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Miss O’Jenny threw her head back and let out a tinkling laugh. “Isn’t it obvious, darling? It’s where all the Queens live!”
Leo blinked again. His pun game wasn’t strong enough to ever do drag. Not that he… Well, he’d worn Mum’s high heels once when he was a kid, and she’d yelled at him for it. At the time he’d thought she’d just been worried he’d ruin them. It had occurred to him years later that no, she was more worried he’d ruin whatever idea she had of how he should be.
Jenny sighed and ruffled his hair with a hand that sported long, elegant nails. “Bless, you’re like a lost puppy, aren’t you, darling? This isn’t your normal scene at all.”
Leo swallowed and shook his head. It really wasn’t. He was wearing a tidy pair of jeans and a plain blue button-down shirt with his rainbow pin as decoration, which had looked fine in the mirror at home, but now he wasn’t sure if he was overdressed or underdressed. He had a definite urge to race out and buy a feather boa, just to fit in a little better. “No, but I still wanted to come,” he said. “It felt like this would be the real send-off, you know? From what I know about Uncle Jimmy, tea and sandwiches weren’t really his style.”
Jenny gave an approving nod. “Oh fuck no, darling. Jimmy would have choked on whatever dick he was sucking at the very thought of tea and sandwiches being his last hurrah.”
Leo’s face grew hot at the mental image, but he was saved from having to answer when someone handed him another shot. Jenny took one look at his expression and laughed again, but it wasn’t unkind. “Stick around for the show. Maybe it’ll turn out to be your scene after all.” She pressed another kiss to his cheek, patted his arm, then turned and spotted a newcomer. The six-inch heels she was wearing didn’t slow her down in the least as she swooped in and embraced the new guy in a bear hug.
It was the blond arsehole. He was still wearing those leather pants, the ones that were so tight he looked like he’d put them on in primary school and grown into them. Instead of the black shirt he’d been wearing at the funeral, he was wearing a black mesh crop top that gave tantalising glimpses of skin and left his smooth stomach completely bare. Leo couldn’t be sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a nipple piercing.
“Tristan!” Jenny said. “You made it! I thought you were working?”
The arsehole—Tristan—said, “It was just a quick one tonight, in and out in under an hour.”
“Another satisfied customer?” Jenny asked, one elegant eyebrow arched.
“Sweetie, all my customers are satisfied,” Tristan said with a wink, before performing some frankly obscene contortions that looked like the only thing they were missing was the pole. The reason for the squirming became clear when Tristan extracted his hand from down the front of his leather pants clutching two one-hundred-dollar notes. Leo stared as Tristan tucked them into Jenny’s cleavage and gave them a pat. “Put that towards the bar.”
Jenny pursed her lips. “I’m not taking tonight’s proceeds. You worked hard for that.”
Tristan smirked. “I’d hardly call it working. It’s just doing what I do best and getting paid for it.” He patted Jenny’s cleavage again. “Now take what I’m offering. I’ve got three more bookings this week, so it’s not like I can’t afford it.”
Leo knew he was eavesdropping, but he couldn’t seem to care, because…was this guy a…sex worker?
Not that there was anything wrong with that, he reminded himself. Sex work was just work. Except his face heated up just thinking about it, and he darted a nervous look at Tristan. He was gorgeous, and not just because of his fine bone structure and his golden hair that fell in careless tendrils from his man bun. Side note—were man buns still in, and who could actually wear them without looking like a dickhead? This guy, apparently, and it was twice as unfair because Leo knew that he really was a dickhead. A completely gorgeous dickhead though, because he was smiling, and that smile was fucking dazzling. It pole-axed him. No wonder people were willing to pay to fuck this guy—or be fucked by him. Leo wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but he assumed there must be options. Not that he was going to ask, because he wasn’t planning on talking to the guy at all.
Except Jenny was leading the guy over to him. “Tristan, meet Leo, Jimmy’s…nephew? Is that right, darling?”
“Great-nephew,” Tristan said, turning that devastating smile on Leo. “We’ve met.”
Leo found himself gazing into pale, storm-grey eyes, unable to look away. “Um, hello again.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Jenny huffed out. “You can’t be his great-nephew. If Jimmy has a great-nephew, that implies that he was old. And that would imply that I’m old, which I’m not, so shut your fucking mouth, Tristan Montague,” she snapped, shooting Tristan a warning glare. His mouth, which had in fact been opening like he had something to say, snapped shut, and Jenny smirked, satisfied. “So,” she continued, “by royal decree—because I am a Queen—you’re his nephew now. Okay, darling?” She handed Leo another shot.
Leo didn’t dare object, his brain already fuzzy from tequila. “Um, yeah. Uncle Jimmy used to say the same—that he was too young to be a great anything.”
“Except a great lay,” Jenny said with a wink, then thumped Leo firmly between the shoulder blades as he choked on his drink. “Right. I’ll leave you boys in peace. I’ve got to go and get ready for the show, and I’m coming apart at the seams, so to speak. Tucking’s a bitch when you’re packing.” She blew them a kiss before tottering away on her heels.
“What show?” Leo asked, tracking Jenny’s progress via her impressively tall wig as she bobbed and weaved through the crowd.
“Jenny’s doing a medley of Jimmy’s favourites in his honour,” Tristan said. “And sorry, again, for before. Jimmy did mention he had a nephew. I just forgot.”
“It’s fine. Forget you said anything.”
“Okay, but?—”
“No, literally, please forget it. I’m trying to,” Leo said. “So, if you could just never mention it again, that’d be great.”
“Deal.” Tristan nodded. He cocked an eyebrow, and Leo was grateful when he changed the subject. “Have you ever been to a drag show?” Leo shook his head and Tristan sighed. “Of course you haven’t. Well then, I hope you like ABBA.”
And with that, Tristan turned and sashayed to the bar for another drink, leaving Leo standing in a haze of alcohol, hypnotised by the guy’s arse as he shimmied across the room in those criminally tight pants—not that Leo was looking.
Miss O’Jenny is awesome, Leo thought hazily. She was currently lip syncing and dancing up an absolute storm to Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! as Leo stood and swayed from side to side and sang along with the rest of the crowd, drink firmly clutched in one hand.
It might have been his sixth drink—or was it his ninth? He wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that every time he turned around someone else was hugging him, telling him they were sorry for his loss, and handing him a drink. And it would have been rude to refuse when these people all obviously just wanted to pay their respects to his uncle in the way they thought most fitting—which was apparently getting completely shitfaced at a drag show.
