Oh fuck.
No. No, no, no.
His stomach cramped. Forget the funnel cake. He couldn’t eat to save his life right then.
I can’t be. It’s not possible.
The weird feelings were nothing more than admiration for someone who worked hard at their impressive skillset. A skillset Tate would never have but could appreciate the sacrifices it would take to get there.
No way in hell was he attracted to the guy on stage. This was probably from all the girls in their tight costumes. He tried to shift his attention to one of the perky ballerinas, but his damn eyes wouldn’t cooperate.
No.
His stomach lurched.
A heavy weight slammed into his back, making him stagger forward with a grunt.
“Here you are, you fucking slowpoke.” Daryl, Randy’s best friend since they popped out of the womb, hopped on Tate, piggyback-style. “What the fuck are you watching this shit for?”
Tate tore his gaze from the stage where the ballet troop bowed for their meager applause. He forced himself to turn toward the rest of his friends.
Randy laughed. “Look at that. One dude dancing with all those bitches.”
Still hanging off Tate, Daryl snorted. “That ain’t a dude. It’s a fairy. That why you are watching them, Tatey boy? You got a thing for fairies?” He ruffled Tate’s hair.
A crushing pain bore down on his chest, making it impossible to speak.
Randy’s laughter increased. “You better not be a fucking fairy, Tate. I ain’t living with a homo.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbled, bucking backward.
Daryl yelped as he flew off Tate’s back. His ass hit the dusty ground. “What the fuck, Tate? Rude.”
Whitney, standing under Randy’s arm, giggled. “Maybe you’re the fairy, Daryl. Always jumping on Tate’s back and rubbing his head.”
Randy’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, you two fucking?”
Was this what a heart attack felt like?
Tate’s face burned hotter than the damn sun.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled again.
“I ain’t no fucking fairy,” Daryl said, all humor gone. “I’ll fuck you right here right now, Whit.”
“I’d rather die,” she said with a smirk.
“C’mon.” Randy kicked Daryl’s leg.
“Ow! What the hell, Whit? You’da blown me if I got here first, right?”
She shrugged.
“Quit it, you two. I want some fucking funnel cake,” Randy announced.
“Oh, me, too,” Whitney cooed, running her hand up Randy’s torso.
Daryl hopped up. “Let’s do it.”
