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Jenny worked the stage like she owned it—just like she had all night alongside the rest of the queens. She was mesmerising. She strutted and danced, light glinting off the diamantés on her barely-there mini dress as she gave a flurry of twirls before finishing the number by dropping into an impressive display of the splits that had the crowd whooping and cheering. Leo showed his appreciation by sinking another shot. And when all the queens paraded out for one final, spectacular ensemble number—Chaka Khan, of course—Leo sang along the loudest of all.
He was every woman, dammit.
Leo collapsed into his plastic chair at the end of the number, his head swimming and legs suddenly far more unsteady than they had been. Maybe that last drink had been a mistake—that one and the five before it—if he were being honest. He was hammered. Still, he didn’t regret it, happy riding that pleasant buzz of should-know-better-but-too-drunk-to-care.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with Tristan, who somehow managed to be more attractive than before. A light sheen of sweat—whether from alcohol or dancing, Leo couldn’t tell—made him glow, and the light behind him bestowed a hazy halo, although he was probably the farthest thing possible from an angel. Tristan smiled, displaying perfectly even teeth that spoke of some top-level dental care in his childhood. Or maybe he was just lucky.
“Jimmy would have fucking loved that,” Tristan said, his eyes sparkling as he sat down beside him. He raised a hand and brushed a stray tendril of spun gold hair away from his face, and Leo couldn’t stop himself from staring. Tristan’s hair was so pretty. Everything about him was pretty, but his hair was especially glorious. Leo wondered if anyone had ever told him that.
He reached out and petted Tristan’s head clumsily. “Nice hair,” he mumbled. “S’pretty, like you.”
“Oh, you like this?”
Leo nodded, dumbstruck.
Tristan twirled a stray blond lock between his fingertips, and his smile widened. Leo’s hand continued to pet Tristan’s hair, seemingly of its own volition. Tristan leaned forward and licked his lips suggestively. “If you like my hair that much, maybe you could run your fingers through it while I blow you?”
Leo’s jaw dropped, and any attraction he’d felt shrivelled up. Was Tristan seriously drumming up business at his uncle’s wake? He pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned and reared back in his seat, the chair legs scraping the floor with the force of it. “Are you soliciting me right now?” he blurted out.
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up and the smile dropped from his face. “I wasn’t soliciting. I was offering to blow an attractive guy. There’s a difference. I thought it might do your obviously uptight arse some good to get laid. My bad, obviously. But if I was ‘soliciting’?”—he made honest-to-god air quotes—“you couldn’t afford me.”
Then he pushed his chair back and left, crossing the room to the bar without so much as a backward glance, leaving Leo off balance, confused, and feeling like he was the arsehole somehow for saying no. Well, he wasn’t the one turning tricks at a wake, was he?
His pleasant buzz vanished, leaving him nauseated. He needed to get the hell out of here. He dragged himself to his feet, taking deep breaths in an effort to clear his head. It was then that Jenny emerged from backstage and, catching sight of him, strode towards him. “You look a bit green around the gills, darling. No more shots for you.”
Leo nodded slowly. “No more tequila,” he muttered. He didn’t tell her it was his encounter with Tristan, not the alcohol, that had his stomach churning.
Jenny petted his head and he found himself leaning into the touch. “I should have known you’d be out of your depth. You baby gays have no staying power,” she said with a sigh. “Do you have a way to get home?”
Leo fumbled open his Uber app and managed to enter his details. “Yeah, thanks.” He was hit by a wave of alcohol-enhanced gratitude, and it suddenly seemed desperately important that he express it. “Thanks for”—he waved his arm vaguely—“this. For Uncle Jimmy. He would have loved it, I think.”
Jenny gave him a soft smile. “Anything for Jimmy. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“How did you know I enjoyed myself?” Leo asked, blinking at the bright lights and feeling a little like a drunken lizard.
Jenny laughed softly. “Don’t think I didn’t see you singing your little heart out, darling.” Jenny enveloped him in a hug that smelled strongly of vodka and hairspray, and when she let go, she plucked his phone from his hand with her perfectly manicured nails and tapped at the keys before handing it back. “There. You have my number. If there’s anything you need, feel free to get in touch.”
“Thanks.” Leo couldn’t think of any possible reason he’d have to see Jenny again, and a tiny part of him already mourned the loss. This whole night had been different from anything he’d ever experienced, and he couldn’t help but feel there was a whole world he was missing out on. Maybe he could come back sometime, just to get more of a glimpse behind the curtain of Uncle Jimmy’s life.
It was then that he saw Tristan at the bar, one arm slung casually around the shoulders of a bearded guy as he leaned in for a kiss, and his mood soured at how blatant it was. Jesus, Tristan and his beautiful hair hadn’t wasted any time finding a new client, had he? Leo felt himself flush with embarrassment, his cheeks burning at the memory of blurting out his attraction. What the hell had he been thinking, drunk-flirting—because that’s what it had been—and making a fool of himself like that?
He was blaming the tequila.
He checked his phone and saw his Uber was a minute away. As he walked out of the door, he saw that Tristan’s hand was now planted on the guy’s arse. No, he decided. He wouldn’t be back.
Still, at least there would be no chance of running into the pretty arsehole again.
Chapter Three
“Oh, I’m coming into my seventh year at uni,” Tristan said, casually dragging his fingertips over his date’s shoulders. “I’ll probably get around to graduating eventually, but degrees are so overrated, you know? I prefer to live in the moment. The best part is, if you never get a job, you never need to start paying back your HECS!” He grinned. “And, I mean, why study when you can fuck?”
His date’s parents stared at him, their mouths dropping open, and his dinner date Jo leaned into his touch. “Tristan’s so free in his attitudes,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “A real Renaissance man.”
“I don’t think that’s what a Renaissance man is,” her father said tightly.
“He’s right, darling. Perhaps you’re thinking of the Vetruvian man, all deliciously symmetrical perfection?” He leaned and whispered in her ear, exactly loud enough for her parents to hear, “Although, full disclosure, I’m not quite symmetrical. My left ball is slightly larger. I know this is only our second date, but I’ll show you later, if you’d like.”
Jo’s mother choked on her drink, and Tristan silently congratulated himself. His work here—to make Jo’s long-time boyfriend Paul look like a catch—was pretty much done. He pushed his chair back, said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed for the bathroom. A vital part of Bad Boyfriending, he’d quickly discovered, was making himself scarce so his date’s parents could express their disapproval, but in this case, he did actually need to piss. The skin-tight jeans he was wearing didn’t allow for much bladder expansion.
