The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(66)

Her hand came to my arm. “It’s okay. I’m so happy you like it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I choked out, staring at the image. “So freaking beautiful, Naya. Can you send this to me?”

Her face burst into a beaming smile and she nodded.

We sat at the bar for a few more minutes, chatting logistics and schedule. Naya would begin the mural next week. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I studied the sketch. My mind whirred with ideas for social media posts of the mural. I couldn’t wait for the town to see it finished.

My dad wandered into my mind.

He might hate it. No, he would hate it. Anything that she didn’t personally put her stamp of approval on, he hated.

Something sharp wrenched in my chest. He would just have to get over it, because the new mural was happening.

Naya slipped her tablet away and rose. “Well, friend, I’ll see you next week.” She shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “This is going to be fun.”

My heart fizzed with happy anticipation. “See you next week.”

I watched Naya leave and checked the time on my phone. It was about an hour’s drive home.

“Can I get you anything else before the show?” the bartender asked. She had blue hair, shaved short on the sides.

“The show?” I blinked at her.

“The drag show. It’s the first Tuesday of the month.”

I gasped. “I’ve always wanted to go to a drag show.”

She laughed. “Well, here’s your chance. It’s no Drag Race but it’s a fun time.”

A prickle of nerves rose in me at the idea of sitting here alone.

Who cares, a voice asked in my head. A voice that sounded a lot like Wyatt.

I shot a smile at her. “Sure. Can you make me something fruity and fun with no alcohol? I’m driving.”

She winked. “You bet, honey.”

She placed a magenta drink with a little umbrella in front of me as the lights dimmed and the music volume increased. A magenta drink, like the text on the mural. Like a sign. I smiled to myself and turned to the small stage area in the back corner. Rickety spotlights shook with the bass’s low thump.

The bartender appeared at the side of the stage with a mic. “Good evening to all the girls, gays, and theys!”

The bar patrons cheered around me.

“We’ve got another great show for you tonight. First up, she’s demure, she’s elegant, and she’ll never be caught dead without her pearls. She’s singing Wouldn’t it Be Loverly—”

Someone near me groaned and set their forehead on the bar.

“—from My Fair Lady for the hundredth fucking time, it’s Josephina Duvet!”

The black curtain separating the bar from the back swished aside and a tall queen strode out with giant platinum bouffant curls, theatrical winged liner, and a wide seafoam-green tulle dress. The audience cheered and whooped for her as she took the mic and stepped onstage.

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!” she boomed into the mic before she launched into an upbeat, pop version of Audrey Hepburn’s classic show tune.

I sipped my drink while I watched her strut around the stage, dance to the music, and sing her heart out. Her makeup was so artfully applied, so fun and theatrical, and yet her outfit paid reverence to an era of women’s fashion with precise detail. Her dress looked like it took time and effort. My gaze strayed to her cleavage. How did she make it look so real?

Josephina whipped her head to me and sang right at me. My eyes widened but my smile lifted. She swayed her hips and I stared in awe before I snapped a quick pic on my phone.

I should have taken hot girl lessons from her instead, I texted Wyatt.

Typing dots appeared and his response popped up.

You out there having fun without me, bookworm?

I grinned at my phone. Yep. Sitting alone at the bar, like you taught me. Having the best time!

Attagirl. Can’t wait to hear all about it.

My stomach flopped and fluttered. Josephina finished her set and disappeared through the curtain.

The blue-haired bartender returned to the stage. “Let’s give Josephina another round of applause!”

I clapped along with the other patrons. Next up was Rockstar Anise, who wore a huge eighties hair-metal mullet wig, fishnet stockings, and gave her everything to an air-guitar rendition of More Than a Feeling by Boston. The music boomed from the speaker system as she lip-synced the lyrics. I was smiling so hard it hurt.

“Thank you, Rockstar Anise!” The bartender glanced at the black curtain. “We’ve got an old favorite here tonight, it’s—”

I gasped as the curtain swished aside, and a drag queen with a Union Jack minidress and giant red wig strode out. My hand came to my mouth.

She even had the red platform shoes.

“Woooooo!” I screamed, clapping as hard as I could.

The queen glanced at me, paused with a little coy smile, and the opening notes of Say You’ll Be There played. My heart dipped as she sang and I danced in my seat.

During the chorus, she pointed at me. I sang along with the lyrics and everyone around me cheered.

I watched with fascination and admiration while she rocked her performance. She knew all the choreography from their music video and my smile reached ear to ear. She winked at me before she left the stage, and while I was clapping hard, familiarity struck me. I narrowed my eyes.