The moment splits wide open between us, and I kiss him. Not for show. Not for drama. Not for the roaring crowd that erupts the second our mouths meet. It’s for him. Soft. Real. A little desperate, like we’re trying to make up for all the lost time, all the years apart, all the words we were too young and scared to say. When we finally pull back, he’s still in my arms, his hand still cupping my face, and I know I’ll remember the way he looks at me right now for the rest of my life.
Then the club explodes.
Screams, whistles, someone sobbing, probably Eva again, and a flurry of glitter and confetti raining down like we just won Drag Race and the lottery at the same time. I set May back on his feet slowly, carefully, like he’s something precious. I don’t let go. Neither of us does. Patti shrieks loudly enough to carry to the next county. Felix hurls dollar bills like rice at a wedding. Dee fans herself with a laminated program, muttering about true love and tight pants. Anna is openly sobbing and filming everything on her phone.
May turns to the audience, breathless and glowing, arms thrown wide. “Best night of my goddamn life!”
He turns back to me, his smile softening into something private and aching and perfect. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
I nod, overwhelmed, everything inside me bright and cracked open in the best way. We take our bow together, hands clasped. The crowd rains money and glitter at our feet, but I don’t see any of it. All I see is him.
As the lights come up and the noise swells, we slip offstage, fingers still tangled, ducking through the chaos. May only lets go of my hand long enough to wrap both arms around me and drag me into another kiss. This one is deeper. Warmer. It feels like coming home.
And I stay there, held, kissed, wanted. Because in this wild, neon-lit little town full of drag queens and second chances, I finally get to be the one who stayed.
And I never want to leave.
Chapter Fifteen
May
The second I get Miles alone backstage, it’s game over.
I barely wait for the velvet curtain to fall behind us before I’m grabbing him by the lapels of that ridiculous Santa coat, hauling him into a kiss. The kind that’s all teeth and tongue and a little desperation, because I’m pretty sure the only way to process what just happened is by physically merging with this man. He makes a low sound in his throat, a groan that goes straight to my core. His hands settle on my hips, dragging me flush against him, and I can feel the hard ridge of his cock even through all the layers. Jesus. My knees nearly give out.
I break the kiss, but only because I’m panting too hard to keep going. “You absolute maniac,” I breathe, forehead pressed to his, our noses bumping. “You didn’t tell me you were planning a full striptease tonight.” My hands are fisted in the fake-fur collar, knuckles white with the need to keep touching him.
Miles just grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You like the show?” He’s still out of breath, cheeks flushed, his whole body buzzing with the aftershocks of adrenaline.
I want to eat him alive.
“That was the single sexiest thing I have ever witnessed in my life,” I confess, not even pretending to play it cool. “I will be thinking about that harness and those hips until the day I die.In fact, I might never recover. I hope you’re prepared to live with that on your conscience, Dalton.”
He laughs, deep and open, then kisses me again like he’s got something to prove. Maybe he does. Maybe we both do.
I pull him in tighter, barely aware of the commotion on the other side of the curtain. The squeal of heels on tile, the shrieks of queens rehashing every second, the thunder of music and applause echoing through the floorboards. None of it touches us. It’s just him, me, and this wild, electric thing humming between us.
He nips at my bottom lip, gently, then runs his nose along my jaw, his voice gone rough. “I meant what I said up there, you know. I love you, May. I love you so damn much.”
The words hit me straight in the chest. I’m suddenly seventeen again, terrified and hopeful and so full of want it could crack me open. I let out a shaky breath, cupping his face in both hands, dragging my thumbs along the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “I love you,” I whisper, soft and bare. “Always have. I never stopped. Not once. Not for a fucking second.”
I’m still in full drag, hairline slick with sweat, robe clinging to me, makeup probably halfway to tragic, but none of it matters. Not when he looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted. Not when his hands settle around my waist, anchoring me, making me feel more desired than I ever have in my entire life.
Somewhere behind us, Patti is already orchestrating an afterparty, but I don’t even try to play hostess. All I care about is Miles. I want him upstairs. I want to taste him, wreck him, make him say my name until it’s the only word he remembers. I want to make up for every single second we lost.
Miles is the one who finally breaks the moment with a breathless little laugh. “If we don’t get upstairs right now,” he rasps, “I am going to fuck you silly right here backstage.”
I shiver, not even pretending to be unaffected. “Tempting,” I admit, “but I am not giving Dee the satisfaction of catching us. Upstairs. Now.”
I shove him toward the stairs, not subtle, not gentle, just pure need. He laughs, voice gone ragged, and follows, matching my urgency step for step. We barely make it through the staff-only door in the upstairs lounge before I have him pinned against the wall, my mouth devouring his, hands everywhere. He tastes like vodka and sweat and the wild, electric charge of being seen, really seen. He’s still dressed in the Santa coat, the harness biting into his skin, dollar bills tucked haphazardly into his waistband. It’s obscene. It’s gorgeous. I want to eat him alive.
At the landing, I fumble the keys, hands shaking so badly I can barely line up the teeth with the lock. Miles steadies me, one hand flat on my belly, the other braced against the doorframe, pinning me in place with his body and the sheer, radioactive energy between us.
The second the lock turns, we’re inside. I slam the door with my hip, turn on him, and he’s right there, hands bracketing my jaw, eyes blown wide and hungry. He kisses me, devours me, lips rough, tongue hot, every trace of the cool, controlled Miles from the bar gone, replaced by the man who just risked public humiliation to tell me he loves me.
I want to say it back again, want to put it on a billboard or have Patti skywrite it with glitter. Instead, I pull him close, crush our bodies together, and whisper against his mouth, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until the words dissolve into noise.
He answers with a sound that’s almost a sob, or maybe a laugh. It’s hard to tell with his hands fisting in my robe and his hips grinding against me. He kisses a line down my jaw, teeth scraping, and I thread my fingers into his hair, holding him to me. “God, you have no idea,” he breathes against my skin, “no idea how long I wanted this.”
