OH NO, not Tim Croner too. Micah tried to look nonchalant, sitting on the bench as he stared across PCH at the line outside Charismatic Cupcakes. At least ten people waited patiently to be poisoned. The place was a veritable cesspool of bad nutrition that bunches of his customers were queued up to dive into.
Shoot. He’d planned to walk over, slip surreptitiously into the store, and try to get a look at this paragon of an owner the girls had told him about. Maybe Micah could explain to this Quentin what he was trying to accomplish with his regular customers and how eating a cupcake in the middle of a feeding-and-fasting cycle would undo a lot of good work. Maybe the guy would listen. Huh, fat chance.
But no way was he going in there if his customers were hanging around. The four-lane road between him and the shop made seeing into the window pretty much impossible, but he got a good look at the people anxiously waiting outside for the white-flour-and-sugar bombs.
Oh hell, no use obsessing. He got up and started walking up the block toward the Place. Speaking of obsessing, should he or should he not call Queen?
He stopped walking. Just thinking of the guy made Micah’s whole body tingle. He’d never had an encounter like that. He’d never had an orgasm like that. Not even close. It was like there was sex—and then there was Queen.
Micah glanced around. It seemed like people should be able to tell what he was thinking just from looking at him. He could still feel that hot mouth on his cock and the tight perfection of Queen’s ass. Yeah, and if he kept thinking about it, everyone would be able to tell what he was thinking from the eight-inch erection sticking out his pants.
He started walking again. Had he really hooked up with a transvestite? Hell, Micah was a regular guy, not some exotic sex fetishist. Why was he even considering calling Queen for another meeting? What would his customers say? They’d all known Dharmaram. That relationship made sense, since his ex was a yoga teacher and Micah was a natural-food expert. They matched. Well, no, they didn’t actually, but in theory they matched. But Queen? Everyone would think Micah had lost his mind.
Whoa. Way ahead of himself here. Queen might not even answer if he called. The pretty man had said his life was complicated. That was another thing Micah did not need. He’d been there and done that since he was a kid. No more complications required, no way.
QUEEN PULLED up in front of the low building on Glenneyre Street. “Have a great class, dear, and call me when you’re ready to go home.”
“I will, thank you.” Mary Beth opened the car door.
The phone in Queen’s back pocket, the private phone, buzzed. Damn. His fingers itched to look.
It buzzed again. His grandmother turned toward him. “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?”
He grinned. “Actually, it’s my extra phone. I mostly give the number to people I may not want to talk to.”
“You wicked boy.” She grasped his arm. “See who it is.”
Oh my. He pulled the phone from his pocket and stared at the number. “I don’t know who it’s from. I should forget it.”
His grandmother cocked her head. “Darlin’, you seem concerned about that call.”
He sighed. “I think it’s someone I met at the party, but I’m not sure.”
Her pretty face lit up. “Well, go ahead and answer. I’m dying of curiosity.”
Hell’s bells. He clicked the phone. “Hello.”
“Queen?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, this is Micah.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry. I guess I called at a bad time.”
“Yes.” Why were his silly hands shaking? “I mean, no. Hold on.” He put his hand over the phone. “NeeNee, it’s my friend. So you go to class and let me chat a bit, okay?”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Is it a good friend?”
Oh dear. “None of your business, you naughty matchmaker. Off with you.”
“Okay, but I want to hear every detail after class. I’ll call when I’m ready to go home.”
“Have a good yoga class.” She got out and closed the door. Queen watched her walk away, then uncovered the phone. “Sorry. I had someone with me.”
“Part of that complicated life you spoke of.”
Queen frowned. “Yes.”
“Does your life allow you to maybe have dinner with me tonight?”
“Tonight?” His voice squeaked.
“Sorry, I know I should be a gentleman and give you more notice, but… hell, I really would love to see you again.”
Queen raised an eyebrow. “See?”
“Okay, there’s no doubt I would love to have sex with you again, but I thought maybe we could have a date and get to know each other a little.”
Now there was a minefield. “Do you want me in boy clothes or girl clothes?”
Micah laughed, and the sound vibrated through Queen’s balls. “It may ruin my reputation as a good gay man, but wear the girl clothes if you want to. I might not recognize you any other way.”
Well, well. “Where and what time shall I meet you?”
“I can pick you up.”
Oh no. “Meeting is better.”
“Okay. Do you know where Dizzy’s is?”
“I can find it.”
“I’ll make a reservation for seven thirty.”
“See you then.”
Queen hung up and looked in the rearview mirror at his curls and the delicate face that reflected many generations of fine old South Carolina breeding. Finally, it had happened. Quentin Makepeace Darby the Third had lost his frigging mind.
TWO HOURS later Quentin, aka Queen, pulled up in front of the same low building. Mary Beth wasn’t outside, so he parked and walked in. Passing through a small reception area with a desk and a rack displaying some yoga clothes, he looked through a door into a large open room with hardwood floors, one mirrored wall, and not much else. Right now the floor was covered with a potpourri of people, old and young, fat and skinny, all sitting on yoga mats facing a handsome young man who stood at the front, all sleek and fit in black tights and a
