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“If you don’t eat it.” Hunter’s voice was a low buzz in my ear, jerking my attention his way. He soaked in the attention like it was his due. “Big Brother will have you over his lap feeding you pie just like Dad does Mum.” My mouth went dry at the thought of it. “Or I can?” One eyebrow rose in challenge. “Would your mother like that? A guy that will feed you, when you’re sick, when you’re tired, or just for the pleasure of holding you close and seeing your lips part around the spoon.”

I couldn’t look away even though I needed to.

“Nah, I’d have to work my way up to that, but I will.” He turned back to the TV. “I’ll have your mother eating out of my hand before the week’s end, I promise.”

I believed him, because I was already–watching him eat his pie, it taking a wink for me to jerk my focus back to the screen.

Watching Drag Race was always a curious thing. It took a group of drag queens for me to come to appreciate the effort and skill it took to apply makeup. Each one took the raw clay of who they were and transformed themselves from caterpillars into the most beautifully alien butterflies.

“Remember when we got into Mum’s makeup?” Millie said to me.

“Oh god…” I nearly choked as I remembered the mess we’d made. “I’m so sorry for that, Heather.”

“I was ropeable at the time,” she admitted, “but… seems like a rite of passage for a young girl to mess around with mum’s makeup.” Heather nodded at the screen. “Some young boys too. You two were just playing.”

And thought we were so pretty.

I watched each man apply lipstick and blush with an expert hand, transforming the structure of their faces in some cases to become something else altogether. I could sit comfortably watching them do it for some reason, even though I’d rarely worn makeup myself. Perhaps because they were so proficient, or maybe because they were men, I didn’t know, but when I applied eyeliner or mascara myself, I just remembered Mum’s bark of laughter. Not a gentle amusement at the shaky mask of makeup we’d put on, but instead the curl of her lip clarified what she thought.

Which didn’t stop her from making that explicit when we got into the car.

“What were you thinking, Jamie?” she said with a shake of her head. “That you look pretty?” Her scathing tone made clear that statement was never true. “You’ll scrub every bit of it off your face once you get home.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek, tainted with foundation and mascara, it hit my lap in a splash of tan and black. My tears always ran clear now, the few times I let them fall.

But most of all, I made sure not to let anything touch me deeply enough to make me cry.

“So about that date?” Hunter whispered.

“Nowhere fancy,” I hissed back, “and then answers, yes?”

“Yes,” he replied with a triumphant smile. “Always yes.”

Chapter 8

Brock

“I need you to fake date Jamie for a week while her mum is in town.” Millie had said before dinner. Her impish smile, her words replayed over and over inside my head, drowning out the drone of the TV. I didn’t give a shit about drag queens, drag kings, anyone but Jamie. “After that, you can date her whichever way you want.”

“What?” My baby sister had my number, that had been clear, her eyes dancing. “You want me to date my apprentice…?” I shook my head. “My employee?”

“You don’t have a boss to answer to or HR to worry about, but maybe don’t chase her around the car hoist thingie trying to get in her pants.” Millie’s grin widened. “Not unless she’s into consensual non-consent.”

“What?” My sister was saying words, putting them into sentences, but as soon as I tried to make meaning from them, my brain fell apart. “Consensual… what?”

“You need me to explain CNC?” she asked in a patronising tone.

“Yes, I mean, no. The first bit. Explain that.”

“Jamie’s mum is coming to town and she thinks my bestie has been dating three guys.” A little rumble formed in my chest. “There are no such guys. Know anything about that?”

I rocked back on my heels, crossing my arms.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“You know plenty.” She shoved a finger into my chest but I was going nowhere. I just cocked an eyebrow, reminding her which brother she was dealing with. “The amount of blokes that have been buzzing around Jamie that lose interest before she can even register they’re keen. The guys who go to approach her and you go and stand in their way. That guy?—”

“Dale.” I knew exactly who she was talking about. He was a damn good mechanic, but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, not even with a wife at home. When I called him into my office, I was clear he could either go and find a job somewhere else or I could report back to his missus, he made the right choice.