Free The Queen & the Homo Jock King by TJ Klune Page A

Paul credit for that. And Vince too. Because Vince and Darren came from the loins of evil that was the Republican mayor of Tucson, Andrew Taylor. Andrew Taylor, who had backed the anti-immigration bill SB1070 and was one of the architects of a LGBTQ-phobic bill disguised as a religious freedom act that got all the way up to the governor before being vetoed last year. Mike, the owner of Jack It, had told me there’d even been some rumblings about a revitalization project of downtown Tucson where the club was located that didn’t seem to include Jack It at all. He already had his attorneys looking into it just in case the city council tried to fuck him over or worse. Since Jack It was part of the historic district, the lease was owned by the county. Mike had to tread a very thin line between backing his community and kissing red-taped ass.
    And Darren, while disagreeing with his father completely, wasn’t out to him and wasn’t a recognized member of Taylor’s family, given that he was the product of an affair. And to make matters worse, Darren worked for his father, though not in any official capacity. He was employed by the city as an actuary, and even though he didn’t report to Taylor directly, just the fact that he worked for the government and knew the same people his father knew was enough to make me despise him just a little bit more.
    And feel slightly bad for him too. Whatever.
    But I didn’t see what that had to do with brunch . I told Paul as much.
    Paul shrugged. “I just thought it’d be nice, is all. You know, you could stand being nicer too.”
    “I’m the nicest person you know,” I retorted. “And when have I ever needed to be nice?”
    “Drag queens are contradictions,” Vince told Kori.
    “It’s just in their nature,” Kori said.
    “Just brunch,” Paul said.
    I growled at him. “Fine. But he’s not getting any of my frittata.”
    “Heh,” Kori said. “That sounded dirty.”
    “Darren wants all of Helena’s frittata,” Vince said.
    “Control your boyfriend,” I barked at Paul.
    “Yeah,” Vince said. “Control me, Paul.”
    “Not in front of Helena,” Paul said. “We don’t want her to get confused when her sex dream starts coming to life.”
    “It’s not the first time someone has had a sex dream about me,” Vince said. “When I was in my senior year of high school, my Spanish teacher, Señora Gomez, told me that she’d had dreams about my thighs in Spanish.”
    “Wait,” Kori frowned. “The dreams were in Spanish or she told you this while speaking Spanish?”
    “Both,” Vince said. “It was very uncomfortable.”
    “Did you sleep with her?” Paul asked, sounding scandalized.
    “She was seventy-four,” Vince said.
    “What does that have to do with anything?” Paul asked.
    “No, Paul. I didn’t sleep with her.”
    “I don’t see what age has to do with anything. I’m still going to want to sleep with you when I’m seventy-four.”
    “Old-people sex,” Vince said. “I’m down with that.” He reached up and pulled on Paul’s hand until he sat on Vince’s lap.
    “You’ll be in your Rascal,” Paul said, running his fingers through Vince’s hair. “And we’ll need bars attached in the bathrooms to help us get up after we’ve taken a shit.”
    “You’ll probably need a walker,” Vince said. “With those little tennis balls on the front.”
    “God, that’s so hot.” Paul started macking on Vince’s face.
    “Ugh,” Kori said. “Not again.”
    “You get used to it,” I said. “Mostly.” I sighed, because if Darren was going to be at brunch tomorrow, I needed to find him and invite him myself. It was only polite, even if he didn’t deserve it.
    “Where’s Darren?” I asked Kori.
    Kori cocked her head at me. “You care?”
    I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Hardly.”
    “Why do you hate him so much?”
    Ah. Wasn’t that the question. I had my reasons. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday.”
    Kori