How was he evenreal?
“No, I’m genuinelyinterested. I might’ve mentioned that all my friends are gay or bi orsomething? But none of them are quite like you. You’re…”
“Femme,” I finished for him.
“Sure,” Logan agreed. “Thattoo. But I was gonna say more interesting.”
“You’re teasing me,” I said.He had to be, right? Logan wasn’tinterestedin me, in any sense of theword.
He sat back, stretching hisarms along the bench. Fingertips brushed my back, warm even through the twolayers of clothing I was wearing.
“I’m not,” Logan said. “You’dknow if I was teasing you, trust me. I don’t hold back.”
I could believe that. I also… didn’t hate theidea of being seriously teased by Logan.
Ideally while I was begginghim to let me come, but I would have taken playful flirting as a second choice.
“I’m interested,” hecontinued. “I’m coming up against something I don’t know shit about, and mylife goal is to die knowing everything. So. Tell me about drag. If you want. Ortell me about… makeup, or… fucking Arizona, or something.”
This wasn’t because Loganwanted to know.
This was because he wastrying to distract me. Ithadto be.
But I needed thedistraction, and he’d proved to be a good listener so far.
“My hometown is closer toVegas than it is to Phoenix. Like a two-hour drive,” I began. “When I waslittle, my grandma took me to dance lessons. In Vegas. Once a week, on aThursday. We’d drive out, I’d dance my cute little butt off in class, and thenwe’d split a pizza and head home. I mostly fell asleep in the car. Sometimes Iplayed Pokémon. Sometimes we talked about stuff.”
“Your grandma soundsawesome,” Logan said, smiling.
“She is,” I agreed. “You’dlike her, I think. She’s… kind, but she doesn’t take shit from anyone. I wish Iwas more like her. I think she wishes I was more like her, too, but not in ajudgey way. Just… for my sake.”
“You’re fine just the wayyou are. The guy who’s stalking you is in the wrong, not you. This isn’t yourfault.”
“Thanks.” I sipped mycoffee. “Anyway. With a Vegas dance studio comes showgirls, and I loved them somuch. Like, I didn’t even know what dragwaswhen I was nineyears old, but I knew I loved the dresses and the makeup and theglitter.They were incredible. I wanted to bethem. My grandma never told me Icouldn’t.Not once.”
“You’ve gotta show me apicture of you in full drag,” Logan said. “Unless I’m gonna catch a show whileI’m in town?”
I shook my head. “No, there’s noshow between now and when I leave. Sorry.”
My phone tumbled out of mypocket as I went to get it, falling between Logan’s feet.
“Shit.”
All I needed today was abroken phone. I could feel myself tearing up again at the thought of it, oflosing my lifeline, of losing all the memories saved in pictures and textmessages and call logs on there.
“I got it,” Logan said,grabbing the phone and wiping it off on his jeans. “Not a scratch.”
Relief washed over me as Iunlocked it and saw that it really was fine, not a single scratch on it.
Lucky. I’d seen otherpeople’s phones shatter from a fall like that.
I was starting to thinkLogan was magic. Somehow.
Maybe an actual angel.
I scrolled through myphotos, looking for one of myself in full drag that was at least a littleflattering. I didn’t take nice selfies when I was Arizona. I pulled faces andlaughed and sucked my cheeks in, because she wasfun. She wasn’t supposed to bepretty. She was supposed to be ridiculous.
Finally, I came to one of meand Gabe that I liked.
