Page 60 of Pieces of Me

“Baby, as long as you ain’t touchin’, everyone stays happy.” Teena gave him a pointed look as she stepped out of her own dress and hung it carefully on the costume rack. Her padded bra came next, followed by the three layers of pantyhose and special undergarment that was compressing her bulge down. She rubbed her genitals with obvious relief.

She glanced at Rylan. “By the way, I go by Minh out in the real world, but I’ll always answer to Teena, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“So you’re not trans?” Rylan asked. “It’s just drag for entertainment? I don’t want to misgender you,” he added, and Teena/Minh grinned at him.

“I appreciate you asking, but I’m not trans; I’m a fabulous gay man who loves to dress up and look pretty. I answer to both pronouns, though, sweetie pie. No worries.”

Scott suddenly cursed, looking at his watch. “I’m due upstairs.” He pointed at Teena and Sarita. “And fuck you both for leading Rylan to believe I’m some heartless slut,” he growled, throwing them dirty looks as he strode from the room.

Teena sat at the table to start methodically removing her eye makeup with the cleansing wipes. “Word of advice, sweetie?” Her voice was dead serious, and Rylan nodded, sitting down across from her. “I love Scott to death, known him a long time. Kind of got our start here together, you know? Built Fantasy Fridays up into what it is now.”

She paused to slather cold cream all over her face. “Back in the day, the club owner used to stand on the sidewalk and shove free drink flyers in people’s faces, practically begging them to come inside to check it out. Scott and me, we turned it into an event.”

Sarita and Tawny listened, doing their own after-show ablutions.

“A word to the wise, honey,” Teena continued, tilting her chin up to spread the cream onto her neck. “His looks and personality can be overwhelming when you first meet him, I know, and it’s easy to become infatuated with him. But baby, don’t ever think he’s looking for more than just a good time.” She wiped the cold cream off with a soft cloth.

Sarita grimaced. “Most of the guys he hooks up with are club party boys, but sometimes he meets someone with more potential, you know? Like you.”

Teena got up from the table and moved to the lockers, opening one and taking out a duffle bag. She rummaged in it and swiped on some deodorant. “When he came in earlier, he was talking about you with a real look in his eyes, a bounce to his step,” she said, pulling on some dark jeans and a sparkly tank. “Don’t know where you stand with him,” she went on, “and this ain’t none of our business; we realize that. But we really don’t want to see another nice boy’s heart crushed into dust here.”

The sound of Blyss and Dee’s chatter coming from the hallway floated to their ears, and Rylan stood, gathering up his backpack and camera. “Thanks for the warning,” he said softly, not feeling the need to go into his and Scott’s history; like Teena said, that wasn’t anybody’s business. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” was Teena’s only reply, and she waved her hand at the lockers. “Feel free to stash your shit in one of these if you’re going out into the club. You can’t dance with that backpack weighin’ you down, baby!”

Rylan threw her a grateful smile, and Teena showed him how to reset the combo lock on one of the lockers. Rylan checked to be sure his camera’s batteries were good to go and hung his lens pack from his belt before shoving the backpack in and slamming the door shut.

An ordered chaos reigned once more as the other two queens swept into the room, their postshow adrenaline still raging. Rylan gave Teena’s shoulder a squeeze and headed out toward the thumping music and flashing lights of the club.

Time to get a job.

CHAPTER 13

“Another bottle of Veuve Cliquot, Danny.”

Scott leaned against the bar top and waited for Danny, the VIP bartender, to pop the cork on the expensive bottle of champagne.

“Those dudes will be hurting tomorrow, man,” Danny observed, handing Scott the frosty bottle. “This is what―their fourth one?”

Scott nodded, and Danny reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Earning every penny of your tips tonight, Scotty. Their tab is already running close to a grand. Good job.” He passed Scott a glass of ice-cold water. “Here, take a quick breather. They just ran to the john.”

With a deep sigh, Scott thanked him and wandered over to the railing to look down at the teeming, writhing crowd below. The house music was thumping, strobe lights flashing, the line at the bar three deep: all the sights and sounds of party people having a good time. This was Scott’s domain, his own little kingdom, and he was as proud of it as if he’d built this place himself.

He gulped the water, feeling a little buzzed, but it wasn’t too bad. The fact his VIPs were drinking champagne instead of doing shots was a big help. It was difficult to fake doing a shot, but he could nurse a glass of champagne for a long time before making it “disappear” by discreetly placing it on a passing server’s tray. It’s not that he minded the drinking, but if he had his preference, it was always not to get shit-faced. There wasn’t anything worse than feeling out of control.

Scott’s eyes searched the crowd until he found who he was looking for, watching Rylan as he stood in a small knot of people, talking and laughing with them. He was attracting quite a bit of attention, Scott noticed; the club crawlers were always sniffing out the scent of fresh meat. Rylan seemed to be doing all right, though. It was in the way he held himself, the way he moved, the predatory and rarefied atmosphere of a high-end gay club not seeming to intimidate him in the least.

Scott gave a small snort. It wouldn’t intimidate him, would it? Not if he’d partied in the glitz and debauchery of South Beach. He traced his eyes over Rylan, feeling a tingle of awareness go through him along with a surge of wistfulness. In his mind’s eye, he could picture Rylan’s shy looks, red cheeks, and innocent kisses as clearly as if it was yesterday, not six years ago. Their nights together in Scott’s narrow bed, their boyish lovemaking―so fumbling, so inept, but so honest and pure. Scott heaved another sigh, his body tensing subtly as a pair of warm hands landed on his hips from behind, a barrel-chested, slightly paunchy body pressing against his back.

Steeling himself, Scott let his eyes go half-mast with a sultry look as he bit his lip. These guys weren’t paying over a thousand dollars to see Scott stroll down memory lane; it was time to get back to work. Break over.

“Mmm, I missed you,” Scott purred, setting his glass aside and sliding his hands up and down the man’s forearms as he caged Scott against the railing with them. “Ready for some more champagne, baby?” The man growled as he leaned in and nuzzled Scott’s neck, and Scott cut his eyes warningly at the bartender. It’s all right. Danny nodded, but his face was watchful, the cell phone that would summon security not far from his hand. Normally Scott didn’t allow his VIP clients to touch him so freely, but he was willing to bend the rules a little to keep the men spending and increasing their tab. Big-ticket nights like this didn’t come around too often, and Scott, secure in the fact the bouncers had his back, intended to milk it for all it was worth.

With that thought in mind, he tilted his head back, giving the man even more access to his neck. Over his shoulder Scott could see the second man returning from the restroom, so he gave a low chuckle. “Michael is back, sweetheart. Why don’t we join him? We don’t want to make him jealous.”

Scott led the man back over to the circular couch set back in the corner of the VIP lounge, mostly out of sight of the rest of the tables but within clear view of the safety of the bar. Michael sprawled there, the buttons of his silky dress shirt straining over his belly. He belched loudly and held his champagne flute up for a refill. Scott obliged and stashed the bottle in the convenient ice bucket Danny had placed there for them.

Michael patted his lap. “Get down here and gimme some of that sugar I saw you givin’ Philip,” he ordered, and Scott slid into a graceful reverse straddle over his lap, his knees wide on the couch. His tank and jeans had been shed long ago as the tab increased, and now he was down to his sluttiest red thong.