The Last Guy

Maybe I need to let loose, even if it is a drag queen show. For the past few months, I’ve been working my ass off at KHOT. Things are finally falling in line like I want. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders, feeling how tight I am. No doubt about it, I haven’t let myself have a good time in a while.

Besides . . .

What else am I going to do? Sit around and watch TV? Think about work? Call Mom?

And that thought makes me pause. Here I am thirty years old and contemplating calling my mother. Dude.

I come to a decision. Fuck it. This is my only brother, and if he wants to throw down at a drag queen club, my ass is going to be there to cheer him on.

I reach for a pair of jeans.

Pussycat Club, here I come . . .

Rebecca

THE LARGE, FLAT-SCREEN TV above the bar in the Pussycat Club is silent, but it’s set to KHOT. I cringe knowing the pageant story will rebroadcast in less than an hour.

“Was it really that bad?” I take a long gulp of my gin and tonic (with cucumber, of course—nods to Christian Grey).

“You were un-powdered in a mob of infants, and the lighting was horrifyingly bad. What do you think?” Chas holds a fresh Cosmo and levels her brown eyes on me. “You know what would take your mind off it? A big O.”

I snort into my drink and cut my eyes up. My roommate towers over me in full drag, and I suppose at that height, she can be a little intimidating. I know her too well to care.

I smirk. “When you wave your arm like that, everybody looks at us.”

“Let them look!” Chas punctuates each word with jazz hands. “You’re too young to be working your life away. When’s the last time you got laid?”

“James.”

“Oh my God!” More hand waving. “Don’t even say his name. I hate him.”

I agree, smoothing down the front of the beige sequined micro-mini dress Chas insisted I wear. If I reach too high, I’ll flash the world, since I’m only wearing a nude thong under it. Still, with my taupe sling-backs accentuating my toned legs (my one body part still holding onto muscle memory), my ego is somewhat bolstered. Every now and then I get an appreciative glance, which in a room full of queens is saying something. At least someone values my new curves.

The bar is filling faster as word gets out my roommate is performing. Chas has been making the rounds on the drag circuit since we graduated college, and her RuPaul impersonation is legendary. The Pussycat is actually a very upscale club, complete with a mirrored dance floor, laser lights, a disco ball, and retro dance music blasting. Polishing off my drink, I signal for a refill as Chas continues her tirade on James. She has never liked him.

“It’s no wonder he left me.” I take a long pull from my fresh G&T. “We never saw each other. My schedule was ridiculous. I was never home.”

“So that’s what it was?” Chas’s tone is pure skepticism. “I always assumed it was his lack of ambition and cheating with the chippy at the coffee shop that drove you apart.”

“I guess we didn’t have much in common,” I sigh. “He didn’t give a shit about my schedule as long as I fucked him regularly.”

“Girl.” Chas shakes her head. “That’s all he wanted.”

I take a bite of fresh cucumber. It’s possible I’m a little tipsy. “You’re right,” I say, nodding. “It was all pot and porking.”

“You did not just say porking.”

Our eyes meet, and we both explode with laughter. My eyes water, and I sniff a few times, calming down, growing serious. “I had the dream again.”

My roommate sits on a barstool, putting us closer to the same height. At the mention of my dream, all mirth is gone. “The one about the tall, dark, and handsome man?”

Nodding, I drink more. “That’s the one.”

“The stranger who shows up at your door in a hot as hell suit and takes your hand in his so passionately?”

“Yes.”

“The one who says he’s never seen anyone as gorgeous as you, but he’s waiting to hear back from an exclusive, top-secret NASA program?”

More gin, more nodding.

“Then after he gives you the greatest orgasm of your life, he finds out he was accepted into the program, and he’s leaving immediately to go to Mars for five years?”

My forehead wrinkles. “Do I tell this one a lot?”

Thick false lashes bat at me for several seconds. “Honey, that dream is your problem right there. You’re a commitment-phobe!”

“That’s not how I see it at all,” I sniff, taking another sip. “It means my dream guy—my perfect man, who is handsome and intelligent and ambitious and great in bed—is an impossible dream. He doesn’t exist.”

“Commitment-phobe!” Jazz hands. “Does this impossible dream-man even have a name?”

“Chris.”

A loud group of guys bursts through the door, and we glance in their direction. It’s mostly young, fashionably dressed hipster types, but one taller than the rest sticks out in the crowd. I have to do a double take. Cade Hill? GAY? With a dick like that? Figures.

“Chris?” Chas is still ranting about Dream Man. “As in Pratt? Chris Pratt? Star-Lord?”

I’m sneaking another glance at Cade when suddenly his steel blue eyes hit mine. Heat floods my core, and I snap my head back to my roommate. She doesn’t miss a thing.

“What was that?” Her voice is too loud.

“What?” I try to act clueless, but Chas isn’t buying it.

“That right there. Who is he?”

“Proof I’ll end up marrying a gay man if I’m not careful,” I grumble, taking a longer drink. I’m almost ready for number three.

“That’s why I’m here to guide you. That sexy straight man is staring a hole through you.”

“What?” I chance another look, and Cade is staring, only now that cocky grin is curling his lips, creating those dimples. It’s like a lightning strike.

Asshole, I remind myself—only, now I’m not so sure. He was actually really nice in the bathroom earlier after the whole Marv thing . . . after I saw his heavenly package. I have to squeeze my thighs together.

“Stop looking at him!” I hiss. “That’s Cade Hill, the sports director at KHOT. I walked in on him in the bathroom.”

“Wait . . . What? You did what?” Chas finishes her Cosmo and sets it down quickly.

“Tell Mama what you saw.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I know what’s about to happen. “I saw his penis.”

“WHAT!” Chas shouts.

I cringe. “And it is gorgeous . . . and enormous.”

We both burst out laughing. “Girl . . .” My roommate sighs, catching her breath. “Now I just want to rub his beard. Do you think he’ll let me rub his beard?”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“That’s right you’re not. I have to do my set.” Chas is off the stool and rising to her full height. “Remember the O.”

We air-kiss both cheeks. “Break a stiletto!” I call.

“I wouldn’t dare!” She scampers away, and I’m left feeling very alone and exposed.

Turning to the bar, I try to make myself small. Of course, at that very moment, the television starts running my Planetary Princess story. My face fills the screen, and I shrink. I really do look like I’d just run four blocks before filing that story.