His pupils were blown.
His hand gripped my thigh.
I had to stop myself from leaning back in again, because what the fuck.
“Sandy,” Corey said. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But you seriously just gave me an erection.”
I tore my gaze away from Darren, trying to control my breathing. “Yes, well. I’ve been known to do that for many a man.”
Corey laughed. Paul and Vince did too.
Darren didn’t, though. Not even a smile.
And for the rest of the night, there was hardly a moment when he looked away from me.
I was in such deep shit.
Chapter 12: Hitting Girl Scouts in the Face with Dildos
ANYTIME I saw Darren’s name on my caller ID, I was still surprised, even a couple of weeks later. Not because he was calling me, but that the overwhelming feelings of derision and disdain that I normally associated with Darren were slowly giving way to something else that I couldn’t be bothered to examine too closely, given that I was a great believer in the age-old idea of Avoiding Something Until It Blows Up In Your Face. And since these feelings were starting to resemble the need to have Darren blow something on my face, I found it easier to ignore them altogether.
And so, yes, I was still surprised whenever Darren called or texted me. I’d only seen him a few times since I’d kissed him in front of everyone. It was usually on a Wednesday or Saturday while I was performing at Jack It, and we were never alone. Halloween had come and gone, but I’d taken the night off, allowing one of the other queens to handle the show. Given that I’d run the Halloween performance for the last five years, I figured I’d earned a break. I was getting too old for this shit.
Mike hadn’t pushed anything further when it came to the bar and our plan. In fact, I’d only seen him once since that day in his trailer, and it was only to tell me his lawyers were still negotiating with the county. He didn’t ask about my progress, and I didn’t tell him. It was starting to feel slightly skeevy, but I remembered why I was doing it.
Because of the children.
Or something.
So there I was, sitting on the couch after a ridiculously long day at work where I realized that working in a cubicle handling claims for an insurance company was probably stifling my very soul (or, at the very least, causing erectile dysfunction), listening to Corey talk about his ridiculously attractive professor who he apparently was swooning over (“I’m not swooning, Sandy!”), when my phone beeped.
I sighed when I saw who had texted.
But even I could tell that it came out as fond rather than exasperated.
Got a minute?
Corey laughed at me. “Is it your lovah?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my pastor. I’m having an existential crisis and need guidance.”
“Sure. Guidance right into your butthole.”
“Corey,” I said, appalled. “Apologize to God and Jesus. You know how they get when you talk about gay sex. Offended. Offended is how they get. My word. Guard your mortal soul, boy.”
“It’s weird,” he said as I started to type out a response.
“What is?” Sure, what’s up? I sent the message.
“You,” he said. “Darren. This whole… thing.”
I looked back up at him. “Why is it weird?”
He shrugged. “You were smiling at your phone. You were smiling because of Darren.”
I scowled at him. “I was not. I don’t smile because of him.” That thought alone was just ridiculous. And even if I was, it was because of a farce. I was just too good at my role.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Deny all you want. But I see right through you. He makes you happy.”