of the bench and leaned forward, breathing in through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. Grams rubbed one hand in small circles on my back while the other stroked my hair behind my ear.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No.” I shook my head, unsure of what else to do. “I don’t know.”

  She continued to soothe me while she encouraged me to tell her what I was thinking. I couldn’t possibly convey all of my thoughts coherently. I’d accepted being bisexual like it was nothing, yet this realization had me re
eling. It wasn’t that Dove was a guy; I just never expected to feel… however the hell I felt about him. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, though I wasn’t ready to rush and call it love—not until I was certain.

  “I don’t know if it’s love. I mean, I haven’t been in love before, so I just don’t know. I’m not ready to debate the semantics of what love is. What I am sure of is that I want Dove. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Ugh, I sound like a sap.” My eyes stung, and I sniffled to rein my emotions in. I was not going to fucking cry in the middle of the park. “I hate that everyone else was right. Bryan isn’t going to let me live this down.”

  Grams hummed, smiling broadly at me. “Don’t worry about that right now. What are you going to do about your newfound realization?”

  That was easy. I met Grams’s firm yet comforting gaze and matched her smile with one of my own. “I need to tell him. I should probably wait until I’ve figured my shit out so I don’t sound like an idiot, but I think he should know. I want him to know.” I wanted to tell him in that instant, though I wasn’t about to take off and leave Grams on the bench. She insisted I could cut my visit short, but I refused to leave. I could talk to Dove when I got home. Hopefully by then I’d have a better idea of what I’d say.

  The sun had already set by the time I got home. I tossed my keys on the table by the door then immediately sought out Dove. He was lying on the couch watching TV, though he’d muted it after I came in. Before my nerve abandoned me, I strode over to the couch, arriving as he sat up. My lips parted, and I was about to tell him everything—then he beat me to it.

  “Mac, we need to talk.”

  My mouth snapped shut. Five simple words could mean anything, though Dove’s solemn tone and the set of his jaw told me I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. The urge to confess everything to him still brimmed within me, ready to overflow at any moment. As much as I wanted to speak, I needed to hear him out first.

  “What about?” I managed to ask, sounding casual enough.

  Dove stood, though he kept an uncomfortable distance between us. He buried his hands in his pockets, looking down at his bare feet before back up at me. I wanted to go to him—to pull him close and make him smile, but everything about his demeanor screamed for me to keep my distance. “I want to end things,” he finally said.

  Five more words. Five more fucking words, and I felt like I’d been rocked by Mike Tyson. It took all of my resolve not to stagger back. It was possible that I’d heard him wrong, or maybe he wasn’t talking about us. Foolishly hopeful, I chewed on my inner cheek before asking him, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Our arrangement. I want to end it. Now.” His voice came out steady. It sounded so… final.

  To say I was shocked would be an egregious understatement. I was a lot of things in that moment, though hurt and confused seemed to be at the top of the list.

  Sixteen

  Dubhlainn

  This wasn’t going how I’d envisioned. I’d expected Mac to try to sway me with the lure of sex, or to make a joke about how his dick had ruined me for all others. He did neither of those things. When I’d told him I wanted to end things for the second time I could have sworn that he looked stricken. It was gone in a flash, and I wasn’t convinced that I hadn’t imagined it. Maybe it was some sick part of my mind projecting onto him. I’m a fuckin’ mess; why shouldn’t you be too?

  No. That wasn’t what I wanted. I was ending things before they turned to shite. It fuckin’ sucked, but at least this way both of us wouldn’t be miserable when this exploded in our faces. I wanted to spare him that. It would be hard, though I knew I could take it. I always did. What I couldn’t take was Mac hating me or feeling like I’d betrayed his trust. That would kill me.

  “Why?” he finally asked with his hands on his hips and his brow furrowed.

  “It isn’t working for me anymore. It’s not what I truly want.” It wasn’t a lie. I hoped I was vague enough to not alert him of my true feelings, but sincere enough that he wouldn’t see through me. I expected some pushback because, well, that was just how Mac was. What I wasn’t prepared for was another look of vulnerability from him. He schooled his expression just as fast as the first time, though there was no mistaking it the second time. It fuckin’ gutted me. Why had he looked so sad? I wanted to comfort him—to take back my twisted words and tell him the full truth. Instead I stood several feet from him with my hands balled into fists in my pockets, and I pretended to be strong. I pretended what I was doing wasn’t hurting me.

  Mac nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  “Aye. It is.”

  “Okay,” he repeated, dazed almost. “All right. I guess it had to end sometime, right? Better now than later when I’ve ruined you for good—am I right?” He smiled at me, though it didn’t reach his beautiful brown eyes. He cracked another joke then excused himself, stating he needed a shower to get rid of the swamp ass he’d been suffering through all afternoon. I watched him leave the room with a weak half smile, exhaling for what felt like the first time when he closed the bathroom door behind him.

  He’d sounded like himself, but something was off. I’d seen him actin’ the maggot plenty of times, and this was different. I turned my show off and quietly went to my room, glancing at the bathroom door as I passed it. Mac hadn’t had the same carefree conviction in his words, though he was trying. For me? No. I probably wounded his pride.

  I climbed into my bed, clutching a pillow to my chest—the one that smelled like Mac. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, letting myself have this one concession until I did laundry in the morning. If wounding his pride was the worst of the damage I’d done, then I’d gladly take that over my other fears.

  I welcomed the distraction my classes brought me. I’d been back to school for two thrilling weeks. Between that and working at the supermarket I was kept ridiculously busy. I even had to forgo performing at the club, though my heart wouldn’t have been in it, anyway. The vast majority of any time I spent at the flat was in my room. The desk Mac got for me became my new best friend; I spent more time sitting at it than I did in my bed. When I wasn’t working or studying I would still sit at the desk, staring aimlessly out the window.

  I barely saw Mac anymore. I heard him moving about the flat, but I never had the balls to go out and face him. He was pleasant and didn’t seem angry when he saw me, which only made me feel like more of an arsehole. I’d ended things with him so they wouldn’t go to shite later, though all I accomplished was tearing a rift between us. It was exactly like it had been when I first moved in, except Mac wasn’t pursuing me, and somehow that was a kick in the bollocks. I’d lost him as a lover, and I felt him slip further away daily as my mate. The more I pushed him away, the less he tried.

  I couldn’t fault him for that. As far as he knew, we’d been having a brilliant time together then I went and pissed all over it. I didn’t know what I’d expected to happen, but this wasn’t it. Our relationship was shite now, and I hadn’t the slightest clue how to fix it.

  So I sat at my desk—sometimes for hours. I watched all the people and cars go by while I felt stuck. Mac didn’t hate me—I’d succeeded in preventing that from coming to pass. We were in a different shite place, and I found myself questioning how much better that truly was.

  On the third Friday in September I’d managed to catch up on all of my assignments, and had the night free. I called Taylor to inquire about performing, relieved when he told me I was going on at ten. I’d had enough of being me. Renée Steady was everything I needed to be and fell short of. Where she was strong and confident, I was weak and unsure of myself. I knew drag wasn’t the answer to my problems with Mac, but one night off from my misery sounded brilliant.

  I called Aoibheann next, letting her know about the show. She’d replied that it was bloody late, but that she and Samir would be there to cheer me on. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth from knowing I had t
heir support. I still had Taylor too, though I hadn’t seen him since classes started back up—something else to add in support of me being the world’s biggest arsehole.

  We made lunch plans for tomorrow then disconnected. Leaning back in my desk chair, I did a scan of my room, settling on the wall I shared with Mac’s room. He’d been spending more time out, which wasn’t like him at all. Mac loved to lounge around at home more than almost anything, yet he was hardly ever around anymore.

  When I got in late some nights I’d stop by his door and listen for his breathing. More often than not, it wasn’t there. Then it struck me that he was probably out getting some arse like he did before we got involved. I should have been relieved that he did it outside of the flat, but I wasn’t. It was selfish of me, though that didn’t stop me from feeling slighted.

  I got up and walked over to the shared wall, pressing my ear against the cool surface. Nothing. It was Friday night—of course he wouldn’t be home. Instead of letting myself dwell on what he could be doing and whom he was doing it with, I marched back over to my desk and grabbed my phone. I typed out a quick message for Taylor, asking if I could come over early, then I packed up my things I’d need for the show and left the flat.

  “It’s been a while, gorgeous,” Taylor said as he welcomed me into his flat.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Everything has been so hectic this month.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” Taylor close the door behind me then eyed me closely, wrinkling his nose. “Cancel that—you do have to explain. You look like shit.”

  “Thanks for being so tactful.”

  “Tact has no place here, sis.” One corner of his lush lips lifted in a grin before his expression turned somber. “This wouldn’t have something to do with a certain hunky blond, would it?”

  “I wish I could say it didn’t,” I replied ruefully.