“I’ll be there.” She had been bugging me about it since the day Tate showed up at the shop and I had to admit, I was dying to see him again, which meant I’d soon be licking my wounds.
It’d been three nights since I had fallen asleep in his lap with his fingers in my hair. Two nights since I impulsively pulled Tate into my chest and said those words in his ear. He smelled damn good and his skin felt smooth and firm and since I had never held a guy before I didn’t know what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to think about him nonstop afterward nor imagine how his lips would taste while I stroked my own cock this morning in the shower.
But I told myself this was the day. I was going to tell Tate the news tonight after the show. I was going to hand him the envelope in some quiet corner and let him yell at me for lying to him and not telling him sooner. Then I was going to hear him say goodbye, probably in some version of fuck off.
He wouldn’t listen to an explanation anyway—even if I had glimpsed the softer sides of him. How his fingers had gentled in my hair because I had fallen asleep again, or how his voice had caught on the words during the story he told me about Alan. How his eyes had lit up over those T-shirt gifts for Annie and me, and his body had molded into mine without resistance in front of my apartment.
He wouldn’t hear me out when I told him he was stunning and captivating and I couldn’t help being completely taken by him. That I wished we had met under different circumstances. I’d seen Tate fired up at some of his shows, how he toyed with and mocked the audience in the spirit of the performance and there was no way he’d forgive me for this, regardless of whether Frieda Love was an act or not.
I showed up at the club just as the first act was on stage. She was a drag queen named Hazel Nuts and I’d seen her hanging with Tate after shows a few times. I spotted Annie and Karen, who patted a seat next to her at a table near the front. I had never sat that close to the entertainment and though I wanted to beg off and head to the back corner barstool where I always planted myself, that would make me appear pretty antisocial. But my heart was thumping and my stomach was sloshing and I just didn’t know if I could make it through small talk tonight.
Even my regular bartender, Phil, raised his eyebrows at me before throwing a wave in my direction.
“We just ordered food, do you want something?” Annie asked.
“No, thanks.” My stomach felt queasy. “Just a drink.”
The server placed my order for a gin and tonic and I smiled remembering my conversation at the bar with Tate about my stage name, before settling in to watch the show. It occurred to me that a couple of months ago the idea of me sitting in a drag queen club with my employee and her girlfriend was unfathomable.
But Annie was more than an employee, she was like family, and I needed to show her my appreciation. I realized just how much I had been sleepwalking through my life the past several years, simply going through the motions, and all of a sudden I was seeing things through a different filter. A colorful, vibrant filter. I had Tate to thank for a large portion of that.
Speak of the devil, Frieda Love was announced next and as soon as she strutted on stage I could not keep my eyes off of her. Tonight she wore leather pants tucked into heeled boots, a black top revealing her pale midriff, a blond wig, and a top hat a la Britney’s Circus tour. At least that’s what it said tonight on the marquee.
Damn she looked fierce, her stomach taut, her hips shapely and upon closer inspection, I realized there were no visible signs of Tate’s cock beneath all that tight clothing, which made me wonder if he needed to tape it down. Damn. The effort that went into these performances.
As I watched the show, my mind flashed through the series of times I’d either seen Frieda Love on stage or hung out with Tate. I again pondered what it was about the man that made me gravitate toward him, whether he was dressed in drag or not. I settled on the idea that it was more about his essence—it came through regardless of whether he wore false eyelashes or not.
I noticed how Frieda Love’s gaze at first darted toward the back of the bar, to the place I normally sat, but that couldn’t be right. I must’ve been imagining it. Did she look for me every night? The idea of that tickled my brain and distorted it into a sad irony in my gut, given the fact that this was the last time I’d watch her perform.
But once Frieda’s eyes scanned the crowd and landed on our table she played up to us and my skin again prickled with desire. Fuck, this felt so twisted. Had Alan only seen Tate as some pretty thing who would wear dresses for him? I did not want to objectify Tate—he was someone to be appreciated for the whole package.
My brain was so feverish that by the end of the performance, I was crawling out of my skin. Especially since I was going through so many of these emotions in front of Annie and Karen as well, not that they noticed me. They were too busy enjoying the show.
“Tate is amazing,” Annie said across the table, “So talented and fun.”
Her emphasis on the word fun was like a double entendre, as if she were telling me to loosen up and that Tate was just the friend to help me.
There was an ensemble song at the end of the show where all the performers sang “It’s Raining Men” in unison and then walked down the steps into the audience and pranced around the tables for tips. As Frieda strolled by she kissed both Karen and Annie on the cheek as the crowd around us cheered.
Her eyes glittered as she turned toward me and as she bent down to tap her lips to my cheek as well, I held my breath. It was a quick peck but I felt Frieda’s hot breath down to the soles of my feet. I heard a deep murmur from the back of her throat as her dramatically red lips lingered on my skin a moment longer. As her fans whooped and swooned in a crescendo all around me, I nearly passed out from anticipation. It felt as if her mouth had burned an impression into my chin. An inch lower and that mouth would’ve been on my neck. Holy fuck.
The queens trounced back to center stage and at the end of the song made a collective dramatic bow to a roomful of hollers and whistles. The performers exited down the stairs and Frieda Love made her way through the throng of revelers to get back to us.
“Thank you for coming,” she drawled to Karen and Annie in a breathy voice as they beamed at her.
“It was awesome,” Annie said. “What a dramatic makeover. I hardly recognize you under all of that.”
Karen reached over and swiped at my jaw. “When’s the last time you had lipstick on your collar?”
“Yes, tell us. When’s the last time?” Frieda asked in a husky voice.
“I’ve got a co-worker who I wouldn’t mind fixing you up with,” Karen said and my mind blanked out as she recited some other qualities about the woman. In that moment, no other female was as sexy or enticing as Frieda Love.
I noticed how Annie watched me closely, as did Frieda. I was sure they could notice my reddened cheeks.
“Do they do this to you often?” Frieda asked. “Everyone is always trying to fix up the handsome single guy. My friends do the same to me. They don’t believe that Frieda only allows those boys into her bed for just one night before she kicks them to the curb.”
For some reason those words sat heavy in my gut, even though she was only playacting. Or was she? Tate had said much the same in so many words the other night. Isn’t that what all my fantasies of Frieda-slash-Tate consisted of anyway? Screwing around?
“That’s because they know what a good catch you are,” Annie said and then looked over at me. “That goes for both of you.”
Frieda removed her top hat and took a theatrical bow, allowing us to get full view of her engorged breasts in that bustier. “Well how can people resist me in this get-up? Britney at her finest.”
Then she waved as she wandered off to mingle with her fans. Afterward, she’d walk down the hallway to change, if she still employed the same routine. That would be my opportunity to finish what I came here for, once and for all.
“How did you say you knew Tate again?” Karen asked me several minute
s later as she finished her side salad. Probably because my gaze had been following him around the bar until I saw him disappear to the back of the room. The way Annie stopped mid-drink I was going to guess she wondered the same about that initial story Tate told her in the shop. That we had met through a mutual acquaintance, which was essentially true, if I even deemed Alan a true friend at this point. But considering my list of friends was severely limited it probably sounded pretty lame to Karen’s ears.
Thankfully the server came over right then to serve us the bill and I stood up to excuse myself to the rest room. I needed to get this over with already.
The restrooms were down a long hallway and I could hear the chatter in the dressing area from the performers who had been on stage. Tate’s voice rang out loud and clear as my feet faltered at the door, which was slightly propped open, possibly to allow needed air to filter through.
It had been stuffy in the bar. Either that or it was strictly my nerves. My plan was to wait for Tate in the hallway until after he changed.
“So who’s your striking friend?” one of the ladies asked. “The one sitting at the table with the two women?”
“His name is Sebastian. He is definitely gorgeous,” Tate said in a muffled voice, as if he’d been removing a piece of clothing. My heart thumped hard against my chest. “But he’s straight, so…”
“Honey, you’ve been known to turn them,” one of the other queens said and they all laughed. “Besides nobody’s really straight. I’ve seen him in here before so maybe he’s got a thing for you.”
“Doubtful,” Tate said, a little closer to the hallway than I’d anticipated and before I could step away, the door swung fully open and he spotted me into the corridor. His top hat and wig had been removed but everything else remained. My entire face heated up as his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“I was just—” I pointed to the bathroom and then stepped up to push open the door.
“Sebastian,” I heard Tate say behind me, somewhat apologetically. And then he followed me inside.
When the door clicked shut behind him, I struggled to look his way, even though I had planned on talking to him tonight. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, feeling the manila envelope weighing everything down.
“Hey,” he said, touching my forearm and I made the motion to shrug him off. “I don’t know what you heard but Bethany and Jessica were just messing around. It’s okay—”
Something primal and raw broke free inside of me, as I whipped around and crowded Tate. My hands slapped against the pale pink wall, alongside his head, caging him in. His lips were crimson red, his eyes lined in kohl, and the hair that curled along the nape of his neck was peppered with perspiration.
He was fucking exquisite and I was goddamn pissed. Angry that I couldn’t just stare at him unabashedly and enjoy him for whom he was. Angry that Alan was such an asshole. That he had transferred his anguish and guilt to me. Because he knew I was a bleeding heart social worker who would more than likely see his selfish task through.
Fuck you Alan. And fuck me for caring.
“Sebastian.” Breathing heavily, my exhales coordinated with Tate’s, pant for pant. When my gaze slid upward to match his in intensity, I saw pure longing reflected there. A guttural groan escaped my throat as I leaned forward to crush my mouth against his.
Tate stilled momentarily against my lips as if he couldn’t quite believe that I was kissing him, but then I felt his hands tighten around my waist, his fingers fisting the back of my shirt as he pulled me firmly against him.
And fuck, his mouth next to mine felt so…damn…good. So fucking perfect. His lips were slicked with gloss and tasted like sweet strawberries. He smelled like lacquer and musk and vanilla, the juxtaposition making me heady. My brain went haywire and I pressed harder, my lips becoming firmer.
When he moaned and parted his lips, I flicked the tip of my tongue against his, desperate to taste more of him. All of him. But if this were my only opportunity, I’d take it. His tongue tangled briefly with mine before I slashed past his lips and kissed him deep and long, just the way I had always fantasized and it was even better than my wildest dreams.
My hands dragged up his ribcage to his hair, clutching the soft locks and sinking further into him because I could not get close enough. I wanted him against me and under me and inside me like I never wanted anyone before.
His fingertips pressed into my back before sliding down to my ass as he yanked me forward. My throbbing cock rubbed against the material of his leather pants but there was something strangely missing there. It felt too familiar and yet not familiar enough.
That was when I remembered that his dick had been taped against his body for the performance and that his whimpers might’ve been the result of intense pressure.
Still he kept kissing and pulling and rubbing and I kept hoping to feel his hard length against me. It was the strangest sensation, and the most arousing need I had ever felt surfaced inside me, snapping me right out of the moment.
When I broke away, Tate’s eyes were glazed over, his hair a tangled mess, his lipstick smeared down his chin. His hand reached to the juncture of his thighs as if to readjust and soothe his own aching cock.
I swiped my forearm against my own jaw and noticed the smudge of crimson that had transferred to my skin. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I...”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said in a deep, sluggish voice. “It’s okay.”
I shook my head. “It’s not okay.”
“No, it’s cool,” he said. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for days, Sebastian. Weeks. Nobody has to know until you’re ready.”
He thought I was remorseful over kissing a man, when it was the furthest thing from the truth.
“You think that’s what this is about? I don’t give a damn who knows,” I bit out, my voice anguished. “I can’t do this…and it’s not for the reasons you think.”
I blindly reached for the door, swinging it open in a wide arc, and got the hell out of there.
20
Tate
It’s not for the reasons you think. What the heck had happened last night?
Sebastian had kissed the hell out of me after he overheard the ladies gossiping about him in the dressing room. And fuck me sideways, because unless it was a phantom pain, my cock was still achy and raw from straining against the leather fabric after being taped down for the show.
I didn’t think Sebastian was trying to play me. The look in his eyes was panic of a different kind. Different than kissing a guy for the first time. More than likely he had some major things going on in his head. Things that he’d continue to keep tightly locked away.
It’s not for the reasons you think.
Well damn, because the way his lips devoured mine made me want more. I already liked hanging with him, but now I just really liked him. And that could prove to be a dangerous situation for me. But when had it become an actual situation? One minute he showed up at Ruby Redd’s, the next we were hanging out at a soup kitchen, and then making out in a bathroom. I was as much to blame as he was, though I wasn’t sure how to rid myself of this electric attraction to him.
I started cleaning up my pile of prints and transfer paper, put away the iron, and then wiped down the kitchen table. If the orders kept coming in, I was going to need a larger workspace. I even sketched out a couple of original designs in case I ever got to do screen-print work again. Probably because Annie had gotten me thinking about it last week when she brought it up at the diner. Thankfully I never took her up on her offer.
Maybe my mother would let me get her sink dirty for an afternoon in her posh Upper East Side apartment. Doubtful, because even though my mom was amazingly supportive of everything I did, I had inherited her cleanliness habits and she’d definitely freak about the mess. But Tori and I were invited there for brunch on Sunday, so maybe I’d bring it up.
Tori and my mom had always been tight and no doubt they’d razz me about something. But this time Tori didn
’t have much to go on because I hadn’t shared more with her about Sebastian. I needed to work through my confusing feelings all on my own.
I headed to my bedroom to change into one of my older T-shirt designs that read, Biggest Lesbian in the Room, along with my dark-washed skinny jeans. I’d already polished my nails earlier in the day in a soft pink shade with sparkles, so they’d look decent when I was recording the makeup demonstration.
Tori couldn’t cheer me on in the background today because she was slammed at work, so I was flying solo. It was probably a good idea to get used to adjusting the camera angle and lighting on my own anyway. It was nice to have somebody in the room to bounce ideas off of, but who was I kidding? I could talk to myself just fine and pretend that the audience was eating it up. It was probably my greatest skill. Maybe I should’ve considered acting.
I clicked on the camera and took a step back like Tori had prompted me to in my past videos. “Hey, you all! Today I thought I’d show you how to put on false eyelashes. I wear them for my shows at Ruby Redd’s and they definitely make my eyes pop.”
I held up the row of lashes I had purchased at Sephora. “I prefer this brand, but you might have to try different kinds to find what works best for you.”
I angled toward the camera to show off my fresh skin scrubbed free of makeup. “The first thing you need to do is curl your real lashes and apply a generous amount of mascara, so it becomes a base for your falsies.”
After I curled my lashes, I began stroking on the mascara. I held up the black tube I’d told my subscribers about in my last video on using the basics. “My girl J at Ruby Redd’s gets her mink lashes done at the salon and they’re divine. Apparently they apply them individually and you can certainly buy them that way if you want. But for purposes of the drag show, the full lash is what I need. We can talk about individual lashes next time. Let me know in the comments if you want me to include that in another clip.”
The Hardest Fall (Roadmap to Your Heart Book 3) Page 10