There was nothing less fun than trying to give another girl a last coat of mascara while shimmying into his own dress. Makeup had a way of getting everywhere it shouldn’t if he wasn’t paying very close attention to it. River habitually arrived early at any show he worked. Even more so with this tour, since he was wearing both hats—makeup artist and performer—not even counting the frankly adorable hat in one of his numbers.

When he approached the steel back door of the club where they’d been lucky enough to get a stage all weekend, Zeph was waiting next to it, hands in his pockets, disappearing into one of those giant, warm hoodies of his.

River smiled fondly. It brought back a moment’s remembrance of their past together.

For once, the relationship had been short and sweet, with no hard feelings when it ended. Though Zeph had been the one leaving, it had suited River to break up when they did, too. Right when it was getting to that uncomfortable feelings stage. He’d had the feeling Zeph was feeling about the same.

“Hey.” Zeph pulled one hand out of the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and waved loosely at him. “I guess I found the place.”

River grinned. “Yep. Great job, Holmes.”

“Are you Watson or Moriarty?”

River batted his lashes as he slid past Zeph, their shoulders brushing, and pulled open the door to the club. “Depends on my mood that night.”

He heard Zeph catch his breath. His ex murmured back, “What about tonight?”

“Can’t a guy be a little of both?” River smoothed a hand down his front to indicate the double entendre, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

Zeph’s lips tugged up in a smile. He nodded slightly. “If you like.”

Even back then, he’d known he was interested in drag, and though not a woman, not particularly interested in being the definition of a man. Zeph’s easy acceptance of that years ago had taken River aback.

A fair number of guys who looked like Zeph were allergic to femmes, fags, and flaming homos like him. Pull out a compact to touch up and they’d react like you were cradling a tarantula. River still knew Zeph would screw up sometime, especially in this kind of atmosphere, but his heart was in the right place.

They’d had a few conversations back then about it—about River’s fondness for skirts and men’s shirts, wigs, and full-face makeup both in everyday life and in the club. Zeph had seemed determined to understand, even if he couldn’t quite do so.

The club didn’t open for another half hour, giving him plenty of time to introduce Zeph to the bartenders and club security; the bartenders were a good first point of contact for a problem patron without obviously summoning security.

“You ready for this?” When Zeph nodded, River led him over to do exactly that.

Sebastian and Gino were behind the bar tonight—a pair of gorgeous Italians. One was short and blond and one tall and dark. A surprising number of bartenders at gay clubs were open-minded straight guys willing to milk their abs for tips, but these two were a couple.

And yeah, River had been in the middle of that sandwich once or twice.

He draped himself against the counter. “Hey, handsome,” he chirped. He blew Sebastian a kiss and waved down at Gino at the other end of the bar.

“Hey again,” Sebastian grinned, his gaze flickering to Zeph. The up-and-down glance wasn’t hard to notice. “And who have you brought to flirt with me tonight?”

“Zeph North. A friend of mine, MMA fighter, all-around badass. We—the queens—are hiring him as personal security for when we go to Vegas.”

“MMA. Wow,” Sebastian whistled under his breath, and River felt a weird moment of pride.

Zeph brushed it off humbly, as usual, by waving a hand. “The equivalent of a mid-lister,” he told Sebastian. He wasn’t hitting on him? Weird. Everyone hit on Sebastian, and Sebastian was the closest to River in type…

Gino came over to interrupt the fuss. “I have a friend who’s really into MMA! Real gym bunny. Wait ’til I tell him about this.”

“You want a picture or something?” Zeph grinned.

Gino crowed, “Fuck, yeah. He’ll hate me.”

“When you say friend…” River teased, flicking his tongue out playfully.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, watching Zeph lean against the counter and flash the phone camera a big grin. “He’s always trying to… warm him up.” The Italian accent was soft on his tongue, but it was pleasing to the ear. So distracting.

“With hate.” River offered a broad grin. “It works.”

“It works,” Sebastian murmured, winking at him. The two of them certainly remembered their night together, then. His gaze flickered to Zeph, back to River, and he raised an eyebrow.

River drew a breath and shook his head slightly, but something in his expression made Sebastian raise an eyebrow instead of accepting his answer.

“Oh, there’s Reg. C’mon. Stop playing celebrity,” he teased, hooking his finger into the pocket of Zeph’s hoodie and leading him over to the doors.

Reg greeted him with a laugh. “Found yourself a boy toy?”

“Fuck off.” River flipped Reg off, but he smirked.

“Oh, a friend?” Reg looked sheepish for a moment, then offered Zeph a hand. “I assumed…”

“It is River.” Zeph flashed him a teasing look. “I’m glad he hasn’t changed that much.”

The two were similar in size and build. They did that alpha male “sizing each other up” look while they shook hands with a firm pump of flesh on flesh.

“You knew each other before?”

“Yeah, years ago. I’m back in town now.”

“And,” River interjected before it could get all awkward, “our hired security for the queens for the rest of the tour.”

Reg looked concerned, turning toward him now. “Did it shake you that much last night? Dixie gave the all-clear signal—”

“No, no, darling.” He wrapped his arm around Reg’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. Normally he towered over the man, but he was in Converse today. River didn’t want him to feel bad. He was exactly right—the queens had decided to handle the crowd themselves.

“Okay. But if you need more backup…”

“That’s why we have another big tattooed man of our own now.” River seamlessly transferred his hold to Zeph, draping his arm around his neck.

Heat crackled between them, and it felt just like old times for half a second. He pulled his arm away.

“That and eye candy.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Zeph accused him, but he was playfully smiling.

“Oops.” River gave him an unrepentant smile. “Then, you—Reg—can keep more of a general eye on the place, and Zeph can look all muscly and keep the drunk assholes from actually trying to take the stage.”

Reg nodded briskly. “Great. All right. I gotta grab the ID machine, so—”

“Yep. I’ll get dressed.” River fluttered his fingers in a wave to both of them, leaving Zeph to wander the club and talk to the staff while he made his way to the staff room-cum-dressing room.

The costumes were carefully planned for as little on-and-off as possible. That meant sheer tights first, then bright purple fishnets—at a distance, nobody could see it wasn’t bare skin. Over that went a plaid skirt and halter top.

His wig was already mostly ready, so it didn’t take long before he had the pigtails looking just right.

The makeup was the last part, and only now did he notice Zeph flitting in and out of the room. He’d taken off his hoodie and was in a tight black shirt now. Second-best thing to a tight white t-shirt on him.

River had no complaints about it, but he felt Zeph watching while he pressed his brush into the setting powder, layering a sheer, youthful look before picking his bright red lipstick.

Zeph had watched him put on makeup in his bathroom before, all those years ago. He couldn’t figure out how it made him feel to have Zeph watching him again now.

So much had changed, and yet… so little had.

“Oh, now she’s making us all look bad.”

River blew a kiss at a few of his friends as they entered. RB, Dixie, and Glam had carpooled, and they brought the room to life as soon as they were in it.

River was alive again, his body remembering the pre-show adrenaline rush it was supposed to get swept away in. He started flitting between them to catch up on their Saturdays while they dressed.

If he had a closest friend apart from Kyle, it was probably RB. His full name was Rene Boswell, but he absolutely hated it, and River was one of the few who actually knew what it was.

He preferred RB outside drag. In drag, she was Candy Came.

RB waited until Zeph wandered out of the room again, then stage-whispered, “Did you see the security they got? That’s Zeph, isn’t it, River?”

Most queens opted for she but RB usually used they pronouns for River when he was in drag. RB knew him better than most people—well enough to know that River didn’t care about pronouns.

Just because he was used to it, River thought of himself as he most of the time, but he liked that Kyle and RB went neutral with him sometimes, especially while he was in drag. It was a nod to the part of him that just wasn’t attached to gender. Using she pronouns while in drag was standard in drag scenes, but it just wasn’t him the rest of the time.

Honestly, all pronouns felt a little like a lumpy old college sweatshirt that was made for people with really short torsos and unnaturally long arms, and never fit quite right.

River giggled as he came over to tug RB’s zipper up and pin it. “I thought I’d introduce you all at once.”

“Oh, no, mister. No holding out on us.” Zeph stepped back into the room and RB clicked his tongue, waving to get his attention. “Hello! You must be the nice man who’s keeping the not-so-nice men off our stage.”

“That’s me,” Zeph agreed with that heartwarming, slow, gleaming smile. Sometimes with that smile and his laidback drawl, he showed a hint of southern influence, but he didn’t have the accent the rest of the time. River couldn’t remember where he’d spent the most time. All Zeph had said was that he’d moved around a lot.

“Well, hello.” RB offered his hand for Zeph to kiss, and suddenly everyone wanted that.

River fought back a smile as he brushed a touch-up of eyeshadow across Glam’s upper lid. “Oh, hold on,” he tutted as she tried to wiggle away and join the greetings.

The other queens were arriving and joining in the introductions, and the sexual, flirtatious energy was downright impossible even for the most clueless bystander to miss.

Dixie was draped around him, squeezing his biceps while she examined his tattoos, and RB perched on a stool in front of him, suspiciously close to crotch level.

Everyone ogling Zeph at once made River… well. He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but it seemed a hell of a lot like jealousy. He finished with Glam and waved her off to meet Zeph, then went to help Tina with a spot of clear nail polish to fix the run before it was an emergency.

The atmosphere backstage was always friendly and buzzing. Especially in a tight knit group like theirs, there wasn’t room for drama or jealousy. There could be catfights and bitter rivalries in the scene, but this little part of the L.A. scene was mutually supportive, for the most part.

River glanced back and bristled when he saw Glam patting Zeph’s chest, giggling with the others about the MMA training routine he was describing.

It was jealousy. That was his Zeph. They could look, but he hadn’t told them they could touch.

What the fuck?

That thought was so abnormal for him he actually stopped, brush halfway into the polish, before he shook off the thought.

“Something the matter?” Tina tilted her head, then checked her wig to make sure it was staying in place.

“No. Just thought of something. It can wait.”

And that it could. This was just business. They weren’t together, River reminded himself as he blew on the polish, waiting for it to dry and testing it with a fingertip now and then.

Sort of. I mean, we can’t ignore that flirting earlier today… Even on the way into the club, if he really thought about it. But there was no time to think about it. They had to go over the schedule again, make absolutely sure everyone knew their cues.

The show was supposed to start ten minutes ago, which meant they should start sometime in the next twenty minutes, and Fanny Delite had forgotten her boobs, so they were scrambling to find the right size between everyone else’s spares. Plus, River ticked off on his fingers, someone had to run the CD to the DJ…

They barely had enough time to take care of the last-minute tasks, let alone thoughts like those. River firmly set them aside.

It’s showtime.