Hearts and Flour

by Tara Lain

  He stopped walking. Just thinking of the guy made Micah’s whole body tingle. He’d never had an encounter like that. He’d never had an orgasm like that. Not even close. It was like there was sex—and then there was Queen.

  Micah glanced around. It seemed like people should be able to tell what he was thinking just from looking at him. He could still feel that hot mouth on his cock and the tight perfection of Queen’s ass. Yeah, and if he kept thinking about it, everyone would be able to tell what he was thinking from the eight-inch erection sticking out his pants.

  He started walking again. Had he really hooked up with a transvestite? Hell, Micah was a regular guy, not some exotic sex fetishist. Why was he even considering calling Queen for another meeting? What would his customers say? They’d all known Dharmaram. That relationship made sense, since his ex was a yoga teacher and Micah was a natural-food expert. They matched. Well, no, they didn’t actually, but in theory they matched. But Queen? Everyone would think Micah had lost his mind.

  Whoa. Way ahead of himself here. Queen might not even answer if he called. The pretty man had said his life was complicated. That was another thing Micah did not need. He’d been there and done that since he was a kid. No more complications required, no way.

  QUEEN PULLED up in front of the low building on Glenneyre Street. “Have a great class, dear, and call me when you’re ready to go home.”

  “I will, thank you.” Mary Beth opened the car door.

  The phone in Queen’s back pocket, the private phone, buzzed. Damn. His fingers itched to look.

  It buzzed again. His grandmother turned toward him. “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?”

  He grinned. “Actually, it’s my extra phone. I mostly give the number to people I may not want to talk to.”

  “You wicked boy.” She grasped his arm. “See who it is.”

  Oh my. He pulled the phone from his pocket and stared at the number. “I don’t know who it’s from. I should forget it.”

  His grandmother cocked her head. “Darlin’, you seem concerned about that call.”

  He sighed. “I think it’s someone I met at the party, but I’m not sure.”

  Her pretty face lit up. “Well, go ahead and answer. I’m dying of curiosity.”

  Hell’s bells. He clicked the phone. “Hello.”

  “Queen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh, this is Micah.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I called at a bad time.”

  “Yes.” Why were his silly hands shaking? “I mean, no. Hold on.” He put his hand over the phone. “NeeNee, it’s my friend. So you go to class and let me chat a bit, okay?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Is it a good friend?”

  Oh dear. “None of your business, you naughty matchmaker. Off with you.”

  “Okay, but I want to hear every detail after class. I’ll call when I’m ready to go home.”

  “Have a good yoga class.” She got out and closed the door. Queen watched her walk away, then uncovered the phone. “Sorry. I had someone with me.”

  “Part of that complicated life you spoke of.”

  Queen frowned. “Yes.”

  “Does your life allow you to maybe have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Tonight?” His voice squeaked.

  “Sorry, I know I should be a gentleman and give you more notice, but… hell, I really would love to see you again.”

  Queen raised an eyebrow. “See?”

  “Okay, there’s no doubt I would love to have sex with you again, but I thought maybe we could have a date and get to know each other a little.”

  Now there was a minefield. “Do you want me in boy clothes or girl clothes?”

  Micah laughed, and the sound vibrated through Queen’s balls. “It may ruin my reputation as a good gay man, but wear the girl clothes if you want to. I might not recognize you any other way.”

  Well, well. “Where and what time shall I meet you?”

  “I can pick you up.”

  Oh no. “Meeting is better.”

  “Okay. Do you know where Dizzy’s is?”

  “I can find it.”

  “I’ll make a reservation for seven thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  Queen hung up and looked in the rearview mirror at his curls and the delicate face that reflected many generations of fine old South Carolina breeding. Finally, it had happened. Quentin Makepeace Darby the Third had lost his frigging mind.

  TWO HOURS later Quentin, aka Queen, pulled up in front of the same low building. Mary Beth wasn’t outside, so he parked and walked in. Passing through a small reception area with a desk and a rack displaying some yoga clothes, he looked through a door into a large open room with hardwood floors, one mirrored wall, and not much else. Right now the floor was covered with a potpourri of people, old and young, fat and skinny, all sitting on yoga mats facing a handsome young man who stood at the front, all sleek and fit in black tights and a slim T-shirt that said “Dharmaram Yoga.” Mary Beth sat cross-legged, looking trim and far less than her eighty-three years, on her own mat about halfway back in the room.

  The teacher said, “Practice your focus technique over the next two days, and we’ll have a short meditation after we finish postures on Friday. Remember, don’t strain, just relax into your poses.” He placed his palms together and bowed. “Namaste.”

  The students got to their feet and repeated the gesture to their teacher. “Namaste.”

  Quentin grinned. Mary Beth looked like a seasoned veteran even though she’d only been in the class a few weeks. She glanced back, and he waved. Smiling, she gathered up her mat, turned, and then exchanged a few words with a man standing beside her. She gazed up at the tall, white-haired gentleman. Interesting. She laughed and then threaded her way through the mats and people to Quentin’s side.

  He gave her a one-armed hug. “You look very serene and meditative, ma’am.”

  She gave a little curtsey that looked cute in her baggy cotton pants. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “And who is your handsome friend?”

  “Oh, that’s George. He’s helping me catch up on some of the postures they learned before I joined the class.” Nonchalant, but he swore she blushed a little.

  Quentin looked up at the instructor, who was gazing toward them intently. “You like your teacher?”

  Mary Beth gave the yoga teacher a nod and a little wave, then said sotto voce, “He’s staring at you because you’re so good-looking. He seems to have diverse tastes.”

  “Oh, how so?”

  “Currently I’ve see him with an older woman who is also one of his students, but I used to see him with a good-looking man.”

  “He must know a lot of people, dear.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “In this case I think ‘know’ in the biblical sense might be more accurate. Anyway, he’s a good teacher and knows a lot about instructing beginners like me. He just weirds me out a little.”

  Quentin bleated a laugh, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “I do not believe you just said that. You must be hanging out in questionable company, young lady.”

  She gave him a sassy glance. “The nice thing about being a lady is you can get away with so much.”

  Laughing, he guided her out to the car and helped her in. “So, shall we go to lunch before I take you home?”

  “That would be lovely. But first, I’m dying to know about your call. I don’t want to pry at all if it’s personal. But I must admit to being a mite curious.”

  He knew she meant it about not prying. Sadly, his whole life was personal. “Not much to tell. The call was from a man I met at that party. We seemed to have a lot in common, and he asked if I wanted to get together, like, for a beer or something.”

  “I didn’t know you drank beer.”

  He smiled as he pulled away from the curb. “I don’t, but I imagine I can have wine or a cocktail. It’s just a man’s excuse for havi
ng a chat.” Even if one of the men was in drag and they planned to have sex later.

  “I see. How nice.” She put a hand on his arm. “I want you to have friends here. After moving all the way from South Carolina to California for me, I want this to be a good place for you.”

  He glanced at her big blue eyes, so like his own. “Thank you. But I wanted to come here as much as you did. It’s better for you to be away from all that humidity.”

  “And all that judgment.”

  He stared at her and quickly looked back at the road. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. I just got tired of everyone thinking and doing and living the same way. I think Laguna Beach will be a lot more exciting, don’t you?”

  She was a wonder. She’d said she wanted to move to California for her health. Away from the moisture and mold that plagued the low country of the southeast. He’d thought it odd that she didn’t pick Arizona or someplace equally arid, but she insisted that the southwestern states were too dry. She wanted the nice balance of Southern California. He’d never heard this other reason before. “So we came here for excitement, is that it?” He grinned.

  “Ab-so-tooten-lutely.”

  He practically wrecked the car, he was laughing so hard.

  WHY THE hell was he doing this? Micah looked again at the menu. Everything on it was cooked! He dropped it on the bar and sipped his grapefruit juice. Fresh squeezed. Not bad at all.

  Maybe Queen wouldn’t come. Damn, half of him would be relieved and the other half—clearly the lower half—might commit suicide. He should have chosen a vegan restaurant, but everyone around Micah kept telling him what an asshole he was lately. They didn’t care if Micah had their best interests at heart; they wanted him to lighten up. Well, this is how that looked. Him ready to foot a big bill and get nothing to eat. Maybe he should… holy crap.

  Queen stood in the doorway between the indoor restaurant and the outdoor patio. Both venues were crowded with people, but Queen looked like he was alone on a catwalk or something. “Queen” was clearly the correct title. His pale blond hair hung around his shoulders, decorating the lacy blouse that opened over delicate collarbones and the slight swell of his imaginary breasts. That face. Wow. He wore maybe a little mascara and a touch of pink lipstick, but that was all. Amazing. Even without the eyeliner and brilliant red lips, the illusion of Queen’s femininity was complete.

  Micah stood. It was only a few steps to the door. “Hi.”

  Queen moved gracefully down to the floor level. His black skirt swirled around those lean legs. Hard not to think of how the red dress’s skirt had flipped so handily up to expose Queen’s beautiful butt.

  “Hi.” Queen extended his left hand, and Micah took it. Not a handshake in any way. A meeting of flesh. A tiny embrace.

  Had he just been wondering why he’d come? Don’t be nuts. Micah squeezed Queen’s hand just a little and felt an answering squeeze in his balls. “Would you like a drink, or we can go straight to our table? They said it’s ready.”

  “The table’s fine.” The word came out “fahn,” and Micah almost sighed. Still holding his hand, Micah led his beautiful companion around the already full tables and down the small ramp into the back room of the shabby-chic restaurant. Heads turned, both male and female. Appropriate. The owner had given him a table for two tucked into a corner. Best spot in the house. Nice of him since Micah hardly qualified as a regular.

  He held Queen’s chair, then sat beside him. “You look beautiful.”

  “Most kind. You look mighty fine yourself.”

  Micah ducked his head. Embarrassing how many times he’d changed clothes trying to decide what Queen would like. “Thank you.”

  The busboy brought them two little glasses of some kind of white wine and a tray of crackers with what had to be goose liver. He hadn’t ordered it but remembered being told it was a regular part of the meal. Try not to shudder. Fortunately there were also some radishes and slices of raw zucchini on the plate. Micah grabbed one and put it on his bread plate. Lifeline.

  “Cheers.” Queen held up his glass, and Micah clinked it. The sip wasn’t half bad. Some very mild wine. “What is it, do you think?”

  Queen smiled. “It’s vermouth. Never had it before?”

  “No, but it’s good.”

  Queen smeared some of the brownish paste on a cracker. God, Micah didn’t even want to think about it. He nibbled the zucchini.

  The waiter stepped up to their table. He was a pleasant-looking guy who was so relaxed and at home he clearly owned the place, or at least had a vested interest. “Hi. What can I get you to drink?”

  Queen looked at Micah. “What are you going to have?”

  Might as well ask. “Do you happen to have any organic wines?”

  “Yes, actually we have two.” The waiter opened the wine list and pointed to two brands. Micah didn’t know the names. “I’d like a glass of whichever one you recommend.”

  Queen nodded. “That sounds good. I’ll try that too.”

  The waiter left, and they both picked up their menus. Micah was clearly going to have to strike some kind of deal with the waiter, because no way he could eat this food.

  Queen glanced up through his lashes. “What do you like?”

  God, it was hard being such a pill, but harder not to be. “Actually, I eat mostly raw food, so I’m going to ask them to make me a salad.”

  “Interesting.” Queen took another bite of his cracker. “I’m assuming you don’t eat raw meat.”

  “No, I’m vegan.”

  Queen got a scolding-teacher look on that pretty face. “So why on earth didn’t you choose a place where you could get something to eat?”

  Micah grinned. “I wanted to take you to a place you’d like. Plus I’m sure they’ll feed me.”

  “All appearances to the contrary, I really am a man. I’m actually a pretty well-off man, and I don’t expect you to pay for dinner. I enjoy you letting me do my little masquerade with you, but I want to pay the check, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Micah frowned. “That wasn’t my plan.”

  “Your chivalry is duly noted and sincerely appreciated, kind sir.”

  Wow. Queen kept surprising him.

  The waiter came back with the wine. “Have you decided on dinner, or do you need a few more minutes?”

  Queen put his hand on the waiter’s arm and literally fluttered his lashes. The waiter’s laid-back command got a little less so at Queen’s melting smile. “My friend needs a lovely big salad with many wonderful vegetables in it. Can you do that? He eats his food raw, you see.”

  “I’m sure the chef can come up with something great.”

  “Why, thank you. And I would like the salmon, please. With that lovely caper sauce you have described in the menu.”

  “Excellent choice. Rice or potatoes?”

  “Rice will be fine.”

  The waiter walked away, and Queen raised his glass. “To getting what we want in this life.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  They both sipped. Dry and smooth. He could get used to this.

  “So what led you to this raw-food choice?”

  Micah stared at Queen’s full lips touched with pink and the wide blue eyes. Something in that gaze made him comfortable, which was weird since he didn’t even know what Queen really looked like, but still…. “I guess I could tell you all the truths about living enzymes and how cooking kills food and that our digestive system is not designed to eat meat.” He sighed. “But actually, my mother was an alcoholic who never met a vegetable she liked. As a child, I desperately tried to keep her from killing herself with her lifestyle. The worse she got, the more rigid I got.” He swallowed his wine against the pain in his guts. He hardly ever spilled said guts, and it was half sickening and half a relief.

  “Finally she succeeded in doing herself in from alcohol poisoning. I was nineteen, and she had drunk up every dime we had every year of my life. No Christmas presents, no new schoo
l clothes. The only thing she had was a life insurance policy her parents had taken out for her. They’d arranged to have the premium paid automatically from their small estate after they died. It came to me. I didn’t have enough for chiropractic school, so I studied nutrition and health and bought a small health-food restaurant. That’s what I do.”

  His heart slammed against his ribs. Man, that was the most personal shit he’d told anybody in… forever. He’d never even told Dharmaram about his mother. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so gritty.”

  Queen leaned forward and rested a hand on his arm. “Funny how we shape our lives either in concert or in opposition to our blood kin.”

  Micah nodded. Some little trickle of the pain he’d never quite released flowed into that warm touch. Maybe Queen’s being a near stranger was why it felt comfortable to confess.

  Queen seemed to sense his reserve. He chewed some more pâté. “So you own a restaurant?”

  Micah slowly released his breath. Yes, back to regular conversation. “Actually more of a breakfast and lunch place. We stay open into the early evening but don’t have a separate dinner menu. Our biggest traffic is for fresh juice, sandwiches, salads, things like that.”

  “Is it all raw food?”

  Micah shook his head. “Oh no. I’d go out of business. But I teach raw-food classes. I have a nice clientele of dedicated people who want to try to improve their diets.” Except for the occasional crappy cupcake.

  “How interesting. I’m also—”

  “Here’s your dinner.” The waiter placed a huge salad in front of Micah and a plate of salmon with sauce, rice, and vegetables at Queen’s place. He smiled at Queen. “Look good?”

  Queen flashed his straight, white teeth and the guy about fell over. “It looks delicious.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Queen glanced at Micah, who nodded. “It looks great, thanks.”

  They dug in. The salad actually tasted good. The kitchen staff had knocked themselves out to please him—or rather, to please Queen. Queen seemed to love his food. They chatted about politics, and Micah beamed when Queen said he’d voted for the proposition to require labeling of genetically modified foods.