The Queen & the Homo Jock King (31 page)

“German-Mexican descent, was it?” Darren asked, and I almost snorted my cucumber water in a very unladylike fashion. I glared at him as I used the napkin to dab my nose. He winked at me and it was unfair how good that looked on him. Such a simple act and I was more than willing to swallow his cock to the root. I wondered if that made me a bad person. Probably.

“So you
were
listening,” I said before looking back at Taylor. “Sometimes it’s just impossible to tell with him.”

“Mexican?” Taylor said. “I assume your family is here legally.” He laughed a little at the end, making sure we knew we were all in on the joke.

The problem was, though, that it wasn’t funny in the slightest and I was starting to get annoyed. I gave him a vague shrug. “We were all immigrants at one point.”

He looked as if he barely restrained rolling his eyes. “That’s not really an argument.”

“I didn’t know we were arguing.”

“Maybe we should—” Darren started.

“Fair,” Taylor said. “But regardless of a person’s status—”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, trying to sound as contrite as possible as I dug through my purse. “I could have sworn I heard my phone ring. Silly me. Wasn’t anything at all. How funny is that? I must be hearing things now. Darren, what are you going to get to eat? The menu here looks extensive. Do they have ham? I feel like eating ham. Like, a big thing of ham.”

“Ham,” Darren said. “A big thing of ham.”

“Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” I asked. “Also, see if they have eggrolls. I could really go for some eggrolls right now. You can order for me. Just make sure it’s exactly what I said.”

“Eggrolls and ham,” he said. “That sounds like a disgusting combination. You should feel ashamed of yourself for even asking.”

“Sadly, I don’t,” I said. “Not even a little bit. I have strange tastes. As evidenced by you.”

“Almost like you’re pregnant,” Taylor said. He paused, eyes narrowing. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I grinned at him, razor sharp as Darren sank lower in his seat. “Of course not. I just like to eat. But would it be such a bad thing if I was? Our children would be so beautiful, Calvin Klein would hire them as soon as the afterbirth fell from my body.”

Darren started coughing roughly.

“You okay?” I asked him, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Fine,” he said, sounding choked. “Just had trouble breathing there for a moment.”

“Maybe you should get that checked,” I said. “I’d hate for you to die.” Most of the time.

“Your concern is heartwarming,” he said, lips quirking slightly.

“It wouldn’t be bad,” Taylor said, glancing between the two of us and sounding like he thought it’d be the worst thing in the world. “Certain… protocols would need to be put in place to ensure everything went smoothly. You understand. The nature of the job.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous or anything,” I said, wondering if I was really about to argue with Taylor about my right to become pregnant if I chose to. After all, he couldn’t tell me, a fake woman, what I could do with my own body that couldn’t actually have children. Who did he think he was?

(I might have been playing this role just a
little
too hard.)

I let it go. Because of the whole no-uterus thing. I’ve been told one of those is a necessity for getting pregnant.

Not that I understood the finer nuances of female reproduction, of course.

We made small talk until the waitress came over and took our orders (they did not, in fact, have egg rolls or ham. I had a feeling that if I was Tim Curry, I’d damn well get anything I wanted, but alas, I was just a pale imitation. I opted for a Greek salad instead).

There came a moment when Darren ordered a beer and Taylor asked for a glass of white wine when I considered asking for the most alcoholic thing on the menu just to see if being shitfaced could make Andrew Taylor tolerable. I decided against it, just to be safe.

“You don’t drink?” Taylor asked politely as the waitress left.

“Sometimes,” I said. “Just not today.”

“Ah, wanting to maintain a clear head to impress the father,” Taylor said with a chuckle.

Not even close. I didn’t want to take the chance of getting carded, since my ID proudly proclaimed me as Sanford Stewart, male extraordinaire. I couldn’t take the chance of letting the dick out of the bag. That would probably have blown up spectacularly in our faces.

“So what is it you do?” Taylor asked me, and I wondered if I was being interviewed. Taylor seemed very good at playing the role of dutiful father. But then, appearances were everything in his profession.

“I’m a claims adjuster for an insurance company.”

“That’s good work,” Taylor said.

I decided to push a little. “I also volunteer at Wingspan.”

“Volunteer work,” Taylor said. “What a wonderful thing to do. I wish more people would do the same. I must admit to not being familiar with Wingspan. What exactly do they do?”

“It’s geared toward LGBTQ youth,” I said easily. “It gives teenagers a safe place to go to be with other kids their same age that are potentially facing the same issues they do. They also have counseling services for some of the more at-risk kids that go there.” I paused, taking another sip of water, watching the way recognition crawled onto his face. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. It’s the largest LGBTQ nonprofit in Tucson.” I often went as Sandy, though sometimes the little gay boys wanted to see Helena and get makeup tips, and every now and then, one of the girls wanted to know what it would take to be a drag king. Mostly, though, I just went there so they’d have someone to talk to. I didn’t have any counseling experience, but I’d taken my own shit and come out on top. Sometimes that’s all a kid needed to see to know that everything would be okay. Things that happen to you when you’re sixteen aren’t always indicative of how your life will be. I knew that better than anyone else.

“Yes, well,” Taylor said as diplomatically as possible. “Some of these things fall through the cracks, you know.”

“Ah,” I said. “That’s why places like this exist. So those kids won’t… how did you put it? Fall through the cracks.”

“You’re not a lesbian,” Taylor said.

“No,” I agreed. “I’m not.” I didn’t know that I was cool enough to be a lesbian.

“Bisexual?”

“Dad,” Darren warned.

“It’s okay,” I said. “And no. Not bisexual.” Truth, but still deflection. “My brother’s gay.”

“Brother?” Taylor asked.

“Not by blood,” I admitted. “The family who took me in after my parents died. Best friend, brother. Partner in crime. He’s getting married to his partner next year.”

“And you know this brother?” he asked Darren.

“Yeah,” Darren said, sounding remarkably at ease. “Not as well as Helena, but I’ll be going to the wedding with her.”

That was news to me. It should not have made me smile as it did.

Taylor snorted. “Wedding. Got lucky with that SCOTUS ruling, I guess.”

“How do you figure?” I asked.

“They forced the issue upon the rest of us,” he said, as one would when breaking bad news to another. He almost looked apologetic, but it had a bite to it. A challenge. And man, was he challenging the wrong person. He just didn’t know it yet.

“Forced,” I said slowly. “Because if a gay couple wants to get married, obviously that affects everyone else.”

“Forced may have been the wrong word to use,” Taylor said, sipping his wine. “I’m just of the mind that such things should be up to the states to decide. Not the courts. And Arizona had made its position clear. Repeatedly.”

“Right,” I said. “I can only imagine what it must feel like to be laughed at by everywhere else. Other than Indiana and Texas, of course. That’s good company to have, I guess. Maybe throw some Kentucky in there and you’ve got yourself a party.”

Darren’s grip tightened on my hand and I knew I was close to pushing it too far. The conversation up to this point had been polite, almost overly so, as if any one of us was worried about saying the wrong thing. I didn’t want Darren to regret this, especially if he really did want this chance to make some sort of connection with his father. Maybe I could never understand coming from such a man who seemed as if he could hate you just for being who you were, and maybe I didn’t think that was fair that Darren had to know what that felt like. Especially since we were here with me as his girlfriend, when he should be able to proudly introduce me as his boyfriend. That he didn’t have to hide the person he cared for, that he could be proud of the relationship he had and have his father be excited for him. That he’d be—

Except.

Except
even if his father was here for him, happy for him, loving him in the way that every parent should, I wouldn’t be here as his anything.

In fact, if his dad cared about him, the
real
him, we wouldn’t even need to be doing this.

Because this whole thing was faked.

And for a second there, I’d forgotten that.

And that hurt a little more than I thought it would.

That… was not good. Apparently I wasn’t as Meryl Streep as I thought I was. That was disappointing. The real Meryl would be crushed if she knew. I hoped she’d never find out.

“Maybe we should just drop it,” Darren suggested. “That might be better for everyone.”

“I apologize,” I said before Taylor could speak again. “Obviously we’re not here to talk politics. We’re here because I care about your son and….” And I didn’t know how to finish that. I was stuck on that last part. Because I wasn’t lying. And if I wasn’t lying, then that meant I was telling the truth. And if I was telling the truth, then that meant—

Oh dear god.

No.

No, no, no.

When the
fuck
had that happened?

Abso
lutely
not.

Taylor was waiting for me to finish. But it soon became obvious I’d swallowed a mouthful of crazy and wasn’t planning on saying anything more given that I was having an internal meltdown. He said, “It can be difficult when one of us is almost entirely political. But such is life, I suppose. We can always agree to disagree.”

“Of course!” I said, my voice much higher than it should have been. My skin felt clammy and hot, and I thought there was a very high chance I was about to get sort of shriekish, which, given that I wasn’t the most masculine person to begin with, tended to be high-pitched. “No more gay talk! In fact, let’s just pray the gay away right now.” Oh, fuck me sideways. “Er. Not what I meant. I think I need to use the room. The big room. The
ladies
room. Because that’s what I am right now.” I needed to call Paul and I needed to call him
right the fuck now
because this
wasn’t
supposed to happen. This was supposed to be an entirely mutual arrangement where I got what I wanted and Darren got… well, he never told me what he got out of this, but I was sure it was something that he’d lord over me later and that was
fine
. That was perfectly
fine
. I could deal with
that
, because
that’s
what we did. We gave each other shit, we snarked and clawed and annoyed each other and that was
it
.

But here I was sitting next to him in a skirt, meeting his
father
, for fuck’s sake, a known goddamn homophobe, dressed like a fucking
woman
, like I was his son’s
girlfriend
and
what the fuck had I been thinking
? I
liked
him? That was not okay. That was not acceptable. Darren Mayne was a fucking asshole and I hated him. I hated everything about him. Somehow, he’d tricked me into this whole thing, and it was probably part of some elaborate ruse in order to exact a revenge against me for some perceived slight.
I
was the victim here.
I
was the wronged. Not Darren. And I
despised
him. Everyone knew I did. It wasn’t even a secret. I made my disdain known as clear as anything.

I hated him.

Except for the way he was looking at me now, his eyes crinkled in concern, a small frown on his face like he was
worried
about me, for fuck’s sake. He still held my hand, thumb rubbing over the back, comforting and sweet and—
holy Jesus shit
. He was either out–Daniel-Day Lewising Daniel Day-Lewis or he was legitimately worried. But that couldn’t be true. Because I remembered the look on his face all those years before. That contempt. That disdain. The sheer
disgust
at having to talk to someone as beneath him as I was. It wasn’t anything like what it was now, but I knew he was
capable
of such a thing. I’d seen the pointed snarl to his lips as he looked down upon me. It didn’t matter what he was doing now.

Or, rather, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

“You okay?” Darren asked, and I had to bite my tongue to avoid demanding he feel me up right then and there, regardless of location and present company. I didn’t
care
that his dad was watching us with increasingly suspicious eyes. In fact, Helena
liked
the thought of making his dad watch (I never claimed Helena was in her right mind, remember). I tried to remind myself that I was a respectable fucking lady who didn’t need no man, especially not
Darren
.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say, trying to force myself to pull my hand away from his, but not having the strength to do so (because it felt so damn
good
). “Just… remembering some stuff. Like. Cake. That I made. In the oven. For church.” Good. Good job. That was good.

“Your church cake,” Darren repeated flatly because he
knew
I was full of shit. “That’s in the oven.”

“What church do you attend?” Taylor asked.

“The one with Jesus,” I said distractedly. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be just a moment.” I grabbed my purse and fled the table, probably looking like I was slightly crazy. I asked a waiter where the restrooms were, and he pointed me down a hallway. There was a moment of dread when I realized I couldn’t really go into either set of restrooms without fear of someone seeing something they shouldn’t, but there was a single family restroom on the opposite wall that was unoccupied. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to take deep, even breaths.