I couldn’t even see Charlie clearly, but I could still feel the smugness radiating off him.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to steer this sequined train wreck before it derailed completely and exploded in flames and falsies. “The Homo Jock King is… stunning. Stunning? Is that the word I want to use?” I grimaced slightly. “I don’t really know.”
Darren glared at me.
“Don’t do that,” I scolded him. “You’re ruining Britney Spears for me with your angry eyebrows.”
“I don’t have angry eyebrows—”
“Unique,” I said to the audience. “That’s the word I was looking for. The Homo Jock King certainly looks… unique. But he’s trying, you know? Which is all I could have asked for. And really, he didn’t have to do any of this, but. He did.”
Huh. That was a strange realization to have, especially here in front of everyone. Why did he agree to do this? Sure, there was his stupid rule ten that he still wouldn’t tell me about, but I didn’t think it could be that big of a deal. What exactly did he hope to gain from this? He was obviously going to fuck that twink (if he hadn’t already), and he hadn’t done jack shit with his father since we’d had that lunch all those weeks ago, so why was he here, on this stage, wearing what he was wearing?
It couldn’t have been out of the goodness of his heart. The Darren Maynes of the world didn’t work that way. There was always an ulterior motive, something else that was kept hidden until they revealed it like some egomaniacal villain in a superfluous monologue that usually was so over the top that it made little sense.
Sort of like a drag bachelor auction to save a gay bar against an evil Republican.
And if that wasn’t a damning thought, I didn’t know what was.
But Darren….
I wanted to know why.
Why he’d done all of this. Why he seemed so different than I actually thought he was. Why he could smile at me like I was the greatest thing in the world and then send text messages planning his next hookup.
“He helped me,” I said slowly, wondering where this new awareness was going to go. “Even though most other people would have told me to fuck off, because, really, wouldn’t you have? It’s not the standing on stage that’s the most important. It’s not even the act of drag itself. No, it’s the moment he decided he was going to help me, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone.”
And gross, I sounded so fucking mushy, but for the life of me, I couldn’t even find a way to stop. I blamed Darren for making me aware of my feelings, even if he was going to fuck a hipster twink. But, I supposed he couldn’t be faulted for being who he was. That’s what he did. That didn’t mean that I still couldn’t be his friend. The thought of things going back the way they’d been caused my stomach to turn. We were better as a team than we’d ever been as adversaries, and even though we were close to our probable ending (because in the real world, fake boyfriends didn’t turn into more), I thought maybe it could be the beginning of something else.
I’d get over everything else.
Eventually.
“And he did it, without complaint,” I continued. “Well. Mostly without complaint.”
The audience laughed.
Darren didn’t. Darren was just watching me with wide eyes.
While standing in a schoolgirl outfit, which obviously completely ruined whatever expression was on his face.
“So, yeah,” I said, feeling awkward. “He’s a good guy, and while I ask that you return him in one piece, just know that whoever gets the winning bid is very lucky. He’s rough and cocky and smug, and sometimes, I want to fucking punch him in the dick, but he’s a good guy. Who is a math nerd.” I needed to end this fast before I started waxing poetically about the heart boner I apparently had for Darren.
The crowd cheered.
Darren didn’t even seem to notice they were there, his gaze never leaving me. So I broke it and looked away, forcing a smile back on my face. “And for this prime piece of real estate, let’s start with an opening bid of fifteen hundred.” Caleb grinned, eyeing Darren up and down, and I hoped that Jack It was sitting on top of a sinkhole. “Does anyone out there want—”
“Four thousand!” a voice cried out.
The crowed parted slightly, people turning to see who’d called out first and raised the bid.
And I really should have expected it.
Nana stood in the middle of the crowd, next to Matty and Larry. I hadn’t even seen them arrive, but here they were. Nana was wearing a muumuu that had pictures of Harrison Ford’s face on it, a word bubble coming out of his mouth saying I WANT YOU TO HAN MY SOLO. The regulars here knew who she was. The nonregulars looked horrifyingly fascinated as they stared at her. I didn’t blame them. Our Nana was the most special of all the snowflakes.
The level of relief on Darren’s face at getting bid on by an elderly lady in a Star Wars muumuu should not have been as obvious as it was.
(And it probably matched my own.)