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Currently, we sat in the back room as Mike showed me the sparkly pink sequin dress he had bought for his next show. He held it up in the air, the fabric shimmering in the light. The small office still smelled like Mike’s lunch, a half-eaten pizza crust sitting on a paper plate on the cluttered desk.
“Oh, that’s gorgeous.” I touched the soft fabric. “Beautiful color, too. It’ll really bring out the hickey on your neck.”
“Wow, your tone seems very pointed right now.”
“And your neck seems very abused right now.”
Mike laughed, laying the dress over his desk chair. “You should see the other guy.”
“I think I did. He was being wheeled into an ambulance from the mauling you gave him.”
Mike shot me a look before strolling out the door and back into the store. I clocked in and followed behind him, heading to the cashier. I smiled at a few familiar faces as Mike and I wound through the aisles.
That’s weird…
I’m never this smiley.
Normally, I’d glare at anyone making eye contact with me. It was a bad habit that I couldn’t seem to change, until now. I half expected to catch my reflection and see chirping bluebirds flying around my head. And it was all Ryan’s fault. Him and his eternal optimism and permanent grin seemed to be slowly rubbing off on me.
Mike looked over his shoulder at me. “You know, Jen’s been asking about you. About when you’re going to kick on your heels and get back onstage.”
“Has she? I thought Reggis Fillme took over my spot?”
“Yeah, but you were the star. She said her crowds have been half the size ever since you left.”
I huffed. It was nice to hear but shitty to know that the club wasn’t doing as well. “Could it maybe be because of the serial killer who’s on the loose around here?”
Mike pursed his pouty lips. “Okay, that could be affecting things, too.”
“Mhmm.”
He stopped in the bread aisle and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it’s that weird guy who moved into the Blades a few months ago. The one from Russia. He gives me the spookiest fucking vibes. And I swear I saw him carrying a huge knife the other day, but I sped past him.”
I knew exactly who Mike was talking about, and I had to agree with him. I’d seen the guy a couple of times around town and never got a good feeling. Sure, I might have understood what a bad case of Resting Bitch Face was, but the new guy went one step further with Resting Murderer Face.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “You could be right, but let’s not start a witch hunt either.”
“A witch hunt? Mama, I only do bitch hunts.” Mike popped a hip to the side and put a hand to his cheek.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re late to your register.”
My jaw cracked open. Mike gave a big belly laugh.
“Bitch,” I said, walking around him and laughing.
Smiling.
Walking with a fucking pep in my step.
I’d never been this happy before at any of my jobs. And I knew it had nothing to do with the painfully bright white lights of the supermarket or the ancient pop song that played a thousand times on the speaker. It all had to do with Ryan and the way he made me feel, even when he wasn’t around. Like the memory of him— his kiss, his touch, his dick— it kept me as warm as if I’d thrown an invisible blanket over me. It was an extremely surprising sensation and one I’d never expected from the first time I laid eyes on him in the club. And the days after, filled with so much unknown and fear. Ryan swooped in like a knight in bedazzled armor (I’m a drag queen, everything’s got to be sparkling) with his puppy-dog attitude and Scorpio-style heat. I put up a fight initially, keeping my walls high, not wanting to deal with any more shifts in my world. I’d lived through all the bullshit I felt like I could take, and usually anyone with a dick was a walking bullshit factory.
Men were trash, and I thought I’d taken it all out of my system, until Ryan showed up and changed my entire outlook.
We’re still not official.
An intrusive thought that had been popping up in my head lately. I took my spot behind my register and opened up my lane, trying to derail that anxiety-inducing train of thought. We definitely acted like boyfriends, and although we hadn’t had the talk, I kind of assumed we were already exclusive. I definitely wasn’t talking to anyone else, and I didn’t think Ryan was either, but… well, we weren’t boyfriends. He technically could be hitting up the apps and talking to fifteen other guys. That wasn’t the kind of guy Ryan seemed to be, but again, most men were pure trash.
