Stay(13)

I’m not interested in such a setup. “Eli’s working on his bird test. He might need something.”

“Oh, you know he’s going to ace it! Don’t worry about him. Now scoot, scoot! I need you to get on down there and get what we need.”

Her voice is pure sugar, but I’m not buying it. “Okay.” I grab my wallet, the scrap of paper she’s holding, and the company credit card before ducking under the counter. When I emerge, I’m standing right in front of Stephen.

“Can I give you a ride?” He’s so close, I’m wrapped in his spicy fresh scent.

I cut my eyes to Lou, and I see her biting back a smile. I was right.

“Thanks, I can walk.”

With that I’m out the door, Stephen right behind me.





4





Stephen


“To think I considered sewing a lost art.” I’m walking swiftly beside Emmy, who’s moving at a pace typically reserved for competitive athletes.

“Not in the pageant and drag community.” She doesn’t cast me a glance. “They make their own clothes, do their own alterations…”

“Drag?” We’re passing a sign for The Cock, and it clicks. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Lulabell must make a fortune.”

“She does all right.”

Emmy’s pert chin is lifted, and her long hair bobs in a low ponytail over one shoulder. The neon pink work vest covers most of her outfit, which is made up of faded denim shorts and a white tank, and her toned arms swing bare at her sides.

She’s still so damn pretty. Is that why I couldn’t stay away?

“How long have you worked for her?” She stops so fast, I have to take a few steps back to where she’s glaring at me with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong?”

She’s so tiny in basic black Converse tennis shoes. Looking up at me, she seems so young. Not much older than the last time I saw her, which I know is false. That was ten years ago.

“Why are you doing this?” Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink—I assume from exertion? Maybe something more? “What do you want, Stephen?”

“I wanted to walk you to the fabric store.” I nod toward an old woman pushing a grocery cart of what I assume are her belongings. “It’s a shady part of town.”

“It’s my neighborhood.” She starts walking again, although a bit slower.

I confess, this pace is easier to keep in leather dress shoes, although I’ll have another suit for her to clean after this cardio workout. “Since when?”

I know what Bex told me about Emmy’s past. I also know her grapevine tends to get the facts twisted.

“Since when what?” She impatiently repeats my question, again without a glance.

“Since when has this been your neighborhood?” I say the words deliberately slowly. Two can play this game. “Last time I saw you, it was very far from here.”

That pulls her up short again, and again, I take a step back to where she’s standing. “None of your business.”

She’s so cute with her arms crossed, staring daggers at me with those pretty blue eyes. Her whole demeanor makes me want to fight back, to push her buttons.

“Actually, your brother is a friend of mine—”

“Acquaintance at best—”

“Our families have known each other since we were kids. One might argue it is, partially my responsibility to ensure your safety. When it’s in my power to do so.”

“Of all the old-fashioned, patriarchal, male chauvinist…” Her eyes narrow, and something passes across her expression, something like an old injury. “You can drop the chivalrous act, Stephen Hastings. You showed your true colors a long time ago.”

I’m not sure what that means, but she starts walking again. She’s moving much slower now, and I see we’re approaching a store that looks like it’s been here since forever. A sign above the door proclaims it’s Jackie’s.

She pulls the door open and goes inside. I catch it and follow her.

It’s a cramped, dusty space, with shelves upon shelves of buttons, snaps, ribbon, tape beading… it looks like a seamstress’s paradise. A teen girl sitting behind the register doesn’t look up from her phone, but a voice from the back calls out a hello.

“Hey, Jackie! It’s just me, Emmy. Lulabell needs a few things.”

“Oh, sure. Help yourself, now.” The disembodied voice calls back.

From the sound if it, she’s either in a cave our under a bolt of fabric. Naturally, I assume the latter.

Emmy makes her way down the aisle, picking up a clear tube of what I assume is glue and a package of buttons. She squats in front of a rack and digs in a box of shiny silver discs.

“Do you sew?”

“Not really.” She takes out a few small spools and puts the cardboard box back. “I do hair and makeup.”

Unexpected. “For drag queens?”

“Of course not. Any good drag queen does her own hair and makeup. I’m helping Lou with a fashion show this weekend.”

She stands, and we’re almost chest to chest. The heat between us is palpable, and she blinks quickly, like she miscalculated our proximity. Her fresh scent of flowers and soap surrounds me. I remember that scent… I want to reach out and touch her, but she pushes past me roughly.