The Queer and the Restless

by Kris Ripper

  “But not intentionally. Accidental small talk doesn’t count.”

  He’d never officially met Jaq’s girlfriend, so I introduced him to Hannah, who charmed him, as she seemed to charm everyone. But when Jaq walked up later—she’d been “wrangling grooms, even though that’s Zane’s job,” she said—Hannah’s demeanor changed. She focused all of her energy on Jaq, pulling one hand up to kiss her knuckles.

  Jaq visibly swooned. “Damn, woman. Get your ass over here. We’re dancing.” She led an unprotesting Hannah away.

  “That seems to be going well,” Cam said.

  “Guess so.”

  He nudged me. “It’s nice to see you and Alisha, you know. It’s nice to see you being real with someone.”

  “I’m real with people!”

  He patted my arm. “We all wear armor, Ed. Finding people we can let our guard down around is a boon.”

  Did Cam ever let his guard down? Looking at him, sitting ramrod straight in his seat, phone still out on the table in front of him as if he might urgently need to return to his book in the middle of a conversation, I doubted it.

  I wanted to say something profound, to express that he could be himself around me, if he wanted, but instead the thing that came out of my mouth was, “If we were attracted to each other, would you go out with me?”

  He blinked, forehead creasing. “I’d go out with anyone I was attracted to. What on earth are you asking?”

  “Just—” I gestured to myself, feeling ridiculous. “You go out with guys. Would I—I mean—”

  The frown smoothed out. “Oh. Of course, Ed. I mean, I assume you’re not asking, but theoretically, of course. Do you worry about that?”

  “I kind of have to. And no, sorry, I’m not asking— I mean, not that I wouldn’t but—”

  “We aren’t compatible in other ways. I should be asking you that question,” he teased.

  “Yeah, I’m sort of irrevocably attracted to women, I guess.”

  “I’m irrevocably attracted to men, which is a group you belong to.” He patted my arm again. “See, like this. This is fine. This is not small talk, it’s . . . real talk. It’s talk about real things that matter. My issue with small talk is that it’s talk about superficial things that don’t matter.”

  “I guess small talk matters because you can’t always discuss deep stuff, you know? Because of the people you’re with, or because it would be too exhausting.”

  “And people don’t appreciate silence as much as I do.”

  “Ha. Probably. Let’s find small talk you don’t hate. Tell me more about Cary Grant.”

  “Bite your tongue! Cary Grant is anything but small.”

  I laughed, and he told me stories about Grant and his leading ladies, and Grant and his leading men. When Alisha came back, having lost Zane to a group of roller derby women, Cameron surrendered his chair to her with a bow.

  “Treat him well, my lady.” He grinned.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Alisha replied. We waved as he walked off.

  I touched her hand. “You want to get out of here soon?”

  “Definitely. Take me back to your place? I mean, if it’s okay. I’ve wanted to see where you lived for ages.”

  “It’s okay. It’s great. I want you to see where I live too.”

  She kissed me. “I really hope I meet your roommates so they know you’re banging a super hot chick.”

  “Jerk,” I muttered, but I secretly hoped she met my roommates too.

  Having Alisha in my space was an entirely new experience. David had been right: I’d never brought anyone home with me. I’d gone home with a couple of one-night stands, but I’d always made sure I could leave when I was done, when I needed to regroup on my own.

  Letting her into the house, showing her the living room and kitchen and bathroom, then taking her into my room, felt right. Felt good.

  Kissing her in my bed felt even better.

  We made out for a while, slowly shedding our clothes. I’d gotten pretty comfortable with her, in or out of my binder, and she never treated my breasts like they were anything special, but she didn’t ignore them like they were off-limits, either, which was apparently the perfect amount of attention.

  I’d made my way down her body and she’d pulled my legs over so she could kiss my thighs, the beginning of what promised to be a hell of a sixty-nine, when a commotion at the front door alerted us that my roommates were home.

  The house was old; despite the door being closed, we could hear every word they said.

  “—could have totally hit that, if you hadn’t—”

  “That girl was so far out of your league, you aren’t even the same species, Troy!”

  I smothered giggles into Alisha’s belly and kept listening like they were a radio play.

  “Okay, okay, be cool.”

  “She wasn’t out of my league! She liked me!”

  “You guys, shut up.”

  “But—”

  “We aren’t the only ones home, asshole, shut up.”

  They lowered their voices, and JP continued to make peace while David teased Troy about the girl who was out of his league as they stomped up the stairs.

  “Oh my god, you live with frat boys,” she said when we could no longer hear them. “Ed. You live with frat boys.”

  “Grad students, but yeah, feels like about the same thing, only with less alcohol poisoning.” I rolled off her. “Bastards totally screwed up the mood.”

  “Right?” She giggled. “She’s not even the same species! Ha!”

  “Seriously, they’re like caricatures.” I reached out to run a finger along her shin. Alisha didn’t shave her legs, which was kind of cool. I liked it most when she wore skirts. Something about the inherent fuck you of it made me happy. “Oh my god. I so can’t have sex right now. Sorry.”

  “I know. Okay, so let’s make snacks. Do you have snacks?”

  “I have hummus in here, but I don’t feel like carrots right now, so we’d have to brave the kitchen for dipping devices.”

  “Dipping devices it is!” She smirked at me down the length of her body. “I guess we have to put clothes on?”

  “Naughty brat. Yes, you have to put clothes on.” I tugged my jeans on before contorting myself back into my binder and T-shirt.

  “What is this? Ed, I have to wear this.”

  I turned. She’d been poking through the rack over my door and unearthed an old black satiny cover-up I’d forgotten I owned. “You can have that if you want it. An old girlfriend gave it to me, but it was too nice to throw away when we broke up.”

  “Giving me your ex’s gifts, huh?”

  “Shit. You’re right. That sounded bad.” I took it from her. It had probably cost a fortune and the ex had liked seeing me in it, but it always made me feel ugly and wrong. After a second I held it open for Alisha, sliding the dark fabric over her incredibly pale skin. “Looks better on you than it did on me.”

  “I can’t imagine buying you something like this unless it was for Halloween. Damn, but it’s nice.” She twirled a little and the fabric flowed out from her. “You like?”

  “If it’s not creepy, you should definitely keep it. Or at least wear it when you’re here. What do you want to eat?”

  “Don’t know. I’m more into the idea of wearing this in front of your roommates. What do you think the likelihood is they’ll come downstairs again?”

  It was only midnight. “They’ll definitely come downstairs if they hear that I have a guest.”

  She twirled again. “Any objection to me wearing this and nothing else?”

  “Uh, what possible objection could I have to that? As long as you let me take it off you after.”

  “Sure thing, big boy.” She batted her eyelashes and I laughed. “Let’s go see what you’ve got in your kitchen.” Alisha swept from the room, still tying the belt around her.

  God. She was sex in black satin, bending over to look deeper into the refrigerator than anyone could possibly need to look
.

  “You spelunking in there?” I asked.

  She wiggled her ass at me. “What’s wrong, baby? You don’t like the view?”

  “Far from it.” I rubbed against her, getting off on the clash of textiles, my denim and her satin. I wanted to fuck her like that, bent over, at my mercy. My cock was trying to get purchase inside my jeans at the thought of it.

  “You’re a fucking tease, Masiello.” She pushed back at me. “Damn. What the fuck am I doing right now? I forgot.”

  I kept hold of her hips, sorely tempted to reach inside the flimsy robe.

  “Ed—”

  A clatter on the stairs.

  I sprung back, blushing so hot I could feel sweat at my temples. “Oh shit.”

  Alisha’s laugh sounded strange inside the fridge, and she was still laughing when all three second-floor roommates galloped into the kitchen.

  Their “we’re so surprised, we had no idea you had company” act needed some refining.

  “Oh jeez, Ed, so sorry to interrupt!” Troy said, staring between me and Alisha’s ass.

  JP hit him. “Hey, you making food? We, uh, thought we’d make some food.”

  Alisha straightened and turned, surveying each of them one at a time.

  “Alisha, these are my roommates. Troy, JP, David. Guys, this is Alisha.” I hesitated, then added, “My girlfriend.”

  Her face lit up. “So these are the famous roommates, huh? Good meeting you.” She shook their hands, and they all chorused “good meeting you, too” back, but were clearly having trouble reconciling the beautiful woman with the butt-length blue braids and “Ed’s girlfriend.”

  “We’re just getting a snack,” I said.

  “A light snack,” she purred. “I never eat anything heavy this late at night. Heavy food gets in the way of other activities, don’t you think?”

  I bit my lip to keep from busting up, and the boys goggled.

  “Oh, uh, yeah, definitely,” David said. “Sure. We should—we should eat a light snack too.”

  “Really?” She raised her eyebrows, looking between all three of them. “I would not have guessed.” Then she turned back around. “Babe, I don’t see anything dippable in here.”

  “Toast?” I asked, covertly watching JP try to explain sotto voce that David had just implied the three of them were having sex.

  “Wait, what?” David mumbled.

  “We’re not together,” JP said to Alisha’s back. “I mean, not that it matters, but in the interests of, uh, clarity. We’re only roommates.”

  “And friends,” Troy said.

  JP elbowed him.

  “What? We are, aren’t we? I think of you guys as my friends. Most of the time.”

  “Stop talking. Everything you say is embarrassing.”

  God, if they kept up, my lips would be in ribbons from me biting them so hard. I put two slices of bread into the toaster.

  “To be honest, you were more interesting when I thought you were banging.” Alisha finally withdrew from the fridge. “So, boys, big night out on the town?”

  Troy honest to god pouted. “I would have had a big night, if these two clowns hadn’t totally cockblocked me.”

  “We did not. You’re dreaming.” David shook his head at Alisha. “He’s dreaming. Some guys don’t know how to stay inside their zone, and not get in over their heads. Like the girl Troy wanted was in the hot-girl zone, so she was out of his league.”

  Holy shit.

  “The hot-girl zone,” she repeated over Troy’s protest. “Tell me more about this.”

  David, obviously thinking he was imparting Great Wisdom, warmed to his subject. “You gotta know your limits when it comes to girls. Not every guy is gonna land a hot girl, right? There aren’t enough hot girls in the world for every guy.”

  Alisha’s mouth hung open. I would have been more offended if I wasn’t so entertained by her reaction.

  “David,” JP mumbled.

  “What? It’s so true. Right? I mean, come on, Ed, you know what I’m talking about. You don’t walk into a bar and hit on the hottest girl there.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did, actually.” I sketched my best imitation of Cameron’s earlier bow at Alisha across the kitchen, and she nodded regally in return.

  “Well okay, there are exceptions, but that’s all they are.”

  “I don’t know, David, I think that’s kind of dumb.” Troy sagged back against the counter. “I mean, maybe hot girls don’t always want to go out with only super hot guys, right?” He glanced up at me as if tempted to use me as an example of a not-super-hot guy who’d magically landed such a woman, then deciding against it.

  JP shook his head. “This whole conversation is brain-dead. Seriously, I know you read some stupid book that made you think this is how dating works, but it’s ridiculous. People aren’t attracted to other people based solely on how they look, David. Or you’d never get a date.”

  “Hey!”

  Troy laughed. “Ha, right? Who wants to go out with that face?”

  “Assholes! And that’s not what I’m saying, anyway, it’s more about having realistic expectations.”

  “Oh, I agree with you there,” Alisha said. “A man who treats women as if their appearance slots them into a predetermined role in the world should definitely have realistic expectations of his appeal as a dating prospect.”

  As if we’d timed it, the toast popped, like it was punctuating her sentence.

  “She told you,” Troy said. “Man. I’m having a B of C. Anyone?”

  “Stop saying that. It’s not an abbreviation if it takes the same amount of time to say,” David muttered.

  JP was already poking into the cabinets. “I’ll have one. Lucky Charms?”

  “Cocoa Puffs.”

  I gathered our toast and herded Alisha out of the room before she could say more (probably about their cereal choices).

  “That was the most fun I’ve had in forever,” she whispered. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve never asked them about the hot-girl zone before. I feel like we learned so much about straight cis dudes tonight.”

  “Not all straight cis dudes. But definitely that one.”

  I spread a blanket on the floor and got the hummus out of my minifridge. “Do you want almond milk?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed me for a kiss. “I’m so glad I met your roommates.”

  “Yeah, that was hilarious. And unbelievable.”

  “It really was.”

  After a picnic of hummus and toast, we got back to what we’d been doing before, and regardless of our various “zones,” the sex definitely qualified as super hot.

  Alisha went to work early on Saturday, and I screwed around at my house, trying not to count the hours until she was off again. We’d decided to make dinner at her apartment, so I was half-heartedly trolling the internet for recipes. I’d found a few, but nothing I was super excited by, so I hit Togg’s page.

  And almost immediately wished I hadn’t.

  Third Body Found. Is La Vista’s Queer Population a Target?

  I scanned the article, then read it again, then a third time. A woman named Stephanie Hawkins, who I didn’t think I’d ever met before, had been found beaten to death at the Waterfront.

  Three times reading it, and I still wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Hawkins was a reproductive rights advocate who’d just married her wife in March. Togg called her an “activist outspoken about bi-erasure, who sometimes offended people by refusing to be invisible.”

  I pulled up a message window and typed, If it’s not about gender, why do you think this is the same killer? Bodies by the waterfront could be anyone.

  The response, less than five minutes later, was: Check a calendar.

  I couldn’t decide if it was a douchey response or a busy one, but I decided to give Togg the benefit of the doubt. He was smart. If he was telling me to check a calendar, it couldn’t hurt.

  I flipped to a new page in
my notebook and made a list.

  MELISSA LOREN - discovered 3/5

  HONEY JANSEN - d. 7/16

  STEPHANIE HAWKINS - d. 8/13

  All Saturdays. Since I was using my personal calendar, the one in my phone that told me when I needed to be where, I could see something else about all those dates.

  Each of them fell following a Club Fred’s theme night. I added them to my list.

  MELISSA LOREN - discovered 3/5 - after Drag Night

  HONEY JANSEN - d. 7/16 - after F*ck G*nd*r

  STEPHANIE HAWKINS - d. 8/13 - after Back to School

  I studied my list for another long moment, trying to think. Work backward. It could still be a coincidence. Queer people went out to places other than Fred’s. Though I knew for a fact both Melissa Loren and Honey had been at those particular theme nights.

  Maybe Togg knew more.

  Was Hawkins at Back to School @ Club Fred’s? I sent.

  She was tagged in pictures on Facebook, so yeah.

  I was there on Drag Night and F*ck G*nd*r. I paused and added, I saw Melissa Loren perform, and I spoke to Honey that night.

  Me too. It’s how I made the connection.

  Damn. Togg went to Club Fred’s? Had I seen him? Had we interacted? Had he known Honey well enough so she was more than just a name on a screen? I couldn’t remember now if there had been other events between March and July. I paged back through my calendar again.

  Only one. Come As You Are. June 17. But no bodies following it.

  It was too early to go to Club Fred’s, but I really wanted to talk to Fredi. And Alisha was working for hours, so there was no chance I’d be able to ramble about all of it to her. Still, I needed to get the hell out of my house, so I packed up my knitting, my notebooks, and got on my bike.

  I’d planned to ride down to the pier, but ended up at Sobrantes instead.

  A hot cup of Triple Bridge Blend and a comfortable chair made it easier to feel like myself—a little less cold and overwhelmed—but I couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a minute or two. My mind careened from one thing to the next without any rhyme or reason that I could discern. Was I crazy to think someone was actually using Club Fred’s theme nights to kill people? Togg was widely thought to be a bit of a conspiracy theorist, so how mad was it that everything he was saying right now made perfect sense to me?