“Yeah. Oh man. I could really go for a hamburger right now.”
“That so?”
“Rawr.” Paul bared his teeth. “Or however cubs do it.”
I needed to take control of the situation before we were found out. “Anyway.” I gestured wildly with my arms so my bare stomach was revealed. The bouncer didn’t even look down. “We’re always here. You probably just don’t remember us.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said. “I highly doubt I would have forgotten either of you.”
I giggled.
Paul rawred again.
The bouncer sighed. “All right. We’ll keep going, if that’s what you want. How old are you boys?”
Ha! We’d practiced this. We knew the dates on our IDs.
“Twenty-six,” Paul said.
“Twenty-nine,” I said.
“It’s like you’re not even trying,” the bouncer said.
Paul looked cub-ish.
I licked my Ring Pop.
“I suppose I should ask to see your IDs, then,” the bouncer said.
“Which says I’m the age I just told you,” Paul said unnecessarily. “Obviously.”
“I’m sure it does,” the bouncer said. “Because if it didn’t or, say, it was a fake, that’d be illegal.”
“Oh sweat balls,” Paul muttered as he pulled out his wallet.
“I like handcuffs,” I said, trying to encapsulate the role of the airy twink I was born to play. I pouted a little bit, my bottom lip sticky from the Ring Pop. “One time, this police officer tried to arrest me, but then he said I was precious and we used his handcuffs for entirely different reasons.”
“What?” Paul snapped. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Who the hell was it? And why were you getting arrested? You slut!”
I glared at him before looking back at the bouncer. “Sorry,” I simpered. “Sometimes my friend forgets himself.”
“I’m sure he does,” the bouncer said. “IDs.”
I grabbed Paul’s and handed them both to the bouncer. He looked at each of us, as if trying to memorize our faces before focusing on the IDs. He snorted. “Buster Cleveland, huh?”
“Yes,” Paul said immediately. “It’s German. Because of the Nazis. Er. My grandparents fled the Nazis. And now I’m Buster Cleveland, leather cub. Because freedom isn’t free. Or whatever.”
Goddammit. Paul had one job.
“Right,” the bouncer said. “Freedom isn’t free.” And then he switched to mine and I knew I had to sell this, I knew I could do this.
Well, I thought I could until the bouncer outright laughed.
“Lulu Deerdancer?” His chuckle was deep and raspy.
“I knew it, oh my god,” Paul said. Then, “Um. I mean. Of course I knew that. Because you’re my friend. My friend Lulu Deerdancer. Heh. I can’t believe that’s your name. That’s so awesome. And stupid.”
“Exactly.” I ground my teeth together. “I am Lulu Deerdancer and I am twenty-nine years old and I am perfectly legal to enter this here homosexual establishment and partake in beverages and repetitive techno music.”